Embedded Bonus Book                                                         

 OK. OK. This here flows the muspascat-taculan room used for musing up only.

There you go here you are pull that up and sit click down as;

This flows get inside now please yes Mommy yes the muspascat-taculan room used for musing only.

This the muspascat-taculan room used for only.   Canada’s the root source of most rotary conversations knuckle-knuckle                                    insert size medium plath cementeriannatipn here and return in ten  minutes

This muspascat-taculan room get inside now please dinner’s ready get inside yes Mommy yes used only.

This room click only. (and once in hair-up yes bones oh yes doctor Smith oh yes and oh yes yes yes yes doctor Smith doctor Smith yes yes yes go by that time it’s not hard set up immediately call for  heavily armed back up head’s great, great uncle *what’s that spell what’s that spell* why Gregor that spells there’s a Gregor in the house eh get inside now please dinner’s ready why the hell’s heavens s’ you taking o long want a whipping do you must be looking for a whipping get inside yes Mommy yes eh eh e there a—ooooooooo GREGOR IN THE HOUSE A ONCEANDFORALLIAN GREGOR IN THE HOUSE sure it hurts what you think sure it hurts, but we got to do it anyway okay all-rat yer-ass sure sure sure it’s I got to do it anyway you happy now get inside now please dinner’s ready why the hell’s heavens s’ you taking o long want a whipping do you must be looking for a whipping get inside yes Mommy yes Sneezie, it’s not we got to BackWhang! BackWhang! do it it’s just ME got to do it not we but ME ME only and not we but but I can’t see the difference’s a rat anypipe, since we go in they’ll do nothing just watch me do want a whipping a good beating then a whipping do you must be looking for a whipping get inside yes Mommy yes everything Yes I built three new warehouses BackWhang! on time and in budget no no liar liar it was US did it all you just sat-fat, and watched hey hey  Yes I built ten thousand approximately little Black Bakelite boxes on time and in budget | buy me a set of size large purplish trousers | no no liar liar it was US did it all you just sat-fat, and watched hey hey we keep the whippings and the beatings in there BackWhang! but be sure to set them down slowly on our universally credited silver-starred pallets  Yes I launched thirteen huge hulls at my shipyard on time and in budget click click click no no liar liar it was US did it all using such devices keeps them fresh keeps them holy you just sat-fat, and watched hey hey no no yes yes no no its maybe maybe no no its yes yes yes yes no no no apportion these back there properly please we forgot we forgot but better late than never

tight slacks or tight trousers big sofa or davenport rocker-recliner please we’re here for hats not hose (particuluplarre)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! there we’re sure that’s enough if there’r spares do not trouble to return to inventory for NO its not yes yes no maybe pay two dollars please ; .. ,,    I want to keep them fresh and holy Mommy just like you do I also want to too

•     1 2 3 4 I pock-mark do not get the gas you need to get the gas I don’t the seals have been broken they can’t be reinventoried so just donate just d. gas you usually do so go get it if we need it that is if you get it when we don’t need it an accident may push out some stem and BLAST’s what may happen so—avoid that at all costs.                          why is it as I look at you I can actually see your whole brain stem                    ding!

                                                   before eating that one there needs a series of evenly spaced good heavy beatings

h ‘”]{+   GET GAS getting gas’s below me oh yah that there’s way up-top you and looks like they’re getting gas ha ha ha      when mother calls and you don’t come in expect a good slap in the face (the bare minimum)  Barry        swivel!                            swivel!       like this Daddy? “ ., yes like that {behold the McIntyres’ brand new Wok} swivel swivel       Wow! Look! Are those fighter planes?           do {of which they are so proud} the gauges say we’re full UP yet do day Daddy what do the gauges say            ar       ne beeo enough in, DADDY?   is that you Barry? Is that really, really you?

                                               are we in deep enough now

swivel-pivot

I hope so

                                            no you don’t son hope doesn’t count as a strategy round-about here and environs

Nancy!

What?

Graddieo-o-oooookslaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan. Meestah Bo-Peepula’s windows (yah?) grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr couch glandular couches meest’s glandular couches the name of the {which will in their service serve up all future dishes wonderfully hot} conditions who’s condition why your condition of course you’re the one strapped to the machine not I see I am here and you are there and taken together we may be presumed so | Up there! Look up there! They’re so loud! Must be fighter planes! | but that does not mean it is I with the condition by my God and by my word I had such a terrible condition as you, why—I’d immediately drop everything and go get my head examined eh eh eh eh they say quite often to the deviating in some sometimes every very minor way, crap g’eon shit go get your head examined DOC we think here quite securely you need your head examined, yes, no indifferently (write this down skoal) there {I got a date w’ a bunny out back o’ the laundromat} yours appears to be still on (write a checkmark under agency name there skoal {Christ, Ross, a checkmark cannot be an agency name reconsider *} while the patient goes on strapped in patiently waiting having faith in DoC Pantunnio’s pock-mark sheepskin “hung on their wall” saying in script this that and ten others this is indeed the son of God  Yup, yup; yup yup yup yup yup yupyupyu[pock-mark pock-mark pock-mark pock pyu[yu[ in that paragraph there honey that’s there go read it |split| tgilasr-trinckular-r-r-r-ianne JESUS Christ, my back itches God DAMN God-d-d-DAMN there’s a tree by this here you may rub it ? this here what this here ? Is your name Lillian James? If so, then, I’ve that there this here ? oh oh those this here’s over there wait no I will go I will go I will go o’er there I will get one * say wise in the cemetery by the Louthurralianne’s churchery I will go get one see? See those there? I swear to God it was one of these graves right round here like a record baby round round right round + oh and so I need that large of a surgery Doc? how far out around when one says right round here how right round are we talking? “?. are we talking just one next grave all around ‘vry direction but {excuse me my friend here and I would each like a few more “injections” of that please and/or thi(a)nk you} why the hell’s such a simple condition required that huge of a surgery Doc doublecheck that out please Doc uh oh please this one here ah I {yes almost just almost but this grave here’s where ‘e count needs to start from +oh yah and okay just shut up and stand corrected surgery Doc? shit surgery Doc? that’s the problem with you and this pack-o-chaps with you, you can’t Navarronned ‘lly just (the guns just the guns) shut the hell up and simply stand corrected  o no no n no no now 998&&&$ yes it does matter which grave gets dug in the center ‘cause the anomaly’s there’s that years back in a visit the marker was a quietly unusual wrought iron custom-made cross full of curlicues. See? See? And all painted black in a suit of  glossy Rustoleum you know you can picture the kind of black painted wrought iron curlicues what when you rub your finger down them you detect tiny bumps tits and otherwisely defectivities all over the wrought iron, and there was so, so much more to see and to know about it what an interesting grave marker what an interesting on’ BUT it is gone now.

What? My God, no. That is terrible.

Yes, terrible, And, where it is now is, a mystery.

Sure is yes, sure is.

I really want to see it but it seems no longer there.

What a pity.

No longer there.

A pity.

Not there.

Pitiful.

Yes. BackWhang!

Yes.

Yes pitiful Party! Oh, *## simply stand simply stand simply  

Foresight Hindsight Intention

Foresight

Favored Dream

Opportunity

Risky Chance

Excitement

Spiritual Hope

Impatience

Gaiety

High Expectations

Take off

Hindsight

Depression

Realization

Emotional Regret

Anguish

Decided Repentance

Once saw a huge chance in life

A dream is a foresight’s wife

Hope to end a current strife

Excited with jewelled knife

Look back seen in clearer light

Could be this could be that bright

Jewelled knife cuts one’s hindsight

One did wrong or one did right

Excitement that builds passion

Regrets grew to depression

Wisdom learned a lesson

All depends on intention

Foresight shows possible way

Hindsight shows another way

Intention weights worth of clay

Wiser for a walk next day

One cannot see the future

Heart shows only its nature

Allow not past to torture

Foresight from hindsight mature.

Ramblings

Brain freeze

Cursor sneeze

Words wheeze

Sherlock’s quiz

Yahoo! Google

Interacting doodle

Gray matter noodle

Uncut fur of poodle

Images of toony

Searching coony

Howls of moony

Dance of a loony

Tippy tipsy tap

Mouse hook to lap

Links of maze map

Disconnected wap

Steaming coffee

Melted bar toffee

Sugar cubes fee

Webbed surfee.

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.

I WEAR YOUR NET

Empires live by iron and corn

and die in marble and famine.

You brought the starvation and war

that harbingered this, my ruin.

I cannot take my rightful throne;

you hold robe and crown and scepter.

All of my ghosts are made of stone.

I’m the quarry, you’re the sculptor.

When someone asks me why I wear

your net? I thought it my ladder.

I aspire into stratosphere

but you keep me in your cellar.

My voice and my vision are lost

among your parrots and mirrors.

You use your dust and mist and rust

to confuse merit with error.

SOME HORIZON

A poet sits next to G. B. Shaw, unopened.

Poet has no mind to drive his pen.

A momentary rickshaw draws from the mist

but is swallowed back in fog with a stumble and list.

Flirtatious Alpha Centauri beckons to the telescopes

but poet’s flaccid astronomer fails to focus.

All the usual muses are asleep,

the whiskey and the mistresses, strangers in the street;

neither the etchings on the walls nor the scrimshaw on the shelf

volunteer to help.

Empty poet begs along the Word,

laments poetry’s place as kickshaw at the smorgasbord.

And then — poet imagines

Humanity in its dungeon —

unbathed – hungry as a blight —

encaged in rags — in a hint of sunlight —

a detested defiled diseased

tenement for generations of fleas —

the cell’s metal, complicit embrace of laxity —

a skeletal thread against a mildew tapestry —

cornucopia of hopeless hope

that even a poor pen surpasses the sturdy rope,

that any desperate continuing

improves on the endless end,

–that hacksaws and pardons

may exist on some horizon,

dandelion the shackles,

and be lion to jackals.

ERGONOMICS

Sitting aside the curb a=nursing coffee and croissants, I can’t help but marvel at couples passing by. Nearly every boy is just-high enough that her head lies snugly in the fit between his face and shoulder. And this inexorably leads me to reminisce about baseballs, how they used to lodge so comfortably in my fingers’ arc, precisely like the exact hyperbole of your remembered breast.

FRENCH KISS, 1789

A girl like a powdered queen.

Man massive and lean.

A love like a guillotine.

As mundane, as keen.

BLACKENING FACTORY

Magpies harangue

jewelled peacocks

to picket the sky.

The river smiles

below

the pier.

The machinery of sex

processes

our progeny.

Silent silver moonface

ticks

toward overtime.

Dusk goes dark goes dawn goes day goes dusk.

The highway

prays toward

E N dl es ss s::

perspective. Every exit

becomes

just

another

road

the night - the eyes - the sea

in the night
the eyes see
the sea of stars

in the night 
the waves water
your pure soul

in the night 
the tears fall 
from high in the sky
in the ocean of feelings
turned into silver mysteries
___________________________________________

clarity

when I arrived
I didn't see you...
you were hiding yourself beyond an eon

when I came back
I saw you in my dream...
you were hiding yourself beyond a moment

when I left
I felt like you've been here...
since the dawn of time
_________________________________________

dreaming 

I see in my dream
I fall asleep on a cloud
I see in my dream
I fly to a star
I see in my dream
I breathe like the moon
I see in my dream
I live like the sun
I see in my dream
I get dizzy in the ether
up there, very high
I see in my dream
you haven't gone away
I know in my dream
you are still here
as in any dream of mine
________________________________________

conditional

if only I could
I would lift you up to heaven
if only I could
I would walk you in the ether
if only I could
I'd keep you away from nostalgia
if only I could
I'd put you to sleep on a cloud
if only I could
I would baptize you on a star
if only I could
I would clone your love
if only I could
I would give you a galaxy
if only I could
I would dedicate an astro-poem to you
_____________________________________________

mirror

pure frozen water
silver surface
water-lilies floating on water
reality reincarnated
close distance
imagined reflection
concealed knowledge
spiral depth
faded concentration
radiant symmetry
inverted imagination
apparition - invention?
___________________________________________

Before It’s Too Late

Time, an hourglass that inexorably empties,

leaving behind the dust of lost years.

Its grains, irretrievable moments,

slip through our fingers like fine sand.

The heart, a scratched record repeating the same melancholic song,

a melody of regrets and missed opportunities.

Its needle, stuck in the past, prevents a new song from playing.

Hope, a small plant in a cracked pot,

struggling to survive in arid soil.

Its roots, weak and thirsty,

desperately search for a little water in the dry earth.

Life, an incomplete puzzle,

with missing pieces we’ll never find.

Its scattered fragments, disjointed memories,

prevent us from seeing the whole picture.

Silence, a heavy marble slab that weighs on the chest,

preventing emotions from flowing freely.

Its relentless cold envelops us in a profound loneliness…

GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.

An Expected End

He’s uninstalled 

The Tinder app

From his phone,

His journey

On a road to nowhere

Has come to 

Its expected end.

Taylor Dibbert is a poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of, most recently, “Takoma.”

THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST &

THE MOST ENDANGERED SPECIES: THE BEST

The market does not support any idea which does not  contribute to the further disintegration of the society. – Anand

Dr. Jernail S. Anand

Whatever is administered best, is the best was a highly misleading statement by Pope, but it is considered a gospel truth by the people who have never rested their faith in the best.

Let me first define the best. The unadulterated best of a society are the intellectuals who do not know politics, and who think of a society which is based on the principles of equality, shared affluence, power to each part of the body politic, and finally peace and harmony. But it is no more than a compulsive dream because the people think  from the body, not from the mind.  

The society moves forward with two basic factors: money and power. Power grows out of the coffers of a rich person. And power has a powerful sense of living with the second best only for whom higher considerations of life matter little. Money is the essential virtue of a society which believes in Power. The best of men, the intellectuals, the thinkers, the visionaries, the people who sit in their ivory towers, sculpting theories yield ground to people who sculpt strategems sitting in the kitchens cabinets. The second and third best, who grab power and the sources of wealth, now have a great responsibility to maintain status quo so that they can stay in power.  And, it is here that the worst of the civilization rests.

The society moves forward. If you try to find the crop of the best among teachers, lawyers, professionals, politicians, bureaucrats, business men. you will be disappointed because the best have suicidal tendencies, and we find the second best, the third best, and then, even the worst, in the driving seat.

The society which believes in money and power, soon finds itself lost to the whims of the second best people and their dreams of power. Had the right people been in the driving seat, the world would have been a better place to live in. But because it is driven by insane passions and manipulated by crafty people, we now have a total confusion of values. This world never believed in the best. The best were grounded, ignored and even insulted, simply because they did not believe in pushing forward, or staying in power, by playing foul with their principles.

It is a murderous society, which has lost all sense of the moral and the ethical, and believes in nothing but power, wealth, fame and self-survival.  The survival of the fittest means the fittest is the best. We are alive now, among the people who proved themselves the best and the fittest to survive. And it is an amalgam of power, craft and guile which helped people to stay in power, and rule the world. Can we expect joy and happiness in a world in which  divine factors of existence were disregarded and disrespected?

The best values of this society are not goodness, kindness, love, compassion, and sacrifice. People are trained not to believe in any such thing, which smacks of medievality. Modernity lies in broken families and broken nerves, and a confusion and chaos, in which your own body parts find themselves in a state of rebellion. If this is not so, you are living in a society, which is not post-modern. As the real life thrust is found in the cities, the virus of postmodernity is spreading fast to the villages also, which believed in peace and tranquility.

What a man by default needs: a house, a wife, a job and an environment which supports life. What a man of wisdom requires: wealth and power. He does not believe in a house or a family. As such, he has no desire for peace either. He wants thrill in his life, even if it kills.

It pains me to think that everywhere, the society is being run by people who are second best. Who are best at their own survival. Who believe that the best men must be consigned to the libraries. The market does not support any idea which does not contribute to the further disintegration of the society. The world’s dadas want more confusion in social ranks, where men fail to find their feet, and their minds are lost in a maze of confusing passions, shorn of ideals. What finally describes this world is: There are no role-models. No examples to be set and followed. No men of character. No people who fight for their principles. The passion with which our elders fought for our freedom, we are fighting with equal passion for dissolution of that dream. The best people found themselves on the gallows, leaving their dreams to their own destiny, in the hands of the second best, who thrive on what they  [the best] never thought of. A society minus all scruples. A society which believes in the second best. A society which exalts the worst. And a world which is run by men who possess no faith in essential values of life. By reverse logic, they are promoting the death of the divine, whether it is the divine will, remains to be seen.

[Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, [the Seneca, Charter of Morava, Franz Kafka and Maxim Gorky awards Laureate, with an opus of 180 books, whose name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia]]  is a towering literary figure whose work embodies a rare fusion of creativity, intellect, and moral vision. He’s not just an Indian author but a global voice, challenging readers to confront the complexities of existence while offering hope through art and ethics. His legacy seems poised to endure as a beacon of conscience in a turbulent world.  If Tagore is the serene sage of a colonial past, Anand is the fiery prophet of a chaotic present. Anand’s genius lies in his relentless ambition and ethical depth. Anand may well be considered as the conscience of the 21st century, carving a unique niche among Indian English writers with a voice that resonates globally while remaining fiercely Indian.]