Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
mannley collins Feb 2017
The body that I am incarnated in was born in the middle of the very rainy summer of 1939.
My vehicle for life.
All seeing-all smelling --all tasting--all touching--all speaking--all hearing --all sensing --perambulating -singing-dancing-cooking--drinking --painting--******* etc etc vehicle.
Born a few months before the Second World War,with all its nonsensical religiously patriotic and democratically oligarchic and liberally fascistic evil nonsense, started.
Makes me a Rider of the Storm eh?.
Eat yer heart out Jim Morrison!.
Slid out of my mothers womb in the upper room of a brand new house.
Situated on a new street somewhere on a new development on the edge of a 3000 years old walled city in 'gods' own country'--that's what they called it.
Yorkshire!.
First smell I remember,clearly,was rain soaked Lilac and Earth mixed together.
Their scent coming hrough the open bedroom window.
AAAAH rain soaked Lilac.
Second smell was Tobacco from downstairs where my father was anxiously chain smoking.
Then came my first taste.
He,my father,dipped the tip of his little finger into his glass of celebratory Whiskey and poked it into my mouth as I lay there,wrapped in swaddling clothes.
Irresponsibility!!.
Second taste was her warm rich creamy breast milk.
And so my days and nights started.
They told me the name that I was to answer to--as if it was the whole of me.
They told me my beliefs and attitudes and desires and limitations and skills etc etc.
They told me that what I have come to know was my conditioned identity was the real me---but it isn't!..
The lied to me --in innocent ignorance.
My sister taught me to read and write by the time I was 3 years old.
I grew up knowing,deep down, that I was something else.
Not the 'Something Else' that Ornette Coleman played,on his magnificent disc,either.
War raged elsewhere throughout my childhood--mainly across the seas far away.
I watched flight after flight of four engine bombers roar overhead every day ,on their way to drop bombs on children I would never meet.
There was a busy air base 2 miles away from the house I was born in.
Once an injured bomber,coming back from a raid,crashed in flames on two houses at the top of the street I lived in.
I found war to be a hellish and frightening experience.
And along the way I discovered that I couldnt explain to 'myself' who I was, exactly,either.
That my parenters gift of identity was misleading.
I asked 'myself' who or rather what was I?.
By the time I was 3 years I was a ******* from 'Osteomylitis'--or so they told me.
I couldn't walk with massive  left hip joint pain I suffered.
I spent the years from 3 to 6 in a traction bed in a couple of hospitals.
Gobbling down Cod liver oil and Malt for the vitamins--and it worked!!!.
At 6 I learned to walk--YES!!!.
All that pain was left behind.
Thank you Gautama.
My life was suffering but as you supposedly said.
Suffering can be overcome.
And I overcame it.
And I ran and jumped across streams and climbed trees and walked for miles and miles and danced the dance of life.
I foraged for blackberries and wild mushrooms and crabapples and horseradish roots and rosehips and other fruits of nature.
I fell in love with the song of the Yellowbeak--Blackbird to you.
Became enraptured by the smell of wild Roses in the hedgerows.
And I sang and sang and sang and danced and danced and danced.
And all the while I just knew that I wasn't the body that I was incarnated in.
Even though my parenters kept on insisting that I was that body.
And I knew that I wasn't who they had told me I was either.
I knew that I wasn't the conditioned identity of the body that they insisted I was..
At 9 years I passed an exam and won a free scholarship place at a fee paying 'public' school.
My education started in earnest.
Lain and French andAlgebra and Geometry and  expectations of University.
I fell in love for my very first time at around 12 years old.
Raymond was his name.
He taught me how bisexual I was.
I swallowed litres of his body fluids.
Oh how I loved him.
Then after 2 ecstatic years he rejected me because I was a different class to him.
AAAAARGH!.
Then around 14 years the monthly seizures started.
A regular dark descent into unconsciousness.
I experienced the small death of Julius Ceasar and Leonardo Da Vinci.
Back to waking consciousness after an hours out of the body trip into the Astral realms.
Waking with total total amnesia.
With no mind or conditioned identity but both came back within one hour of waking and took over again.
Along with a helluva headache.
But I woke as me--who or whatever that was.
I wasn't who they said I was.
I was me!.
Whatever that was.
Where did I come from?
My purpose in life became to find out what I was and what the source of my existence was.
Teenage life as a rock n roller started beckoned and I embraced party life.
I won cups of silver for dancing very energetically to Bill Haley and Chuck Berry.
I discovered the other half of my bisexuality.
I found girls.
Oh girls how I love you.
and love you and love you.
I started to play trombone at 18 years.
Then trumpet and drums then into my life walked MISS SAXOPHONE and I melted!!!!.
Alto alto wobbly lines of sound poured out from the bell of my alto sax.
I was 23 and toying with buddhism and social alcoholism and playing saxophone jazz(probably badly).
26 and I got married for the first time.
I was playing Free Jazz rather amateurishly by now.
In 1967 I moved to London--became a longhaired hippy--started my own band called BrainBloodVolume--took many doses(literally 1000s) of pure LSD and Mescaline and Psyllocybin and DMT--embraced diet reform--became ordained as a buddhist monk in 1966--played with Jimi Hendrix and John Lennon and the pink Floyd--went to live in the Balearic Islands--Mallorca,Ibiza,Formentera--started to do oil paintings--had a Master Class in Concert Flute playing from Roland Kirk in the dressing room at Ronnie Scotts Jazz Club in London.Became addicted to Macrobiotic Food and Spring Water and puffing Waccy Baccy(always through a Water Pipe..



Its been seventy seven years in this incarnation that I have been wandering the face of this big ball in space seeking the answer to the eternal questions of life.

What am I and where do I come from and what is my purpose?.

And here  is the answer--!!.

I am an individual isness formed solely from a small but equal independent and autonomous portion of the isness of the universe.

Each individual isness is an eternal, small but equal, independent, autonomous,nameless, formless,genderless,classless,casteless,non physical and unconditionally  loving portion of the isness of the universe.

The isness of the universe is the whole of the nature of reality and is the sole source of all existence and is eternal,nameless,formless, genderless,beingless and autonomous and unconditionally loving and is not a 'god' or a 'goddess' or any kind of being.

I live in the joyousness of shared unconditionally loving union with the isness of the universe.
Trevor Gates May 2013
Welcome to tonight’s show

Allow me to introduce myself.

I go by many names


Some of which, you may know
But those do not need to be mentioned
a howl, a moan, a scream, a summoning
Let’s keep this interesting.


This is the midnight calling
This is the raven cawing

This is the shadow lurking
And the jackals slurping

The demons wailing
While Charon is sailing,

The Acheron
The river
The first

The Eternal song
Of dripping livers
and Thirst

Stop

This is all confusing
And amusing
To some
And many
But to me it is painful

Demeaning
Putrid
Repugnant
Detrimental
Disturbing

And

­A subjective simmer of passivity
A pious dose of sheer calamity

Once upon a time

In a land past the desert
Was a neon capped city
Devoid of hope

And shaped by
Casual nihilism

And too much money

A powerful portrait in all its brevity
The display of sweltering people melting against the asphalt
The mucous sunscreen and coarse sand between the toes

And crooked nails
And bleached hair
And coffee stained teeth
And pink nails
And Gucci purses
And Versace dresses
Shutter Shades
Corvettes
$5 lap dances

And promiscuous preteen slaves
To MTV
VH1
Pop sensations
Internet ****
Social networks
Smart phones
Model rock stars
Models
Interviews
Auditions
Mundane seductively
For him
Or she
The nepotistic aficionado

of  

Delicious, robust, superb, disdain  
*******: Nose Candy
******: Snake venom
After Parties: ******* adrenaline
***** Film tryouts: Garage studio
LSD: Acid
Plastic: Lips, skins, *******.
24/7
Hits of E
X-T-C

and

Do you have change for a hundred?
Or a change for a life?

Cites in Dust
Thank Siouxsie and the Banshees; A carnival.

Shout
Tears for Fears, they’re Head over Heels

Love will Tear Us apart
From Joy Division, who claims she’s lost control

Los Angeles
“X”
Exene and Billy Zoom’s Wild Gift.

The perpetual rise of sunset rockers and Neon knights.
Teens crawling through the muck of socialites and incubator nightmares
Civil borders wired by racial slurs and salivating bigotry
Water replaced by blood
Spit interchanged for souls
And fire traded for icy methamphetamine

Warriors and survivors

Poets and dreamers

Shooters and inhalers

Geeks and groupies

Burnouts and Dropouts

Sweet dreams are made of this



Such a show, such a show! Bravo Bravo! Thank you, thanks to all I have time to thank: Martin Sheen, Julius Ceasar, Fender Guitars, Randy Marsh, elbow pads, Chuck Berry, Al Green, X, Joy Division, Tears for Fears, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Less than Zero, Alucard, Humphrey Bogart, Grace Kelly, Daryl Dixon, George Harrison, Brad Pitt, Rooney Mara (Love you), Belstaff, Emma Watson (Love you too), Laure Heriard Dubreuil, Manolo Blahnik, Hannah Murray and Michele Abeles.

So many to mention, so little time. We’ll be back.
This is one of my favorites I've done so far in this series. I had just finished reading Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis and watch Gregg Araki's films, The Doom Generation and Nowhere, which all three sum up the existentialism and merging rampancy of living in Los Angeles, California. An experience I will never forget.
Colm Jan 2017
I close my eyes above my salad
Nobody here can see
Praying that God would keep her well
And take care of her
Be it well away from me
Ceasar... Treacherous.
Laokos Jun 2019
knock, knock, knock*

I open my door
and am immediately
greeted by
three 19 year old elders.

They want to talk to me
about Jesus and
their version of
a sacred text and I want
to talk to them about: God,
Philosophy, Religion,
Art, Music, etc.

but I just put a greasy
pan on med-high
heat to cook some
bacon and it's
filling my apartment
with smoke.

Yet, my curiosity of
these creatures at
my door temporarily
supersedes kitchen
safety protocols,
so I start to oblige
them and even
entertain some light
discourse in the
hallway.

I begin to explain my
perspective when
my attention skips back
to the pan
and the hot metal
smell tickling my nose.

-protocols back in place-
I decline their invitation
to visit their temple, now
or any time in the
future, then shake
their hands.

I accept a pamphlet
from the last one,
"The Plan of Salvation",
after he scribbles a
phone number on
the back.

I wish them luck
and close my door
without locking it,
stride over to the skillet
and take it off
the burner.

Good thing I removed
the batteries from
all the smoke
detectors.
Its timeto yoke the joker


yo to the emcees that think they could get with me
i wet em like an ocean tide personality like jekyll and hide
which means im a killa slash for short drama no comma imma
brutal emcee eatin' 'em up the best of em im the lyrical cannibal
flesh rent devil sent no need for repent
comin' with wickedness born with 8 flows if ya only knew
******* come in the sets of three im givin' wishes for free
the rap genie aint' comin' to be a hero the black zorro thorrough
shoot up the barrio dead eye hawkin' assassin' blastin'
with the greatest tech mouth shots or physical shots it don't matter
whatever it takes to get the job done
my posse cocked d slapped you *******
you can smoke all the spinach you want and you leave like popeyes
get it naw forget sensitive ******* i knit it
write in graffiti love hoes shape like Nefertiti queen b goddess
never a ***** **** in my encore **** with me and ill bring the war along with gore
******* never been a softie
daddy had to be a gangsta **** hustler drug dealer all summed in one
so i had no choice but to pack a gun
but meanwhile im onto bigger and better things like rappin' on the mic i cling
flows tighter rhan pliers leave emcees wrapped up like cable wires
the sire embraced higher learning spurning over obstacles
turn complexity into miracles
how could i ever fall if i never fall failure not an acceptation
id rather sells drugs and extortion and get caught wit 25 big ones
fed time **** the state time im on the grind one time
always wanna see me fall black man finna rise planet of the apes style
hot and wild j ceasar with these skills i spills sendin' chills
its an ice age all over just say its over when big yosef grab the mic
prepare for fright when i ignite blast through hearts like a cannon
i just smoke ya ya mediocre its time to yoke these jokers
yea
 
Graff1980 Jan 2015
Shakespeare’s Caesar
Was never noble
Dripping blade dropping blood
Brutus nailed it
To cease the invasions
To end the destabilization
To save his nation
From a warmonger
Crimson smothered blade
Slick with sic gore
The ideas of march
Antony claimed
Noble Caesar
And the masses followed suit
The mob never knew the truth
Caesar was a monster
Gutted and blooded
Life flooded from his vein
But never came close to the stains
That painted his hands
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
The Editor

Late in office,
sour coffee taste
the single constituent
of his yellow bloodstream,
The Editor.

Way up high,
72nd floor.

The city's twinklers mocking.

Life is ours, outside,
where explorers dare,
not inside your
cubicle.

That word, cubicle,
a sugar-substitute for
coffin.

Another 12+ day.
Empty apartment waiting.

But that no matter.

Old news, her scent,
almost unnoticeable
except for the lavender hand-soap.

On the desk, a manuscript.
A child's coloring book,
vibrant, original word verses.

The older man lived, loved words,
An editor now, by trade.

Once, he baby-dreamed.

Shaping moments in the lives
of thousands, with tastings of,
with his words.

The answer given, graded, long ago.
Offered a choice,
outrageous misfortune elected,
the arrow taken, his was the
"or not to be."

Instead,
on the desk, a manuscript.
a child's coloring book,
vibrant, original word verses.

An unsolicited gift.
By the hundreds, they arrived.

To his desk, the mail room delivered,
trained to snicker by prior generations,
at this lowly assignment.

This one different.

Original, raw,
full of ingredient-courage that
posed the questions
we all ask, answered,
in a nouveau riche way,
not a poseur-way.

Well, so well, he knew Brutus's words:

We at the height are ready to decline.
There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
^

His tide, his high tide, missed,
gone out

Instead at the heights, on the 72nd floor,
in the shallows, the bad miseries of
chances missed, ventures lost,
his own words, measured down,
never up,
yet he floated on a sea of others,
drowning but never dying.

On the desk, a manuscript.
a child's coloring book,
vibrant, original word verses,
a young author, unaware,
his gifts could rule the world.

Just another submission.

No one would notice,
the missed fortune,
if it were lost at sea.

Just another tsunami body,
thousands of worn words
suffocating, still born,
still dead.

Just another Brutus omission.

Another tide, washing in,
another washout day,
except for the
coloring book, someone else's
on his desk.

Dear Sir/Madam.
Thank you for bringing your manuscript to our attention.
We receive many unsolicited submissions and at this time, we are unable to...


Yours truly,


Some are artists,
Some are house painters.
Some craft, other just tidy up
the empty studios of the real.
Did the windows in his office open?
Somewhere his best effort,
paper tarnished by metallic dust,
sweat garnished,
vanquishing tears bookmarks,
a homeless one.

No place to return to,
for to be homeless,
words had to have had a home.

Whose?
His.

^ Julius Ceasar
(IV.ii.269–276)
Saw pieces of Julius Ceasar. Came home did some editing.
This corny poem, an embarrassment, came out of the the intersection.
At the crossroads, post, publish, or ****** thyself more in little ways.
Arsalan Kouser Jun 2014
If you have a moment,
Sir or Madam,
would you please hear my lament,
of the sad and woeful tale
Of Fail.

Hidden behind masks,
Enscribed with who he wished to be,
Yet,
Ever so deceptive,
Of his true identity.

Today, I am Ceasar,
Tomorrow, Shakespeare.
Yet,
These masks,
Are but a tool...

Tomorrow's play,
They will soon say,
Shall be my most glorious act,
Known to man!

With no regret,
Do not fret,
I shall don the greatest of all masks...
Myself!          

Now, you may ask,
Who is Myself?
We put our true identity on the shelves,
To show no mortal, not even ourselves!

Yet,
perhaps...
Bear with me...
If I were myself...
I would be content with myself!

No, no, no...Forgive Me!
Who am I to say this the way to be!
The only way to be merry...is to be someone who I am not!
To please others is the way to attain happiness, is it not?

Fail discarded his "Myself" mask that day,
Yet, forevermore, everyday,
He questioned who he was,
As he never truly felt to be himself.

Now, since you have stuck by me until the end of this tale,
And, with the unfortunate Fail,
I inquire of you, and, please, discard all of your masks, if you can:
Who are you, really?
Ken Pepiton Mar 2022
Three days after the ides, and the story
told of a spirit that calls for vengeance,
to this very day, while it is called Today.

Entranced, couchlocked, looking dazed…
but none see me, to challenge me, vie with me
for watcher-alarm sounder silencing
clouds of knowing growing deeper, thicker, sort
of jello-time from post -2022

Monstor Fighter wannabes, realize
your fantasy, word to word,
sword to sword, progress, keep time, watch,
imaginations
bound in bundles and packeted for consumption,
- feel like a hero,
- just like that, that's the spirit, believe
- in the dream
Really,

see the lie you first believed, take your life exam.

Who really established
the stack you stand your ground rule upon.

Tell me no lie, I can check your facts, and my own,
a gazer into the abyss, must dare the awareness,
more than once, of the abyss staring into the gazer.

Life, lived a breath per moment of note, taken
as if this were me alive, and well taken care of,
by a benign monstor arm of benignity itself,
war feeds me and clothes me, I survived,
so the proof of the nation's promise,
I am, a trained-will that will obey rules,
conserved as rights held by heads of state,
- liberal conservation of meaning trees
- frees old readers from fishing for facts,
- we, the augmented, have public access…
- good citizen status, unto death…

as paraded boys, with fixed bayonets, pledged
and inspired by ancient incantations, patience,
steady cadence, rank and file,
perform as a mass minded thing agreed, a team,
- call to attention, respond
Testudo, hold. Sistere, hobnailed to your ground,
our
ground, hold that line, hold it,
hold it, get the rush,
without the dread duty of picking up the dead.
- Flash, my first duty in Vietnam, was
- to identify a body, that was not there…

shield walls, all games now, stories tell life
as a game, a test for bestness, or likestness,

yet, ever spun off, a few, a little leaven,
welsh held tongue song word long whole ideas,
by and bye, ye ken the less,
what's an hour's worth?

when does saving time, as a way to change
the season, in an effort
to increase productivity,
cease being a grand plan
for empowering all the needs intuited,
solar- leanings, shade and sunlit,
future from now, reckoned some how,
- wait, the engine driving the beast
- global economic collapse, is war, the idea
- that it is a god idea,
- monstrous fact of what we are, in agreement.
Peace, as proven ever winning, edgewise,
at the core, the intention we assume is true,
people have a reason in the whole ever idea,
immeasurable,
from inside.
..
the reason I wish
to live, longer,
money, use of it, actually,
literal debts for my luxury,
paid by the rules, the game, I won,
my life, in soul possession,  
is the rational measure, the cup of essence
of mankind to be supplied
to all agreeable minds, all free, to try, read
grown-up learn to read as teacher read
from the abundance of answers,
already to be taught to form
foundational anchors,
fears, joys, honor and disdain
of the garden earth is,
under, or behind great magnetic shields,
set to let life function to frame a state,
a stasis, relative to ever, after time
has no measure, the racer's mind,
long run pace, cadence call,
hup, two, three, four, heart beat

fit to the cultures of old, when all boys
were tough, or never boys at all.

"A rather Spartan lifestyle", an eastern reporter,
for Sun Jung Moon's Washington Star, said
of my cohort, during the prepper years.
---
old days --- always better after survival
from warstory to biography
--- look inward

Cranking jams in my haptic suit,
leaping valleys, sweeping down
canyons like I'm little Luke Skywalker;

When my eyes accept the invitatory story
challenge, vie for the power try,
triumphant,
meaning #2, spiritual victory.
Define spirit - breath, breathe, the one to the other
spirit of the bayonet - the word as command, ****
****, ****
take life take life take life, imagine too long,
as the addicted to hormones video triggers,
words
unspoken, live to prove the lie,
ready, read

I feel your pressure, fused with super lies,
unbelievable incredible opposition to peace or mind,
manifested handily as joy in breath,
imagine loving your enemies is your duty,
smile,
laugh and sigh. Some never try.
What can possibly be true, is;
what cannot possibly be true is not and never was.
A poet's perogative is the ready writer role, pulling down imaginations
that exalt themselves against truth... the weapons in life's battles are not carnal.
saige Aug 2019
Thanks to that velveteen tone he
saves for me
And his turpentine diction,
The cliches that made my eyes roll
Now make my heart rush

Nonetheless, my thoughts riot as follows...

(When urged to call him something cheery
something no smile can wane at
like that fleck of gold in his left iris)
Well, "sunshine" should suffice
And Latin for that equals
"Apricitas"
Which phoneticized equals
"Opry cheetahs"
So the obvious endearment here is
Opry

(When urged to call him something pure
perhaps upon watching him blink
or blush
or blow
cigarette ringlets away from babies)
"Snowflake"?
No, that's a slang for ***** these days
So, "raindrop"
Yes
If Latin is dead,
It sure knows how to haunt me
"Gutta imbrium"
Ember
My little ember
The only glow in all this charcoal

(When urged to call him something pretty
when he's brushing his hair
or allowing me to arrange red clovers
in his sideburns)
Hm, let's testdrive "moonlight"
Let's shift into Latin, "luna lumen"
Thus the nickname I bite back is
Lulu

/Lulu/
While I hear darlings and dearies
on the daily
Why must I fail to mirror him?

(When urged to call him something sweet
like the butterscotch kisses he whispers
into my knuckles)
Like a honeycomb
Or as Ceasar would say, "cera mel"
Close enough?
Caramel?
Carousel?
Dizzy, then

We spin
In silence

(When urged to call him something cute
with his cap on sideways
and his head in my lap
and the world at my heels)
Kitten
Catalus
Catapult
Half of that backwards might as well be
Tulip
Two lips
Two tongues
Too much, yet never enough of his
Smoke bomb pomegranate mouth

For heaven's sake, see?
That's why I kiss instead of speak
Sit back as I free base the mic
Keep ya *** tight
Like constipation facin’ the nation
One man crew represent
Houston smell my lbs of mints
I get intense leave brain cells pinched
Rhymes lynched clear the bench
When I make a walk around talk around
I get around **** more than bobby brown
Make emcees jump around I get down
Like James Brown
the Black Ceasar
Take over the crowds leave *******
Leaning like the tower of Pisa
I even got Mona Lisa
To Crack a smile biggie with my flow
As well as what sits below
The heavy set hitter no bullshitter
Think twice I’m spittin’ naughty nothing
So come.with it
But I know you ****** bluffin’
Actin’ toughin’
til they see me
They Common Man as David Ruffin
Now the guns got they spirits floatin’
Throw ya ashes in the ocean
**** a notion
I’m shady take notes from.the lyrical.
Oracle now say it im…


Hit up the scene
With pounds of green
& 50 gran sittin’ in between
My Benz six hundred the best class
Showin’ raw ***
Check the state it reads Texas plates
How can I relate ?
To the loot im accumulatin’
Aint no debatin’
jealous critics be hatin’
Im.creatin’
An epitome so forceful the feds can’t get to me
Gettin’ more *** then pimps get
forget
What they sayin’
pay attention to my pipe layin’
******’ beats with no need for sheets
Sneak peak dirtier than a Iraq Sheik
Smooth as an undercover like women of cocoa butter
Skin since the world is sin
I take a shot of gin for the djinn
To settle in
Take control then i menace the mic
Like Mike got the game on lock
6 undefeated makin’ miracles
Not satirical got critics sayin’ he’s Unbelievable! !!
'So easy'
some would say,
the one who never had his day spin in a silent night or turned
his back to find he looks upon himself.
So easy,
like the spasms of the first ****** the beginning of the fall
and in the falling getting smaller, smaller but finding as the crow flies South in fact you're getting taller and the circle that you're in is the thing that's getting smaller, so you flex your limbs and climb and it's easy climbing over, getting over walls that try to keep you in, they never get to teach you that in colleges or seats of learning,
it's like they'd rather leave you yearning, wanting more and burning with the want of it.

But you never pluck your eyes out to see what lies behind because those learned fellows tell us that to do that makes us blind and if that's so and we take heed we'll never know, I'd rather bleed to death than waste my breath and then again I know that breath is just a roundabout of which a death is just one turn-off,
several light years, where the teardrop drops and all time stops to catch another breath and death is just a taste on the palate of some ancestral waiter,
I wait another turn foregoing all the pain and pleasure of that once in a lifetime final seizure,
I am my own and I am Ceasar in my home, a caliph to sit upon the throne and who can tell me no?
even so
I fall and fall and small or tall without a doubt it evens out
in the end.
Kyle Howard May 2015
Back then when we were friends
I didn't worry about the ending
But then again,
It was foolish, to live life, without concern
So I came to learn

In the end, I was in awe
I wonder did it take much thought
I became the Ceasar to hold your daggers
Et tu (even you) must understand the treachery in your act
Bleeding out, I could not react

Now I still breath, but bare these scars
An awful memento of a mournful past
I press on, but never the same
Anger and hate my only friends
That's how this ends
A poem about a falling out I had earlier on in my life.
MOTV Apr 2016
Blasphemy, blasphemy in the city of Rhapsody
Casualties, casualties increased in number, they plunder
Gold chains, gold rings, and hoes
******* up on their nose
Knives and bullet holes
Liquor fumes run out there pores
Another round it's time to  pour
Ball, and steal the ones you love
Grim, like reapers, scythe laying in the trunk
So rowdy, you getting punked
Get out the house, get on the funk
I am, I am the kid who is stacking dollars
I be, I be the one they call the POWER
Stealing from yall' what is no ones
So I came to ball and unfold them
Ace of spades, I be rubbing on the jin
So dam turnt I do now know how it can be sin
She is fire, infernos desire, my mind admires, her waterfall I acquire
I just want that hot verse and that choir
Encore, encore I think I want more
Just like Ceasar, man's brain gets distorted
Because they hoeing, because the gold and drugs that come, people change when you got that dolla huh?

People change, People change, when you got that dolla huh?

Huh?

I be, I be a one man choir

Look at all these ******* in the game. 'Bout to grab that empire
Keiri Jul 2019
Faking beliefs to believe in the fake.
For the real is way to real.
I still don't want to awake.
I'll imagine I've got a tastier meal.

Be strong, I say, don't give in.
For it will be for the wrong reason.
Spaghetti, potatoes, peas, please don't sin.
Steak or stew or mussles with season.

Scones, soup, browney with a liquid core.
Or rather think of a good baked fish.
Don't, just don't think of him anymore.
Try to replace him with your favorite dish.

I can' give in, I can't give up.
It won't be good if I drink the same cup.
Again and again it's a cup with a crack.
And all my sweet cocoa will flee right back.

I keep thinking, is this right?
I can't tell right from wrong in my blurred sight.
It's bad to go back, so just go on forth.
But my eyes slip back, like a compass needle north.

I need to hold myself, faults won't do me good.
I'll just have to stop my thinking with even more food.
It's a similar hormone triggered, I will feel the same.
What am I? Will I rather be fat again to spare me of the pain?

Why am I weak, it's such a one way to think.
But what else to do when my heart's about to sink.
Pop in my head, there he is again.
Chocolate, chicken breast, bread full of grain.

Don't think, just don't think at all.
Will he be hurt, does he think of me at all.
Is he alright, what is he up to right now.
Does he miss me, and I just wonder how.

Stop it, weakling, you can do better than this.
Orange sauce, porto dressing, ribs as soft as a kiss.
Mac and cheese, ceasar salad, do you think he is alright.
Was I wrong, after all he still wanted to fight.

No, be strong, honeydressing, porkchop, carrot stew.
How many chances did I give him a new?
Stop it, steamed beef, apple cake, am I really mad?
Why did walking away from him feel so bad.

Faking beliefs to believe in the fake.
For the real is way to hard.
I still don't want to believe my mistake.
For I too was wrong at my part.
Hot devil - The name of this poem is named after a yummy casserole dish called 'Hot devil' (it's Dutch) it's with veggies in white sauce, mashed potatoes and roasted meat baked in layers within the casserole in the oven... you should try it, it's really tasty

Here's the recipe for 4 persons
- 12 normal sized potatoes
- 1kg of minced meat
- 1/2 l milk
- 2 tbsp plain flour
- 2 tbsp baking butter
- 1/2 porridge (the white side, small chopped)
- 4 sticks of sellery (small chopped)
- 4 normal sized carrots (small chopped)
- Salt, nutmeg and pepper
- 1 egg yolk
- breadcrumbs

Cook and mash the potatoes. Add the eggyolk in the mashed potatoes, altogether with a little bit of milk and a little bit of butter, mash it all untill it's a moistured paste.  Roast the meat, chop it in small bits while roasting it in the pan. Slice the porridge, sellery and carrot in small pieces. Melt the butter in a *** and add the plain flour, now stir bit by bit the milk in the mixture. Season the white sauce with salt and pepper and nutmeg. Add the veggies in the sauce and boil further for a minute or two. Take a casserole that can stand the heat of the oven. Rub half of the mashed potato in on the bottom. Put the meat on top of it, now put the veggies on top of that layer, fill the last layer with the remaining mashed potatoes and sprinkle the upper layer full with breadcrumbs until you can't see any mashed potatoes underneath the crumbs. Put in the oven (180°C for about 20 minutes).
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Frantically Fiery recital
((The Big City Capitol))

Just lay low
The touch go
Catty
Calm---- cool--- and-- collected
don't scratch lower- lip got grilled
The light flick
She's the fur-upper-lip got beguiled
The singer (Tom Petty) guitar
Strings sweet jam Teacher's pet
sketch so petty
I won't back down

The Getty Family
Ringo The drummer boy
Oh, Lord! lowercase match

Mr. ****** as loud as
his Cello
The evermore not
the good fellow
They call her mellow yellow
Capitol suite pillow
She's the ((Rhino Cup)
of Cappuccino

Sweatpants and Robin Hoods
Lord of the Capitol (R) Ring

Shinning the Hotel tools
Lots of courage for fools
Ted  bears I hear a symphony
Boiling hot porridge reading
her last Urology

But at home, crack tile
Ripley believe
or not makes her smile (.
Going bonkers
Feeling jump street Bronx-Tale
Yonkers
Elves envelope
lickers

The emergency
City Slickers
He's cutting out
Shes sparkling pout
Those papercuts
without hearts

On the stretcher
target of darts
Prelude to a letter {C} but
The [P] precisely to be kissed
she's smart'[S] someone
is stupid
Titanic Leonardo so livid
and nobodies fool trip
He packed X-File suitcase
His trousers a bit low
Your feeling her flow
(Health)
Awareness__*

Right star or the wrong car
License plate all lower case
Disoriented losing you face
Like Alzheimer my Mom
but it wasn't her rainbow
And my heart stopped to glow
Loved Judy Garland
she saw her in concert
Waving high to the low current

We require Jerry McGuire
That's life the cruise
like a game
of lacrosse

So in these days
more outways

The whole outlook

Where are the good men
President Lincoln
In the Capitol, the statue
True virtue thinker

The violin nights white satin
Your own haven such velocity
The top-notch Galaxy
women of divinity
He's far away from his
land and
my land?
California here I come
The kelts in Scotland jingling phone
Your_  heart--  beats
Feeling lowdown at your feet

Being swept away
Cinderella
Capitol C
For the ((City girl))
C for Charming
C for Culture C for Creature

How she sways her body feature
rhythm walk he could forever
capture

Apples they don't compare
To (Oranges)
(Juicy Lover Jupiter)
Is my song
Julius Ceasar the pleaser
  Shakespearian
All Capitol L-O-V-E
The wishbone, Doves
Turkey days
Walking on sunshine,
not the pavement

Good eats my Cornbread
sausage stuffing with sage
Google remembering my Moms
noodle pudding hold her page*
So grumble let's be more humble

Has the most potential to be kissed
and uncivilized
Eyes of the tiger (Amazon) the prey
it's just another day
In the presidential suite the key
to the doorway

Your girly bubbles no rambling
Or stumbling
Remembering a time giggling
so bubbly
just blow
All capitols so many reasons do we really listen to understand all the meanings. Wake up yawning at the crack of (Dawn) looking lowdown forlorn. He's outside mowing the lawn I know just sing any romantic song
Geno Cattouse May 2013
Miles and miles in high relief
                They stood along the apian way
                                  Western sun burned eyes to darkness.
                                                       ­  Parched and lashed to cedar.
                                                          ­              Chilled in the evening frost..

The mighty had spoken.
Yes. To be broken by the flay.and lash
Along the apian way.
A dying example for all to see.
Hail Cesar.mighty ceasar.

                                  The world is Rome.
                                  Rome is the world.
                                  Where is Rome today ?
Azaria Nov 2017
i asked how you were doing
because people
forget to do that a lot
like the way they
forget to clean the lint
out of the vent in the dryer
like the way they pass
you like a sea of faces
when they've been inside
of you
their eyes
once preserved the
lining of your skin
like embalming fluid
that trapped all of
your best qualities
like an essence in
a polaroid photo
i'm glad that
you found someone
whose shadow you
could watch like
a second vision of me
her courvoisier hair  
falling
down her back
like a freudian slip
you peeled my layers
like an unrelenting onion
except your tears were
like history
they floated across
the air like the
ships that carried my
caramel brown
ancestors
like the clouds
that showed
them the interpretation
of dreams
that grew and breathed
like daniel ceasar's voice
at 12:33 am
like accepting love
that you don't deserve  
and eating two pieces of pie
right before you go
to bed
telling yourself 
that life is too short
if you love me, won't you let me know?
wordvango Feb 2017
he stood at the door caching kudos and high fives
the life of the party the guy at the end of the party
had the lampshade on not much else but a red grin and nose
he was invited to every one
for his brusk take no names personality
he never knew a stranger
then one day he stopped answering the door his phone emails
everything
I found out two weeks later he had met loud Sarah Rubricon
her of the store bought **** and long *** legs
and they had eloped to Vegas
where they are now performing
at Little Ceasar's Pizzeria
just down from the
big names
I am happy  for them and Sarah
by god happy she met her match
she haunted me for  two years
but I miss that Joseph
when I throw a party , it is not the same
anymore.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Nov 2024
LOVE AND LOVERS

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Preamble:  I hope you will read LOVE AND LOVERS. I believe love is the only way to save Earth and all creations upon it. That includes you, your family, your friends, and all that you prize. One person can begin to save all that one loves. Let it be you. Best wishes, TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 1

Jon walked down Broadway Thursday toward Tom’s to eat breakfast. He had taken this stroll hundreds of times after being at Columbia for five years during which he had eaten breakfast at all possible alternatives and found Tom’s to be categorically the best in Morningside Heights. It was a beautiful Fall morning. Monday he would begin the second and last school year at Columbia and in the Spring he would receive his MFA from the School of the Arts.

When Jon entered Tom’s, he was stunned. Sitting three down in aisle 3 on the right side in a booth by herself was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. After standing still for a few moments, Jon slowly walked toward this woman and stopped, then spoke.

“Hi, I’m Jon Witherston. May I join you?”

The young woman responded, “Sure.” Jon sat down.

“I’m Bian Ly. It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“I’m assuming you’re a student at Columbia,” said Jon.

“Yes, I’m a senior at the College. Are you also a student?” asked Bian.

“Yes, I am. In fact, I graduated from Columbia College a year ago. Next Spring, I’ll be receiving my MFA from the School of the Arts. I’m a poet,” said Jon.

“A poet! How wonderful!,” exclaimed Bian.

“Thank you, Bian. What’s your major?” asked Jon.

“I'm majoring in Human Rights,” replied Bian.

“The world needs to major in Human Rights!” said Jon.

Bian smiled.

At that point, the waitress came over and took their orders. Both wanted breakfast.

“That is a beautiful ring you are wearing on your little finger,” said Bian.

“That a Nacoms ring,” said Jon. “Nacoms is a senior society at the College. I was selected to be a member,” said Jon. “I was Head of NSOP. Where are you from, Bian?

“I’m from Hanoi,” said Bian.

“Hanoi is a long way from Topeka, Kansas where I grew up, but I did come East to attend Andover,” said Jon.

“I also attended boarding school, but in Hanoi, not Massachusetts. I graduated from Hanoi International School,” said Bian.

“It seems we have a lot in common,” said Jon.

The waitress brought their breakfasts, which they started eating.

After finishing their meals, the two chatted for about twenty minutes, then Jon said, “Bian, before I bid you a good rest of your day, I’d like to ask you if you might like to join me to visit the Guggenheim Museum to see a showing of Vasily Kandinsky’s paintings this Saturday afternoon then be my guest for dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights.”

“I’d love to,” replied Bian.

“I’ll pick you up about 2 p.m. Where do you live?” asked Jon.

“I live in Harley Hall,” said Bian.

“Hartley Hall–that’s where I lived all four years during my undergraduate days,” remarked Jon. “ You’ve got a couple of days to pick out your favorite Italian restaurant,” added Jon. “I’ll wait in the lobby for you.”

Bian smiled again and got out of the booth.

“See you this Saturday at 2,” Jon said as he waited for Bian to leave first. Then he just sat in the booth for a while and smiled, too.


Chapter 2

Jon arrived at Hartley Hall a bit early Saturday afternoon. He sat in the lobby on a soft leather sofa. Hartley Hall. Columbia. Four years. It had been an amazing time. Chad Willington, a fellow Andover graduate from Richmond, Virginia, was his roommate all four years. A tremendous swimmer, Chad had been elected captain of the team both his junior and senior years. He was now working at Goldman Sachs on Wall Street. Jon’s most cherished honor while he was at the College was being elected by his 1,400 classmates to be one of 15 Class Marshals to lead the Commencement Procession.

Bian came into the lounge. She looked beautiful.

“How are you, Bian? Are you ready to go see Kandinsky?” asked Jon.

“Indeed, I am,” said Bian.

“Let’s go, then,” said Jon.

The two walked across campus on College Walk to Broadway where Jon hailed a cab.

“Please take us to the Guggenheim Museum,” Jon told the cabbie. The cab cut through Central Park to upper 5th Avenue.

“We’re here,” said Jon and paid and tipped the cabbie.

The Guggenheim itself was a spectacular piece of architecture designed by Frank Lloyd Wright that spiraled into the blue sky. Jon paid for the admission tickets, then both entered the museum and took the elevator to the top of the building. Then began the slow descent to the bottom on the long, spiraling walkway, pausing when they wanted to the see a Kandinsky painting closely and talking with each other about it.

Vasily Kandinsky was a Russian painter and theorist, becoming prominent in the early decades of the 20th Century. Having moved first from Russia to Germany, he then went to France. Kandinsky was a pioneer of abstraction in Western art. He was keenly interested in spiritual expression:  “inner necessity” is what he called it.

It took quite a while to make their way down the spiraling ramp, stopping at almost every painting to share their views. Finally, Bian and Jon reached the bottom.

“Well, that was most interesting,” said Bian.

“I agree,” said Jon. “Have you decided which is your favorite Italian restaurant in Morningside Heights, Bian?” asked Jon.

“Pisticci,” said Bian.

“Let's go!,” said Jon.

They took a cab to Pisticci. The waiter brought them menus, which they began to peruse.

“You first,” Jon said to Bian.

“I would like the Insalata Pisticci (bed of baby spinach tossed with potatoes and pancetta with balsamic reduction). Then Suppe Minestrone (with a clear tomato base and al dente vegetables). Finally, I would like the Fettuccine Al Fungi (handmade fettuccine tossed with a trio of warm, earthy mushrooms and truffle oil),” concluded Bian.

Jon followed. “I would also like the Insalata Pisticci, then the Suppe Minestrone, followed by the Pappardelle Bolognesse, then the Burrata Caprese. Thank you.”

Bian and Jon ate their meals in candlelight.

“Tell me about growing up in Hanoi,” Jon asked Bian.

“I am an only child, Jon. My father is Minh Ly and my mother is Lieu. My father was the youngest General in the war;  nevertheless, he rose to second in command. He has been a businessman now for a long time. My childhood was like those of most children. As I grew older, I loved playing volleyball. I read a lot. I began learning English at an early age. I had lots of friends. I love my father and mother very much.”

“Why did you come to Columbia,” asked Jon.

“Columbia, as you know, is one of the greatest universities in the world, and it’s in New York City,” said Bian.

“Why did you choose to major in Human Rights, Bian,” asked Jon.

“The world, and the people and all other living creations on it, need kindness and love to heal. All have been sick for millennia. I would like to help heal Earth,” said Bian.

Jon was struck by Bian’s words. He felt the same as Bian.

The two continued to share more with each other. Finally, it was time to go.

They took a cab back to campus and Jon escorted Bian back to Hartley Hall.

“I’d like to exchange phone numbers with you. Is that OK with you?” Jon asked.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“Thank you for a wonderful day, Bian,” said Jon.

“And you the same, Jon,” said Bian.



Chapter 3

Jon picked up his receiver and gave Bian a call from his apartment.

“Bian?”, asked Jon.

“Yes,” replied Bian.

“This is Jon calling. Do you have a minute or two to talk?”

“Yes, I do,” said Bian.

“Well, first let me ask how you’re doing,” said Jon.

“I’m doing well, Jon,” said Bian.

“And school, how’s that going?” asked Jon.

“Well, I'm off to a busy start, but that’s not surprising,” said Bian.

“I’m calling to ask if you would like to go with me this Sunday afternoon and hear Santiago Pena, president of Paraguay, speak at the World Leaders Forum in Low Library, then afterwards have an early picnic meal in Riverside Park with me.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” said Bian.

“Great. I’ll meet you again in the Hartley Hall lobby around quarter of 2. Will that work for you?” asked Jon.

“Yes, Jon, that will work fine. Thanks for the double invitation,” said Bian.

“Oh, and by the way, I’ll have our picnic meal ready for us. We’ll have to pick it up at my apartment after the talk. I live on Riverside Drive between 114th and 115th Streets,” said Jon.

“I look forward to both,” said Bian.

“Have a good rest of the week,” said Jon. “See you Sunday.”


Jon got to the Hartley Hall lobby a bit early Sunday afternoon and sat down on a sofa to wait for Bian. On Saturday, Jon had written his most recent poem and he had brought it and two others to read to Bian during their picnic. After a short wait, Bian entered the lobby.

“Bian, it's so nice to see you again,” said Jon.

“It’s so nice to see you, too,” said Bian.

“Well, are we ready to head out?” said Jon.

“I am,” said Bian.

“OK, let’s go,” said Jon.

The two headed toward Low Library, now no longer a library, but the main administrative center of the University. Further, the Rotunda was glorious. That’s where President Santiago Pena would be speaking.  

The President began his speech with a concise history of Paraguay followed by his attempts to deal with the societal ills in his country, and then spoke at length about his belief, his wish, for all nations in both Central and South America to be united into one nation. Finally, he took a number of questions from members of the audience. The program lasted about an hour.

“I found President Pena’s comments about the potential unification of all countries in Central and South America united provocative,” said Jon.

“The world is one. Why not start with all nations in Central and South America?” added Bian as she and Jon walked down the steps in front of Low Library.


“Another beautiful Fall day,” said Jon. “A beautiful day for a picnic.”

They headed down College walk, crossed Broadway, then turned left on Riverside Drive and walked toward Jon’s apartment building that was just beyond 115th Street.

“Come on up while I gather all the picnic items,” said Jon, so they took the elevator to the 5th floor, got out, and walked down the hallway to Apt. 515.

“Here’s where I live,” said Jon. Bian entered first.

“You have a beautiful view of the park and the Hudson River, Jon,” said Bian.

Jon put all picnic items from the refrigerator into a large bag and grabbed the large, folded blanket lying on the sofa in the living room, then said, “Now let’s go find a great spot to have a picnic,” said Jon.

The two crossed Riverside Drive and entered Riverside Park. After spending several minutes looking around, Bian said, “Over there. That looks like a nice spot.”

When they got to the spot, Jon put everything he had been carrying on the ground and unfolded the blanket and spread it out.

"This will be an old-fashioned Kansas picnic, Bian. I hope you like it,” said Jon.

Bian sat down on the blanket. Jon began emptying the bag.

“We have before us pieces of fried chicken, coleslaw, baked beans, cleaned strips of carrots and celery, and black olives. Here are the paper plates, utensils, napkins, and cups, along with a container of cool water. I brought water because I don’t drink alcohol.” said Jon. “Plus, I have a surprise dessert.”

Jon then sat down and gave Bian a plate, utensils, and a napkin. “Help yourself, Bian, and enjoy.” And so they did.

After both had eaten everything on their plates, Jon said, “And now for the surprise,”

He reached into the bottom of the bag for the plastic container and pulled it out.

“I have here two pieces of chocolate cake from the Hungarian Pastry Shop,” he said.

“Oh, the cake looks delicious!” said Bian.

Jon carefully put the pieces of cake on plates, then handed one to Bian.

“We had no Hungarian Pastry Shop in Kansas,” said Jon.

After eating their pieces of chocolate cake, Bian and Jon chatted for quite a while, mostly about their respective childhoods, which were, surprisingly enough, quite similar. Being loved by one’s parents, especially, was the most important experience that both shared.

“I’d like to share with you, Bian, several poems I’ve recently written,” said Jon.

“I’d like that very much,” said Bian.

“The first one I’ll recite is titled I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN.

I WRITE WHEN THE RIVER’S DOWN

I write when the river’s down,
when the ground’s as hard as
a banker’s disposition and as
cracked as an old woman’s face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write when
horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river’s down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.


The next poem is titled THERE WILL COME A TIME.

THERE WILL COME A TIME

There will come a time
when time doesn’t matter,
when all minutes and
millennia are but moments
when I look into your eyes.
There will come a time
when clinging things
will fall like desiccated
leaves, leaving us with
but one another. There
will come a time when
the external becomes eternal,
when holding you is to
embrace the universe.
There will come a time
when to be will no longer
be infinitive, but infinity,
and you and I are one.


The last poem I’ll share with you today is THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU.


THERE IS A TENDER WAY TO TOUCH YOU

There is a tender way to touch you,
not more than a brush across your cheek.
I seek a gentle kiss so not to miss your soft
and red-rose lips that meet mine, the glory
of your darkened hair that falls across my face
as I unlace your flowered blouse to place
my fingertips upon your silk-like skin to begin
to love the rest of you. I lay you down on soft,
blue sheets, your head upon pillows made of
wild willow leaves softer than robin’s feathers.
I bare your beauty slowly that glows like a candle’s
flame in a room that is at once dark and bright.
The light comes from your luminous eyes that smile
at me as I reveal the rest of you from waist to knees
to heels and toes. No one knows the tender touch
I bestow upon your gentle being that I alone am seeing.


“Thank you, Jon, for sharing these poems with me. They moved me. I hope you’ll share others with me,” said Bian.

It was time to call it an afternoon. Jon walked with Bian all the way back to Hartley Hall.

“Have a good week, Bian,” said Jon, then leaned forward and
kissed her lips lightly.



Chapter 4


Bian and Jon began studying together in Butler Library. They read, they wrote, they laughed together. They got to know each other increasingly well. Their relationship, seemingly effortlessly, became romantic. They began to spend more time in Jon’s apartment. They became lovers.

Bian brought Jon a sense of happiness into his life that he had never experienced before. Not surprisingly, the same was true for Bian in a similar way, who previously, but not consciously, had always felt somewhat on the periphery of life in America. They complemented and enjoyed each other, so much so that full-blown love blossomed.

This is how the rest of the semester flowed. When Christmas break came, they decided to fly to Paris and spend the holidays there. Of course, they visited the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame. They strolled down Champs-Elysees and through Montmartre, ate mostly at bistros, and took a trip to see Versailles.

Among other excursions, they traveled to Amiens to see the famous cathedral there. Overlooking the Somme River, the Amiens Cathedral was built between 1220 and 1270. It was the largest cathedral in France, twice the size of Notre Dame. Jon said the skyscrapers in New York City paled in comparison to Amiens Cathedral.

Back to Columbia, New York City, and Spring semester. When the weather warmed, they spent many week-end afternoons in Central Park, visited many other sites, ate all kinds of ethnic foods, and, of course, had breakfast at Tom’s often. Furthermore, Bian’s parents were flying from Hanoi to New York City to attend Commencement.

But the highlight not only of the moment, but also, and most importantly, of the rest of her life, was Jon proposing marriage to her the week before they were to graduate, which, in a state of both shock and pure joy, she accepted. He gave her a diamond engagement ring he had bought at Tiffany’s.

“It is such an honor and a pleasure to meet both of you, Mr. and Mrs. Ly,” said Jon. Mr. Ly translated for his wife who knew no English.


Commencement at Columbia was always a transcendental exercise. That evening, the four of them celebrated by having dinner at Eleven Madison Park, courtesy of Mr. Minh. Three days later, Bian and Jon were married in
St. Paul’s Chapel on the Columbia campus.

Bian and John rented a cottage on Cape Cod for the summer. A summer of love it was. Sailing, relaxing, chatting, making love–all that two human beings could wish for.

The first thing Jon felt he needed to do was to call Chad, who had been Jon's roommate at Columbia, to thank him for coming to the wedding. They had a nice chat, then Chad asked the question below:

“Jon, I just have to ask you this one question,” said Chad. “Is Bian’s father, by any chance, Minh Ly?”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Jesus, Jon! Did you know that Minh Ly is one of the richest men on the planet?”

Silence.

Finally, Jon said, “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Not only is Minh Ly one of the richest men on Earth, but he is one of the most connected in the entire world. But most people, even the richest, don’t know how internationally influential he is. He keeps an extremely low profile.

More silence.

“I didn’t know any of this, Chad. Bian never mentioned to me even an iota of what you have just told me,” said Jon.

“Well, Jon, I had to ask,” said Chad. “I hope you’re not disconcerted.”

“No, no, Chad. I guess I’m just flabbergasted,” said Jon.

“I found out about Minh Ly when I was invited to join members of the top brass at a Goldman Sachs luncheon and Minh Ly’s name popped into the conversation for a minute or two. That’s all,” said Chad.

“Fine, Chad. Thanks for telling me this,” said Jon, then hung up.


Chapter 5


Jon sat in the stuffed chair by the fireplace for a long time. Bian had driven into Hyannis to do some shopping.

When Bian had mentioned during one of their chats she had wanted to “heal the Earth” during her life, that phrase–that particular phrase–had pierced his being, bringing fully into his consciousness the same overpowering sentiment.  Once she had uttered those three words, Jon’s life had been profoundly and permanently affected. He had even written what he considered to be a “commentary,” a brief, concise pathway that humankind could follow to save the world, to create Peace on Earth forever. He had had no intention of ever sharing it with Bian, until now. Jon rose from his chair and went into the bedroom and opened the closet door and pulled out the big cardboard box in which he kept all of his poems. Near the top, he saw his commentary. He lifted it out and sat down on the bed and began to read it again.

PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE

Turning the World Rightside-In

by

Jon Witherston


PREAMBLE:  All we have is our little planet, Earth. For the vast majority of my life, I have thought, “What would it be like to have Peace on Earth?” But for only two, maybe three, weeks every year, usually around Christmas, I would see the phrase “Peace on Earth," usually on Christmas cards. But after Christmas, I would not hear or see that sanguine notion for 11 more months. The longer I lived, the more this annual ritual bothered me. At Andover, I had studied European history. At Columbia, I had majored in American history. Over time, I increasingly came to the realization that in both prep school and college, I had essentially been studying about wars on top of wars and their aftermaths:  millions and millions and millions of human beings being killed. Then, when I got curious, I used my computer to find out that, according to many scholars, only a little over 200, out of roughly 3,400 years of recorded history, were deemed “peaceful.” Humanity, I concluded, had a horrible track record when it came to effectuating “Peace on Earth.” And during my lifetime things have not gotten any better.  
      
SPIRITUAL ECOLOGY:  There is one land, one sky, one sea, one people. The boundaries that divide us are not on maps, but in our minds and hearts. John Donne was prescient. Earth is as impoverished as its poorest Citizen, as healthy as her sickest, as educated as her most ignorant. If we pollute the upper waters of the Mississippi, then ineluctably we shall pollute the Indian Ocean. If we continue to pollute our air, the current 8,100,000,000 Citizens on Earth will die. All species will be accorded the same concern and care as Citizens of Earth. The imminent threats of nuclear holocaust and catastrophic climate change we need urgently to prevent. This is the truth of Spiritual Ecology.  

CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH:  If we can wage war, why should we not wage peace? Nations are anachronistic;  therefore, there will be none. There will only be Earth and Citizens of Earth. Each Citizen of Earth will devote a 10 years between 18 and 60 of her/his life to the betterment of humankind and Earth. All military weapons--from handguns to hydrogen bombs--will be destroyed, and any future weapons will be prohibited. All jails and prisons will be closed, replaced by Love Centers (see below). Automation and other technological advances will enhance the opportunity for all Citizens of Earth to realize exponentially their potential, personally and spiritually. There will be no money. All precious resources and assets of Earth will be distributed equally among all Citizens of Earth. The only things each will own are the right to be treated well and the responsibility to treat Earth and all its Citizens well. All Citizens will be free to travel anywhere, at any time, on Earth. All Citizens will be free to choose their own personal and professional goals, but will do no harm to Earth or other Citizens. All Citizens will be afforded the same resources to live a full, safe, and satisfying life, including the best education, health care, housing, food, and other necessities throughout Earth.

LOVE:  The only way to change anything for the good, for good, is through love. Love is what every living creation on Earth needs. Love Centers are for those Citizens who were not loved enough, or at all, especially at their earliest of ages. Concomitantly, they act out their pain hurtfully, sometimes lethally, often against other Citizens. Citizens who are emotionally ill will be separated from those who are not. Jails and prisons only abet this deleterious situation. Some Citizens in pain may need to be constrained in Love Centers humanely while they recover, through being loved, so they do not hurt themselves or others. In some extreme cases, Citizens may be in so much pain that they remain violent for a long time.  Thus, they may need to be constrained for the rest of their lives, but always loved, never punished. In time, Citizens, when loved enough, will only have love to give, and the need for Love Centers will commensurately decline.

EARTH:  In 1948, Eleanor Roosevelt chaired the commission that wrote the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. UDHR, with some updates and revisions, will serve as the moral and legal guidepost for Earth.

GENERAL ASSEMBLY:  Earth will be divided into sections of approximately the same size. One Citizen of Earth from each section will be elected only for one five-year term as members of the General Assembly. Every five years, new Citizens of Earth will be elected.

FIRST VOTE:  The first vote of all Citizens of Earth will be to establish CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH. Majority rules. All Citizens will have access to Internet voting, as well as access to cell phones and other types of computers. Citizens of Earths will have her/his own secured ID codes. Citizens of Earth will have to be 18 or older to vote. Citizens of Earth will be encouraged to bring before the General Assembly all ideas and recommendations, as well as any concerns or complaints, which will be considered and responded to promptly. Citizens of Earth's ideas and recommendations will be formed into proposals drafted by members of the General Assembly. Citizens of Earth will vote on these proposals of each month during the first two weeks of the following month. Citizens of Earth will be Earth’s government. Members of the General Assembly will be facilitators who will work with millions of volunteers. There will be no president of Earth.

THE FUTURE:  There will be no money.  All items on Earth will be given  shares of worth. Each Citizen of Earth will receive equal shares of worth. All shares in excess of what’s needed reasonably by each Citizen of Earth will be saved for future generations. No violence of any kind will occur during the transfer of these shares. Citizens of Earth will take these steps because they are the moral, the right, steps to take to save all living creations on Earth, and Earth itself.

CELEBRATE AND SHARE: If one were to take a photograph of humanity and gaze at it, one would see a beautiful mosaic of mankind of different, beautiful colors. If one could step into the photograph, one would hear a melody of languages and dialects. One could have a worldwide picnic with all your sisters and brothers and experience different customs and taste different, delicious foods. And in moments of silence, all of you could pray in your different religions, separate but together at the same time. One would also share the same human laughter and joys and feel the same sorrows and cry the same tears, all in Peace on Earth eternal. All would come to delight in these differences, not dread them. All would look forward to celebrating and sharing with your fellow Citizens of Earth, not killing them. The spiritual whole would be larger than the sum of its sacred parts.

A QUANTUM LEAP:  The world, over millennia, kept evolving. Over 3,400 years of recorded history, powers, nations, kept shifting, sometimes seismically. Now is the time for not only the grandest seismic shift ever, but also the one that will save Earth and all living creations upon it. It is time for Earth to become one Earth--not a scattering of over 200 nations with artificial borders. Technology, with its innumerable advances, has made us into a world when all can become one. We are free to be our real selves, to spend our variegated lives, not aggrandizing, but sharing and giving. Rather than dreading our superficial differences--our different skin colors, our different cultures, our different religions, our different languages--we can explore and enjoy them. Let us finally be what we truly have been forever, one big, worldwide family of humanity. No more wars, no more weapons, no more killing. No more hunger, no more homelessness, no more hopelessness. No more ignorance, no more illnesses, no more social classes. This is the quantum leap of which I speak.

PEACE ON EARTH:  Wealth is not worth. The mansuetude of loving and being love is. When love is your currency, all else is counterfeit. Citizens of Earth will be able to go about creating their own happiness that is built on love-based personal relationships and professional activities. No longer will human beings be able to profit from another’s pain. With love at the center of being and living, there will be no more wars, no more dictators, no more corruption. Finally, there will only be Peace on Earth forever.

Copyright 2026 Jon Witherston.


Jon heard the front door open and shut.

“Bian, I’m in the bedroom,” said Jon. “I’ve got something I want you to read.”

Bian came into the bedroom. “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s something you inspired,” replied Jon.

Bian kissed Jon on the cheek then sat on the bed.

“Read it, then we’ll chat,” said Jon. He handed the commentary to Bian who began reading.

“Jon, when did you write this?” asked Bian.

“I wrote it after you shared with me your desire to spend your life trying to heal Earth,” said Jon. “At Tom’s. Do you remember?”

“I’ve always dreamed of this ever since my father told me about the war,” she said. “What I remember about Tom’s is when I told you I was majoring in Human Rights, you said the whole world should be majoring in Human Rights.”

“Of course, I remember that, too,” said Jon.


What Bian came to realize about her father as she grew up was he had become anti-war. He had come to hate it. But there were two things she had never known about him, though. First, her father was one of the wealthiest men on Earth. Yes, she knew he was well-to-do:  she had grown up, after all, in a large, comfortable home, and her father had had the money to pay for her expensive educations,  Second, he had belonged, for almost two decades now, to a secret, worldwide group of extremely wealthy and influential men and women who wished for, and were working toward, a world that would never know war.

Jon did not dare tell Bian about what Chad had shared with him over the phone, about her father’s megawealth. Bian had never known about her father's pursuit of eternal Peace on Earth. She always had thought all those trips had to do with his businesses.

“I’d like to elaborate a bit on what you’ve read in my commentary, Bian, if you care to,” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“I’m thinking about the poor,” Jon said. “The poor, and the extremely poor, on Earth, as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund have put it,” Jon said, with more than a tinge of contempt. “Out of 8 billion human beings on Earth, roughly 2 ½ billion fall into these two ‘statistical’ categories. That’s more than 1 out of 4 human lives on Earth desperately trying to survive day-to-day.

“Here’s my idea, Bian,” said Jon.

“There are more than 7,000 languages and dialects spoken on Earth. Most of the poor speak those dialects. How to communicate with them is our biggest challenge. In broad strokes and succinctly, this is what I have in mind. I want to share this with you and hope you’ll be my partner.

“I want to travel Earth with you. I want to meet first the poor of Earth with you, speak with them, eat with them, live with them, answer all their questions about creating one land, one sky, one sea, one people. I want to talk with them about all Citizens of Earth cooperating with, not competing against, one another, creating Peace on Earth through love forever. If ever we can create a vote on CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH, I’m sure the vast majority of them would vote for it.

“We would start in Mexico, then visit the nations of Central America, then those of South America. Then we would go to Africa where there are so many poor and do the same thing. Then the rest of the world.

“Does all of this sound audacious, Bian? Well, it should, because it is,” said Jon. “Logistics will be beyond enormous, but in my heart, I believe there will be eventually millions and millions and millions of volunteers around the world who will wish to join in.”

Bian had sat on the bed taking all of this in, paused, then said to her husband whom she loved and admired so much, “Jon, you are a genius, but all of this does sound audacious. My first idea is to share all of this with my father and get his reaction to your commentary and what you’ve just shared with me. He knows the world probably as well, if not better, than any other person on Earth.”

“A great idea!” said Jon.

“I’ll call him at 10 p.m. tonight. It will be 9 a.m. in Hanoi,” said Bian excitedly.



Chapter 6


Bian spoke with her father that evening. Bian thought she had detected a good measure of surprise, if not excitement, in his voice. He would be in Toronto on business in mid-September. He could meet his daughter and Jon at 10 a.m. at the Ritz-Carlton on Monday, the 11th. He said he would leave a note at the front desk telling them which room he was staying in. He told Bian he always used aliases when he traveled, a fact she had not previously known. Understandably, Bian was thrilled.

Bian and Jon had enjoyed immensely the rest of the summer, as only on Cape Cod one can. They flew from Logan Airport to Toronto the morning of Sunday, 10 September. They arrived at the Ritz-Carlton around 9:45 Monday morning.

“I believe you have a note waiting for Bian and Jon,” said Bian.

“Just a minute, please,” said the clerk.

“Here,” said the clerk and handed it to Bian.

“Thank you,” said Bian. “Father’s in room #715.”

The two took the elevator to the 7th floor, found the room, and knocked on the door. In a moment or two, Minh Ly opened it.

“My dear daughter, Bian! How are you?” said Mr. Ly as he gave his daughter a big hug. “And you, Jon, how are you?”

Jon shook Mr. Ly’s hand as he entered the room.

“So good to see you, sir,” said Jon.

“Come in. Make yourselves comfortable,” said Mr. Ly.

“Mr. Ly, the first thing I would like to share with you is my commentary. It is an overview of what I would like to pursue with Bian,” said Jon.

“Let me read it,” said Mr. Ly.

It took a couple of minutes for My Ly to finish reading. He paused for several moments, then exclaimed “Jon, this is extraordinary!”

“Bian inspired me,” said Jon. “You know, Mr. Ly, I’m a poet, not a financier. It would take untold amounts of money and the best technology on Earth--unbelievable amounts of it--to realize this dream.”

“Don’t worry. I have friends,” said Mr. Ly.

"I envision Bian and I traveling around the world visiting the poorest sections of most of the biggest cities on Earth, using a translator when necessary to explain how we collectively can bring lasting peace to Earth. Furthermore, I expect not only the worldwide, but also the local, media to be informed of these gatherings," Jon said.

"You need to know I must always remain anonymous. Bian, you, and I shall need to meet periodically. I and my friends have developed ways always to be in touch, but will never be able to be detected. I wish not to elaborate. Jon. You inspire me the way Bian inspired you,” said Mr. Ly.


Chapter 7

“Read me some more of your poems,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon and went to get the box that contained his poems in the  closet. He looked through the stack and selected several of them, then sat down next to Bian on the living room sofa.

“The first one I’d like to share with you is titled SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS.


SOUTHWESTERN KANSAS

When you fly to southwestern Kansas,
you see a different kind of Kansas.
The land is flat,
the sky is big and blue,
and the folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.

On a ranch down near Liberal,
the black night roars
and the wind is wet.
All are happy tonight, for there is rain
and tomorrow the pastures will grow greener.

In the morning when the sun first shines,
the hired hands
with leathered countenances
and gnarled fingers
awake in old ranch houses
made of adobe brick
and slip on their muddy cowboy boots
and faded blue jeans
to begin another day of hard labor.

On the open prairie made green by rain,
tan and white cattle huddle together,
munching on green grass and purple sage.
A new-born calf bawls.
Her mother, the Hereford cow,
is there to care
and the baby calf ***** her belly full
of mother’s milk.

About 60 miles to the north
and a little to the west,
The sun stands high in a blue sky
dotted with little puffs of white.
At noon in Ulysses,
folk eat at the Coffee Cafe:
Swiss steak, short ribs, or sweetbreads
on Tuesdays
with chocolate cake for dessert.

The folk, the common folk, well, they get along,
the common folk get along in Ulysses.
They got a new high school and a Rexall drug store,
a water tower and a drive-in movie theater.
They got loads of Purina Chow,
plenty of John Deere combines,
and co-op signs stuck on almost everything.
And they got a main street several blocks long
with a lot of pick-up trucks parked on either side
driven by wheat farmers
with silver-white crew cuts
and narrow string ties.

Things are spread out in southwestern Kansas.
A blanket woven of green, brown, and yellow
patches of earth,
sown together by miles of barbed-wire fences,
spreads interminably into the horizon.
Occasional, faceless, little country towns,
distinguished only by imposing grain elevators
spiraling into the sky
like concrete cathedrals,
are joined tenuously together by
endless asphalt streaks
and dusty country roads,
pencil-line thin
and ruler straight,
flanked on either side
by telephone poles and wind-blown wires
strung one
after another,
after another
in monotonous succession.

But things, things aren’t too bad in southwestern Kansas.
Alfalfa’s growing green
and irrigation’s coming in.
Rain’s been real good
and the cattle market’s really strong.
The folk, they got the 1st National on weekdays
and the 1st Methodist in between.
The kids, they got 4-H clubs and scholarships to K-State.
And Ulysses, it’s got all that the big towns got–
gas, lights, and water.
So the folk, the common folk, well, they get along.
the common folk get along in southwestern Kansas.


“The next poem is SIMONE, SIMONE," said Jon.


SIMONE, SIMONE

Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone
please come to me
and bear your breast
for me to rest
my weary head
and shattered heart
upon a part
so soft and warm.
Simone, Simone
I’m all alone.
Simone, Simone.


“The final poem, Bian, is TREE LIMBS,” said Jon.


TREE LIMBS

A long time ago,
I used to lie on my bed
and look out my window
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.

And I used to watch the cars
as they traveled by,
some fast, some slow,
from right to left, and left to right,
and wonder where they were going to
and coming from.

Once from my window
I hit a bus with my BB gun.
I was scared
because I knew I wasn’t
supposed to shoot buses,
even though it was kind of fun.

And sometimes I used
to hide behind my curtains
and watch the pretty
girls walk by my house
in their swimming suits
coming back from
the pool in the park.

But mostly I just used to lie
on my bed and think,
and watch the big elm tree
as it died slowly.


“I love not only your poetry, Jon, but also how you read each one,” said Bian.

Jon gave her a kiss.

They drove to the tip of Cape Cod to watch the sunset, then drove back to the Twenty-Eight Atlantic to have dinner. Bian ordered oysters, lobster “Carbonara,” kale salad, and scallops. Jon had salmon tartare, chowder, baby green salad, and grilled octopus.

“Well, I’m excited!” Jon said. “We have a tremendous amount of planning to do, but we will have the experience of our lifetimes, and my greatest pleasure will be sharing it with you.”

“D’accord!” said Bian.



Chapter 8


Bian and Jon began preparations with gusto.

Mr. Ly and his friends would pay all expenses;  they would handle all details, such as reservations for air travel and hotels and rental cars;  they would contact the best interpreters in each country and pay them; they would contact leading newspapers and other news organizations in the world, including, but not limited to, the New York Times, the Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, USA Today, Los Angeles Times, Youimuri Shimbun, Asahi Shimbun, Bild, The Daily Telegraph,  Le Monde, Times of India, China Daily, Russian Today, BBC, CNN, CBS, NBC, ABC, MSNBC, NHK (Japan), ZDJ (German), Univision, China Media Group, Telemundo, and they would contact the leading media–newspapers and TV and radio stations–in the largest city of each country prior to Bian and Jon’s visit there.  

Somewhat tired, but extremely gratified, they sat on the sofa in early evening to listen to Jon’s favorite Beethoven Symphony, #7. The Symphony’s second movement “was a jewel,” Jon said. Of course, he leaned back and closed his eyes as he listened.

When the recording was over, and after a silent pause, Jon slowly stood up, and without ever saying a word, reached down and picked up Bian, and holding her in his arms, carried her carefully into the bedroom where he stood her up beside the bed, then, slowly and softly, undressed her, and after he had pulled back the bed sheets, picked Bian up again and lay her on the bed. Then he undressed and got into bed beside her.

The room was dark and full of silence. Then Jon turned toward the woman who had brought limitless joy into his life and said to her, “Bian, who in the Heavens made you?” And then he kept leaning until he gently lay upon his wife, and these two lovers made love deep into the dark of night.


Chapter 9

Jon was thinking about Minh Ly. Jon knew he was beyond genius, but more importantly, Ly made Jon think of what Jorge Luis Borges had once written, that every person’s most important task was to transmute pain into compassion. Ly had been the youngest General ever appointed by ** Chi Minh, and, in short, General Ly had had to order North Vietnamese soldiers into battle. 1,100,000 of them had died during the long, ugly, brutal Vietnam War. Minh Ly had spent many days in tears. That he had had the fortitude to persevere and ultimately transmute his unbearable pain into compassion is what Jon most respected about Minh Ly. Because he was so brilliant, Ly initially threw himself into the throes of worldwide business at war’s end, amassing, over a number of years, massive wealth:  billions and billions and billions of dollars. Concurrently, however, Minh Ly, overtime, experienced a life-changing metamorphosis. He came to realize that wealth was not worth, as Jon had written in his commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE, that compassion was humanity’s most important goal, that only love could save Earth. And that was why he ultimately decided to use wealth not to buy as much of Earth as he could, but to use it to save all of Earth, to eradicate all the vicious inequities that had ineluctably killed billions of human beings over many millennia. Moreover, he secretly went around the world and met with his megawealthy friends, asking them to join him in this goal, and many of them did join him. Now Minh Ly and his friends were warring against war, fighting every injustice that caused horrid hell into which all the poor, all who suffered from myriad forms of racism through torture and death, fell. Minh Ly was hell-bent on saving Earth and all living creations upon it. Then he met Jon.  

Bian, thought Jon, was as incredibly intelligent as her father. Of course, she was soft-spoken, but that belied her brilliance. After all, Bian has just completed the most rigorous, as well as the best, undergraduate liberal arts education to be found on Earth, graduating Summa *** Laude, an incredible academic achievement. Jon knew how much she loved her father, and he believed as well that his wife yearned, probably unconsciously, to emulate her father. That notion alone was enough to cause Jon to fall in love with Bian, then propose to and marry her. Now she was co-parthers with Jon and her father to realize her wish:  to heal Earth.

“I wrote a new poem yesterday, Bian. Would you like to her it?” said Jon.

“Of course,” said Bian.

“OK,” said Jon who then reached into his satchel and pulled out the new poem and began reading it.


SOLITUDE AND GRACE

I will wander
into wilderness
to find myself.
I will leave behind
my accoutrements,
memories of medals,
of past applause
and accolades,
accomplishments that
warranted degrees
and diplomas
portending future
successes. I like
who I am, who
I have become. No,
I love myself, and that
is my greatest achievement,
the acme most men
are blind to as they
mistake wealth for worth.
Most would say
I will be lonely,
but they are wrong,
because I will always be
with my best friend ever,
my real self. And I will
share my joy with
squirrels and rabbits
and deer, with bushes
and broken branches
and brush, with rills
and rivulets and rivers,
with rising and setting
suns and countless
stars coruscating in
night's sky. I will say
prayers to piles of pine
and sycamore limbs
that once were live,
but now make monuments
I worship. I am at one
with all I prize.  My eyes,
even when they are closed,
see their beauty. I know
I will be blessed forever.
I lie on my bed, Earth,
and wait to join all
in solitude and grace.


“That was beautiful, Jon,” said Bian as she sped toward Logan Airport.

“Thank you, my dear,” replied Jon.



Chapter 9

Jon was thinking about Minh Ly. Jon knew he was beyond genius,. Ly had been the youngest General ever appointed by ** Chi Minh, and, in short, General Ly had had to order North Vietnamese soldiers into battle. 1,100,000 of them had died during the long, ugly, brutal Vietnam War. Minh had spent many days in tears. That he had had the fortitude to persevere and ultimately transmute his unbearable pain into compassion is what Jon most respected about Minh Ly. Because he was so brilliant, Ly initially threw himself into the throes of worldwide business at war’s end, amassing, over a number of years, massive wealth:  billions and billions and billions of dollars. Concurrently, however, Ly, over time, experienced a life-changing metamorphosis. He came to realize that wealth was not worth, as Jon had written in his commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE, that compassion was humanity’s most important goal, that only love could save Earth. And that was why he ultimately decided to use wealth not to buy as much of Earth as he could, but to use it to save Earth, to eradicate all the vicious inequities that had ineluctably killed billions of human beings over many millennia. Moreover, he secretly went around the world and met with his megawealthy friends, asking them to join him in this lifelong endeavor. Now Ly and his friends were warring against war, fighting every injustice that caused horrid hell into which all the poor--all who suffered from myriad forms of racism through torture and death--fell. Ly was hell-bent on saving Earth and all living creations upon it. Then he met Jon.  


Chapter 10

“Do come in! How wonderful to see you both again! Your visits are becoming the highlight for me every month,” exclaimed Mr. Ly.

Bian, before she said a word, rushed forward into her father’s open arms to be hugged by him. For almost a minute, Bian stayed silent in her father’s arms. She did not want him to stop hugging her;  it felt so good. Finally, Bian stepped back and, almost in a yell, said, “I love you!”

“My dear Bian, I love you too, with all my heart,” said Mr. Ly. “And you, Jon, it is always special to meet a person like you. You are my only son and I am blessed to have you now as part of my family. Please, both of you, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr Ly. I am honored now to be a member of the Ly family,” said Jon, then joined Bian on the sofa.

Jon spoke again.

“Mr. Ly, I have for you the information you will need to prepare the press releases you will send to all media and people you wish to inform about our imminent sojourn January 2027. Here it is,” said Jon, and handed the pages to him.

Mr. Ly continued.

“Bian and Jon, I need to share with both of you the following. My friends and I will create our own Starlink-like internet company so no Citizen of Earth--as you, Jon, call all 8 billion human beings on Earth–cannot be blocked when each votes on CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH. Furthermore, we will provide cell phones to all CITIZENS OF EARTH.  And Bian and Jon, you will be able to visit safely in all the more than the 50 totalitarian nations. How is this possible, you ask? It is possible because I and my friends have our ways. In addition, we shall translate your commentary PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE into all 7,000 languages and dialects and, beginning January 2027, will send it monthly to all media. This will continue until the vote on CAMPAIGN ON EARTH takes place during the first two weeks of 2028. And, as you have told me, Jon, only love can save Earth.”

“Mr. Ly, you are, with the exception of your daughter, the most intelligent, the most compassionate, the most self-effacing human being I have had the honor of ever meeting. You know, I’m sure, the difference between personhood and behavior. Everyone’s personhood is sacred, inviolable, intrinsic, whereas so many peoples' behavior is often uncaring or hurtful, or even much worse. It is not unusual to react to one’s untoward behavior with at least displeasure, if not outright hate, even on rare occasions with violence. But this latter response is unknowing. When one encounters bad behavior to any degree and wishes it were not so, do not exacerbate what is already deleterious by making it even worse through punishment. Instead, constrain this negativity and love this forsaken person. Love is the cure for all those who suffer pain. It may take a lot of love to heal a hurting soul, even a lifetime, perhaps even longer. But love is the antidote for all emotional maladies. But for one to be able to love others, one must first be loved preferably by one’s parents. This dilemma is what our world suffers from the most. Wealth, fame, power–all are illusory and therefore feckless. They are but unconscious efforts to compensate for lack of love, and that is why our world has been turned inside-out for millennia. Only being loved, and then being able to love, will we be able to turn our world right-side in. Then, and only then, will we have Peace on Earth forever, and for the first time.

“I lavish praise upon you, because you are a beyond-magnificent human being, Mr. Ly,” concluded Jon.

Mr. Ly sat in silence, stunned. Finally, he said, “Thank you, thank you, Jon.”


Chapter 11

Upon returning to Cape Cod, Bian and Jon packed everything they thought they would need for their long, long trip to Mexico, Central America, and South America. They then flew to Mexico City. Jon wanted to give a speech in Iztapalapa, one of poorest sections of the nation's capital. Jon gave his speech before a large crowd and a sizable group of worldwide media. Bian thought Jon's speech was well received. She sensed the crowd's reaction was positive. After the speech, the two spent an hour or so mixing with the crowd with the translator answering questions and telling each person he spoke to that that person could help realize Peace on Earth by chatting with friends about how love would change the world from killing to caring.

"Jon, you gave a great speech!," said Bian. "I'm so proud of you."

"We are co-pilots, Bian. We can't hope to succeed without both of us," said Jon. "On to the next nation!" They then flew to Belize, the only nation in Central America whose main language was English.

Jon gave his speech at the University of Belize. Many students gathered to hear him. Belize had a comparatively low percentage of poverty--about 25%. But as Bian and Jon ambled through the crowd, Bian, along with Jon, spent the better part of the afternoon enjoying not only chatting, but also found time to have long conversations with both the students and a number of professors.

Bian and Jon were a bit tired, so they decided to spend the night at the Inn at Twin Palms in Belmopan. They decided to eat dinner at the Paddle House Restaurant

Bian ordered first. "I'd like the Shrimp and Chorizo Soup. Then I'd like the Basil Pesto Paneer and Cherry Tomato Salad, Next, I'd like the Cream of Yucca Shrimp Pasta. Then for dessert, I'd like the Wild Berry Chocolate Cake."

Now it was Jon's turn. "First, I'd like the Seasonal Seafood Soup. Next, I'd like the Grilled Chicken Ceasar Salad. Then I'd like the
Chuleta de Cordero. For dessert, I'd like the Wine Poached Pear."

They ate their meals with gusto, then flew to Guatemala City.

Jon and Bian decided to go to Zone 3, one of the poorest sections of Guatemala City. In early afternoon, Jon gave his speech with the help of the translator. An increasingly large number of worldwide media showed up. The crowed was large also. The fever Bian felt from the crowd was palpable. Bian and Jon even got word that their worldwide trip had gone viral on the internet. The two spent the night at Hotel Barcelono. In the morning, they flew to San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador.

One of the poorest sections of San Salvador was Benedicion de Dios. Its citizens faced severe hardships, including extreme poverty, lack of infrastructure, and frequent fire disasters, because most structures were built of wood, zinc, plastic, or cardboard. These people also suffered from unreliable electricity and gas supplies.Violence in Benedicion de Dios abounded. For the first time, a worldwide television network, BBC, interviewed Bian and Jon. The two stayed in the Intercontinental San Salvador Hotel that night, then flew to Tegucigalpa, Honduras.

The poorest section of Tegucigalpa was the community next to the Tegucigalpa Municipal Dump. Many families relied on scavenging through waste for survival. Violence was rampant. Interestingly, a large number of people had already heard about the CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH, so an usually large crowd gather on the edge of the dump. This the kind of place Jon and Bian wanted to be, both to give his speech and to meet and talk with the citizens who daily tried to endure the unthinkable suffering. Even the media were increasing. Jon gave his speech with the help of the translator. Despite the hell these citizens experienced continuously, the crowd roared almost after every sentence Jon spoke. And after Jon finished, the crowd swarmed him. Bian and Jon spent almost three hours meeting, answering, shaking hands, chatting with many in the crowd. Slowly the crowd dispersed. Bian and Jon then took a plane to Managua, Nicaragua.

Reparto Schick is one of the poorest neighborhoods in Managua. One of Bian's and Jon's nameless protectors came up to tell them that NHK, the Japanese television network, had aired an hour-long program of Jon's speech in Mexico City as well as commenting on his PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE speech in particular and CAMPAIGN FOR EARTH in general. "That is wonderful!" exclaimed Bian. Jon gave her a big hug. The reaction to Jon's speech was as enthusiastic, if not more so, than the Tegucigalpa crowd.

"I'm beat," sad Jon. "Let's spend the night in Managua."

"I'm with you," replied Bian.

"Let's spend tonight in Managua, then fly to San Jose, Costa Rica tomorrow morning, OK?" said Jon. Bian agreed. They stayed in the Globales Camino Real.

"Before we go to bed, would you read me one of your poems,?" asked Bian.

John looked through his poems and chose the poem he wanted to read.

"Would you like to hear a romantic poem?" asked Jon.

"I would love to hear a romantic poem, especially if you wrote it," replied Bian.

"Here it is," said Jon and began to read.


COME CLOSER

Come closer.
Touch me softly.
Look into my eyes.
Kiss me, then kiss me again.
Hold me.
Hug me tightly.
Unbutton my shirt.
Kiss my chest.
I feel your lips.
I feel your hair.
Undress me.
Take off your blouse.
Be naked.
Lie on the bed.
Take me to heaven.
I love you dearly.


"Oh, that was beautiful, Jon!," exclaimed Bian.

These two lovers made passionate love until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Lacarpio, Costa Rica is wedged between two highly polluted rivers and a massive landfill. The community struggles with high crime rates, especially caused by violent gang activity. There is limited access to education and health care. Women and children face hardships due to poverty, crime, and lack of resources.

Before Jon gave his speech to another large crowd, he and Bian were interviewed by the China Media Group. After his speech, the two spent again several hours mixing with the crowd, which they were enjoying more and more. Then they flew to Panama City, the capital city of Panama.

There are several extremely poor sections in Panama City:  Curundu; San Miguelito; and Rio Abajo. But the worst is El Chorrillo. The residents of this section suffer poverty, crime, and gang violence, as well as the destruction caused by the U.S. invasion of Panama in 1989.
Katey Aug 2018
My silent scream for help, gone unnoticed yet again.
Joy is the many knives of Julius Ceasar
Stabbing me in the back
I wait for someone to notice, that I'm not okay, I don't know how to be
Does anyone know that sometimes, I don't want to always be the one to start the one way conversation?
Asking, "How was your day?" When the underlying pain says "Help me. I don't want to be alone so talk to me every once in a while"
Every time I get no reply wondering if they are still alive, or if they simply don't like me.
Silent Tears running down my face at the end of every night, reminding me of the losses of the day.
Silent Tears to mark the end of the day, and the start of a new pain
Lxvi Apr 2022
U R
august for augustus
home for fall of rome
a crouton in my ceasar
guilty, I cry seize-her.
I M
deluded in this melting ***
J F K
after-shot
wasting time, thinking thots
the apple of my eye slowly rots
all for the soil, a new seed sews
all in time, my heart grows.

Times will change, I shan't resist
just know my love, you will be missed.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
only that the poles don't know how similar
they are to the Russians,
in Poland the priests receive the major
scorn, the paupers the minor scorn,
while stray dogs run with the ghost
of diogenes of sinope,
        there's hardly a work ethic by
merely talking,
              woe to the scribblers under
the umbrella of technical labours,
woe to the dreaming aloud with
a horizon as wide as a breath,
     but the feet of a drowning man...
woe to no rigour and to the waiting
game of sighs, woe admiring
                            sand blocks playing
like children beneath the gaze at Giza.
now i can understand an angry voice
aged 17, 18, 19...
         8 or so years later and i have
no shame: which is more useful than
to cherish honour...
      like might be said of what Nietzsche
looked for and what Diogenes likewise
did, with the same lantern at noon:
far easier to find god, than an honest man,
gesticulating is plentiful,
     but in what deed is man to unlearn
blabbering like a baby?
unrepentant or remorsless, whichever,
but when the fire is poured
    and there is laughter in this aloofness
and no sulking for a breadth's worth
of night, only then: hardly a reason
to drink in company, or to keep any,
the barrenness of sulking,
       no tender shoulder to hide into,
morbid cold gravestone and the howling
moon, smile and scythe and
the perpetual harvest of man,
    somehow too much lunacy goes
into this religiosity to simply allow
material absolutism of this here and now...  
too much lunacy and in grief
excused, as a man might be found
hunched over a grave talking,
   far beyond god willing...
        because the heart is already invested
far beyond paying a deity its
supposed "dues"...
          sidewinding back into politico,
who are these non-cis non-this-that-and-the-other,
or rather the this-that-and-the-other?
back east i am still an abnormality for
a life of a bachelor, pseudo-cenobite,
suburbia and among the living
it's hardly a convent to mirror silence,
yet still the norm to take a wife,
but as i have only this for my defence:
YOU CAN'T MAKE SOMEONE HAPPY
BY FORCE...
                         perhaps the customs
of Kazakhstan are to forcibly take a wife
as is their ancient custom,
           not by force not by genetic
existentialism, frankly not via the Anglo
lineage of argument,
            patron saint of bachelors Emmanuel
and a new church where but a thought
is enough to give motive, watching
lunatics gesticulate beside themselves,
    slaughterhouses of critiques
and far from the atheistic notion surrounding
it as some sort of debilitating conjuring,
a sign of a low i.q., intellectual fallacy,
immaturity of seeking manna from heaven,
or reading the books with a dusting over
with poo'ems...
                   fixations on a fidgety metaphor,
certainly, some might think they're
the best poets in the world,
    but if they don't have something to stand
on, a heavyweight reading list:
   you can see them, glaring in spring's
sunlight like the mirage of seeing a puddle
of water, when instead a bed of shining platinum.
censorship-in-reverse:
    just like the awkward moment when
a novelist shows his extra limb by using
the thesaurus: suddenly the flow of lexicon
hits a hydroelectric blockade...
     stuttering, stut' stut' stut', stuttering
presence... already Atlas and the strict
take on Sisyphus, who, could have just
sat there at the foot of the hill and looked
at the smoothness and lack of: flip flop
in-grooves and promises of flint knives.
anatomical atlas and his brother,
        the bottom-most vertebra of the backbone,
toy: standing vertical,
                  brother Ccyx, two sugars, brown,
cappucino -ye'bood'yed'ka'put!
   imshi, y'allah!
                      twice removed from kicks,
      and thrice from: sick 'em!
                past all meaning and back into sounds,
that subtle layer of freedom
known only to dogs barking, crows harking,
and sparrow jittering and chatting
up to the high heavens...
         past st. Peter's street to watch
            the golden calf and the crucifix contend
for the laurel crown of ceasar...
            hardly a time to start performing
tango on your knees...
               and when all these horrible,
horrible, cis white men will die,
   and no more children of God are born,
when in vitro overtakes in vivo...
    and when the norm from cis will
shift to bi etc.,
                 comes the snowman and
overshadows the new norms,
                            gateway in the attic,
pampered closet, and what some might
call closet intellectuals...
                             atlas and his titan
brother Ccyx, depicted wearing nothing
but chinos, chiseled brain fudge to perfection,
who holds the weight,
     of the entirety of the human lexicon...
**** it, some random dictionary cascade
to deviate from the Ítálıano:
   chambers of gold chiseled by churning
butter, da da da... charcoal harvest
       of night from a vacuum with an echo
looking for its charitable cavern...
          chasing checkers at Chequers,
we you i: cue queue, and the inexhaustible
chasm of cameos...
           a dream of two chairs
    and a curly ginger imagining gelato,
in later life oral goes out of the curriculum
and it's back to man on top of a woman
as depicted in movies,
   loss of adventure in the bedroom
translates into trips to the amazon
and photo-tics at the taj mahal...
                                  and her name was
Tamara and she lived with 3 gay guys
and i still don't understand why she
wanted to do it under the bedsheets
rather on top of them...
                                hard to get a *******
when you're finding it hard to breathe
in a cocoon like that...
                            elsewhere otherwise...
i always thought you tended to sleep
under the sheets rather than play a game
of ken & barbie...
                                   i was 7 and she was 6
and we were trying to figure out why
we had the parts that the dolls didn't have...
and we inspected each other while taking
a bath, as children of neighbours do.
Destination soldiers holding boulders
Colder bullets causin' tap dancers
Prancer cant go against a gun romancer
Chance ya bets black rap chancellor
****** war student stay beyind prudent
Laying the trident flows posideon
Over the airwaves brains began to graze
Summer time was made in the winter
Off the gun line kosovo rhymes en Fuego
El ***** swinging pistols with a cup of joe
Slow mentals open doors of hell pours
Church is the earth pores bloods explore
All over across the lands prices high demand
Stock numbers most folks love slumber
Dead walking deep wide awake but sleep
Braille to the instincts that creep weap
Once the wrath has begun word to Dogons
Slayin' corporate dragons from another eon
Let's talk gangsta **** prison Monopoly
Watching how the cops be watching thee
Living under the gods spell wicked cartel
I wasn't made to sell nor post bail
Only way im free is be in a casket jail well???



Bruce Lee lyricist flows exorcist
Scaring the **** out of a weak diss
Not even a snake could hiss dismiss
Fools talkin' trash but they can't dish
Out they own fish i attack them critics
Made for poster gimmicks mimics
Dont make it off of my blocks rocks
Go hand in hand in all states pocket Glocks
Street stocks aint where its at matter of fact
Its on a street with no walls hidden stalls
Holding my ***** the last curtain call
Black Jesus murdering Ceasar's
Infamous teasers become believers
Once the guns burns out the bleeders
End recievers watch me dig out their divas
Polygamy origami my salami mommis
Holding charge to my tommies
Grimys don't dare glance a chance
Dance in the moonshine drinking moonshine
Laughing out loud souls bawling loud
But the physical is painless souls stainless
Like my Copperfield use mental bullets
To shield out the emotions Neo matrix
Let's face it most really basic lace it
Stashed the cubans with hash off the dash
Let my thoughts crash then reconstruct the flash
Back memories one to my unharmed armies
Five star general true black Washington
Ball room full of champions and made dons
Rich Hues Apr 2
(Yet another re-write)
....


Of crocodiles
And betrayal,
Boudica's clad
In chain mail,
Cleopatra
 Uncorks
Another bottle,
Scythed-wheeled chariots
Going full throttle.

In gems and jewels
And golden bangles;
Crowns tilted
At jaunty angles.
Telling
Tales of lovers
And kingdoms lost,
And of
The clever men
They'd double-crossed
With ruby lips,
A breath of silk
And pert ******* bathed
In ***** milk,
Until the asp
And an axe
At a slender throat,
Then a sarcophagus
And
A wolfskin coat.

The Iceni queen
And Ptolemy's wife -
Whispering Sappho
In the
After-life;
Where they get
The giggles
About what happened
To Ceasar
And swap some bits of gossip
About
The Queen Of Sheba.
Jena T Jun 2024
Send me on my way wishing well
I don't ask for true love
Though it's nice to be held at night,
Or a million pieces of silver
I'd have to pay it all to Ceasar,
I don't ask for vengeance
Even if some wrongs have never been set right,
I don't ask for the gift of prophecy
My dreams are enough already,

I ask,
My throat be quenched on a hot day,
A fire warm my face in bitter cold,
Laughter never far from my lips,
Not a care when a wrong is better off than I,
A sunrise that makes me happy to be alive,
Empty eyes so I never forget why I tossed this coin
To be free of all I cannot say.
TJ Struska Feb 2020
I painted the lips on the clown, But it didn't wash,
In fact it was de facto.
My life was in the toliet,
And I was on flush mode.
Lost to hangovers and headaches, The stuff of
Bad dreams and sad sleep.
And it was all the same
As the red sun rising
To the stink of the highway
With the semi's belching
As I wake to the ***** window.
And the laundry needs doing,
And you have two days
Left on the rent.
And no cigarettes and no job,
And Little Joe's the color
Of avacado on the
Cheap Motel TV.

Hail Ceasar, sleeping on the grass on the edge of the woods. And never you said,
To no one until the cop woke
You saying you best be
Getting on. And Hoss
Tips his hat saying "Shucks
Ma'am " in his green
Slow witted smile.
While in the comfort
Of my cheap motel
The bloated afternoon
Goes on forever.
And I slipped and slid
On the brink of twenty,
And Matt Dillon
Eyes Miss Kitty.
As you remember the bronze
Young boy who dreamed
Of the desert and bats
Rising from dark caves,
Casting beauty in the shadow
Of the mountains.
As I practice this pause with such rare inflection.

Well, back to our show.
Canned beans and bologna
And nary a witness to the
Strange hell of drinking
On a Tuesday afternoon.
And Pa Cartwright looks
Resplendent the color
Of tomato.
And you drink down another
And wake to the stinking
Trucks on their way
From the terminals
To the blight of the
Inner city. And I blurred
Out for a few years,
Coming awake in the 90's.
And I write this poem
To the wind, Forgetting
The cheap motel TV.
I channel Bukowski,
Write a couple lines,
Catch the wave,
Bang on the keyboard,
Write these lines with abandon.
Go the way of the elephant,
Strong in life and graceful
In death. Sleep the long sleep,
Wake to forever.
A true story of loss and discovery and redemption.
WISEPENNY Jul 2020
HAVE I LOOKED INTO THE SUN TO LONG WHILE WE SPEAK
HE GIVES ME THE ANSWERS SO I CAN BE WEAK

BUT WEAK IS STRENGTH ON AN UPSIDE DOWN DAY
BALANCE INTELLIGENCE CYBER HIGHWAY

ONES AND TWOS AND NEVER INPUT WRONG
HES GOT HIS ARMY HE DOESNT NEED ONE TO LONG

THE GROUND AND THE COUNTRIES
WRITTEN VOWELS AND LEAVING OUT COUNTERIES
INTENIONAL CODE MAN TAKE NEWS OFF RECORD
ARE THEY REALLY IN ANOTHER PLACE
LAST I CHECKED NOBODY CAN LEAVE THIS PLACE

INSIDE THE THOTH'S OF MAYBE PLAGUED TO COME BACK
LOOSING GIFTS OF SPIRITUAL PATH

PAYMENT TO GOD OR CEASAR STAND UP POP CREW
THEY DONT HAVE A CHURCH
JESUS SITS ON THERE FACES LIKE GLUE

MANY DIRESPECT A NAME AND USE IT IN VAIN
MAYBE THATS HOW THEY VENT WITH BLAME

TO ****** THERE KING ON A HEAVENLY BET
THEY NEVER TOOK THE TIME TO CORRECT IT
IF NOT FOR THEM THERE CHILDREN WILL PLAY
IN SILENCE YOU WILL WATCH
IN MEMORY YOU WILL SAY
I HOPE SHE LISTENS TO MUM CAUSE I KNOW THE WAY
Jena T Feb 2020
It came about in the strangest way.
My heart sitting on the divide
Wondering why.
The fault was never in the stars
Ceasar is not better than me.
It was written this way
Three fates cutting strings.
Arts and wars
Walking through doors.
Death's wife sleeping in the night
It was written all before.
For my history teacher who taught me the importance of understanding the way the ancients thought.
Gr8Ryzyngz Mar 2021
Been here before
Lonely, but never ever alone
Fetal positionings
Unhelpful, unneighborly
Offering to help who exactly?
As though this partnership
Hasn't benefitted us both
Or rather this is now
And have been, since the
Very beginning, more about
Your company's policy
Than my family having
A place to call home
Been here before
Making another's house
My sanctity, my children's home
Apologizing like I'm wrong
Rendering to Ceasar what doesn't
Belong, simply because when in Roam!!!

— The End —