If and When

The Drabble Ditch

If and When


There's a sea, a city, then her,

All waiting for home and a happy place,

Each caved by impatience, importance and imperfection

That they're sick of waiting, and yet

There's hope there, I hope.

Although there's fear there, I fear.

A fear that hope is too far away

And a hope that fear will be far enough away,

Fear is bitter fruit, so let's not.

Hope is a well-thumbed book and we can,

It's a plan, or a laugh or a song, or a day

Without eyes, just words and a laugh.

You're waiting for a day to say "I deserve it"

But it isn't the bones and the pain and the hate that you need,


It's a boat across the sea to the city. 

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Mirrored Memoirs

May I dream soon again...

Let fresh foreign lands of neverending frame its still masterpiece.

My sweet subtle hints of invite compell you to escape along my side,

into this unknown mirrored valley of excursion.

Up and around dry streets of cobblestone,

should you grace me with endless colored roses.

Allow me to willingly toss each one gently upon nostalgic prints from our new found memoirs;

to have, to hold reflections of loves' leisure~

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Wanted to make use of internal alliteration within a short poem

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Fenced Dog

Wulfman Adventures

I am not a traveling dog any more.
I am fat and old, like a retired police K9.
I do better at home gnawing on a bone.

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Prints in the Snow (Lone Wulf II) 2012

Wulfman Adventures

In the fall's blue moon, I am numb to coldness aches who pet my fur.
I shake, but it is because of the sleep trying to rob me of my focus.
My paws ache, and bloody for the miles walked.
Leaving bloody prints in the October snow.
Yet pushing forth, with the head low to the ground and ears pushed back.
Fighting the wind and the fatigue that try to put me down.
The ache within is a pulsing force to keep going.
Even in a state of illusions jilting reality- an oil painting left in a storm.
What is what? Who is who?
Bloody prints in the October snow, a lone wulf struggling forward.
To where? To what? To whom?
I don't care, warmth comes from the constant motion of pawing forward.
That is all that matters for now. Time for healing will come later.

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Love Travels

Love goes up.
Love goes down.

Love goes all around.
Back and forth.
Side to side.

And all around.

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Tourist Information.

Once I had a heart
that carried no scars,
when I lived in an ocean
of spinning stars.
Once I had a mind
that I thought
was my own.
But it flew off wherever
the wind was blown.
Once I believed
the Earth was still.
In a wilderness night
on a cloud covered hill,
by the old Roman camp
at the head of the Aire.
Silence and peace,
without worry or care.

The radio chattered
and the TV, flickered.
The Governments groaned
and the Oppositions sniggered.
The salesmen prattled
and the advertisers pitched,
and the women in the sweatshops
stitched … and stitched …and stitched.
Bulldozers buried
old circles of stones.
Mechanical diggers
unearthed old bones.
War planes screamed;
dope smokers dreamed,
while drunkards sang
of sweet Sally Jones.
The Summer sales
were lewd parades
of peroxide tints
and pastel shades.
A rattle of stilettos
and the accents
of the ghettos,
echoed from the concrete
with the ambulance's wail.

Sweet Sally Jones,
her brain burned by sin,
stares at the shit pot
in the loony bin.
What the nurses see
when they peep
through the door,
is that when she shits,
she shits on the floor.
She is staring at the bulls
with purple skulls
that come charging
through the wall.
Every snake is an elf
my dear,
and every elf
is a snake.
You can get a
snake kebab
but you can’t get
an elfin steak.
They vaporise
the elves do!
They slip through
metamorphic veils.
The prize of having
fairie eyes
is that you
can follow their trails.
Do you like to be
beside the Sidhe side?
When the portals
are popping
and the barriers
are dropping
and this wheel
world is buckled
by the force
it sits beside.
“Where are
The portals found?”
she asked.
“How can we
get there again?”
Imagination, meditation,
concentration are…
the portals in your brain.
It becomes so much clearer
when you are dead
that you need me
like a hole in the head.
No jewelled gate
in Samarkand
can take you to
the promised land.
But some old stones
on lofty moors
are doors, my dear.
And that’s for sure.
So bathe thy feet
in milk each day
when it blows
cold and breezy.
And do so
when the Sun
burns bright,
and thine feet
will be cheesy.
Weep for nothing.
For that
is what you’ll get.

A law was passed
forcing Scotsmen in kilts
to gird up their gonads
when walking on stilts.
There’s a flaw
in the law of gravity
that induces
severe depravity.
The wheel world
of Cicero, is really
a rolling reality.
It’s hub is a collection
of perceptions of infinity.
And the paths
of the perceptions
go out
in all directions.
And gods are
nature archetypes
of elemental kind,
empowered and enabled
in the limits
set by mind.
That’s not
how Cicero, said it!
No matter,
for that’s how
I reddit.
For we are
what we dream,
sweet daughter of Venus.
And you dream daily
of the
pan galactic penis.
I could be anybody;
brilliant or thick,
but I’d do for you
with money
and a prick.
Do you dream
of Jesus
as your lover?
Good looking
well muscled
and tall.
With a powerful Papa,
the guy had it all.
Of course as you know,
power can be manic
and usually is
when it manifests organic.
The protection
of power
is the primary preference
where pain
is a permanent feature.
Nerves and emotions
sum an organic creature.
Emotions have
thermodynamic propensity.
Dormant! Then they overheat.
And their hearts
are eaten
by entropy.
Such is the state
of organicised fate.
Think it’s unfair?
Don’t go there.

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Around The World!!!

I have always wished to travel around the world!
To feel the beauty of nature that has a splendid swirl…

Each country has a unique history on,
Food specialty of many countries has a magical wand!!

I have seen the Travel Show,
All I know I just have to travel more!!

To get an opportunity to travel all over..
Will give your life a makeover!

People who travel extensively are very flexible,
They can eat variety of food,
They don’t carry a very angry mood!!

They have traveled so much,
That every place has drilled some experience to keep in touch….

Travelers are definitely lucky,
As traveling makes them strong, to deal with the mucky…

Yes it is the blessing of various places,
That teach one to adjust in life’s various phases!

Just by traveling all the time,
A stiff personality can change to be soft and super fine!

This is the beauty of the diversity in the earth…
Each land has its own value and worth!

Let’s thank the Supreme Lord once more!
As only the Divine Nature can pour,

A churn for us when traveling across the world!
Learning experiences to change us over a while,
Turning our entire personality in a stunning style!!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A traveler can easily add a dash to his personality-Credit his travel!

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Today let me be your guide
I will guide you to a place I call my own
It is not too far or not too close
So let me take you to the place I call my own

From afar a scarlet blush and red rage
An inviting call of love and hate
Love that can burn you to bliss
Hate that can burn you to grief

A step closer can you see
The presence of blue peace
Another call but not love or hate
But a call of harmony

Another step closer the green growth wave
An evidence of change
The happy yellow cheers upon us
A joyful yellow welcomes us

Now, can you see?
The place I call my own

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To Wonder is Feline.

Down the sidewalk, past centennial street,
A road I’ve come to know in nearly every light.
It is lined with familiar houses, with unfamiliar faces.
I know the house where one Saint Bernard lives.
Whose drooping lids and flappy flews know no lieu.
And the Samoyed, I know him too.
He lives in the house with the bright pillars,
As if colored in by children’s hands.
The years have gone, and I’ve daily past.
If they see me in grey, well, I see them like that too.
They cock their heads, and then dismiss.
As if to say, ‘Oh, it’s just you again.’

Finally I come to the point where the sidewalk ends,
The part where I turn around.
Just one more step,
And I’d be further away, than I have ever been.
One more step,
And I’d be doing something strange.

Between me and the stop sign,
Lays a mobile thing.
The grey tabby in my direction casts
A pair of yellow and blinking eyes
Going with speed, with no particular end in mind
It might be nice, I think to myself, to be a cat.
With no solid ties, no long goodbyes,
To anyone or anything.
Could I grow pointed ears and whiskered cheeks?
To travel along a breeze,
Binding the known, so long.
What would that be like?
I would not travel, by road or way.
But through open field or wooded plane,
That is the path I would take.
I’d take my hat, my journal, and my time.
I’d take a turn around every rock and every tree
Just to see what I would find.

Yet it is here that I turn, again to choose the same.
Perhaps, one day, I’ll follow.
Perhaps one day, I’ll bereave
But the sky is getting darker now,
And even cats do not wonder in the rain.

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