To This and to Them

This.
First a Tuesday, then a Wednesday.
This.
One hour every week.
This.
A rectangle covered in carpet, books and screens.
This.
Always filled with laughter.
This.
Always filled with care.
This,
that became my Home

They.
3 females 4 males.
They.
rationalizing ideals.
They.
giving us their memories.
They.
Sharing their hearts.
They
allowing us to see that which most do not
They,
who I became attached too.

To the seven and their-selves, I gave
myself.
I gave my love and my smiles and my tears
I gave my words and my thoughts and my fears.
And now
I give my promise.

My promise to continue
My promise to remember
My promise to carry this with me forever.

To this and to them,
I give my thanks.

Writing about This

Dear Sir,

I feel I need to write to you about This -- 

Did you have a hand in the whole of This

Waking?

Was your hand shaking when making 

This Bliss

Or were you just taking 

the piss?

Was it maybe a hit and miss

At playing sweet new chords

Standing by the abyss

Deep with words 

Like swords

Or birds

Less miss than hit

Everything has been writ

By bouncy young poets coming to This

Weekly Bliss

Oh we will so miss

This.  

what is this mess

what is this mess     this muss
this us
what happened to the year
once full of fear and fuss

we cussed in the autumn
and the heat of the world
beat us to a steel
we felt more deeply

it started so cheaply
this trust in words and each other
your brother sister friend
another family     the other

what is this much of a good thing
what is this ring to it     sing or don't
bring some thing to our throng
you can't be wrong in your song

all short and long and in the middle
you want to say more
a word or a line or a wish     you made it star
in a minute     in a moment

your went far into the darkness
what did you find or fight in that spar
in your mind
what was right or wasn't

what doesn't go
what do you know
now     throw yourself into it
take it with you

Endex

Credit: Threadless.com

Endex

Ears and tears.
The stars,

The future, the past,

Egos that stretch to my arse.

People giving birth to honey whilst high,

Vispo, beef pho, 

The art of bullsh**ing,

The art of writing,

The art of art,

Really Waleed? my arse?

Memory,

Riddles,

guess who?

Tis I. Who am I? You decide.

Unoriginal Grandfathers.

To whom do I give my thanks?

What's the link here?

We are the link.

And I give thee thanks.

This is where our sidewalk ends.

Our walk was measured and slow.

Thank you.
P.S. It's time for me to get off my high horse.
Now it's time for me to go...
the end...
?

-Aly Zein Mohamed

Who is she really?

Knowledgeable? Do others think she is?

the most perfectly valuable and beautiful pearl? Does she even like pearls?

God is my judge? Is she even that religious

Wise and experienced? Even though she’s still just 19

Generosity? Does she care about others that much?

Or does she

No body knows, neither does she

But does it really matter

Does any of this matter

What your name signifies

What your name sounds like

How its spelled or how its pronounced

What others assume based on that

She does not care

She believes she is who gives the name a meaning

Not the name giving her a meaning

Strong or brave? Is that what meaning she wants to give herself

Perhaps confident? Loved? Nah it’s still not the exact perfect word

Perhaps there is no perfect word, she is as lost as she can ever be

Atleast for now, maybe then she’ll discover

Herself, who she is and who she’s gonna be

Oh Mama!

Gently quiet and breathtakingly unaware of who's here and who's there
Summertime madness it is, making her wish for a better future and brighter today
Murmuring her blues into an ocean of positively negative proportions

Honey she named her daughter, what can you say

Every time you look into her eyes you see it; the happiness, the emotions, the long narrative

Tell her with me

Tell her to be here, there, and everywhere
Tell her to allow life to fly within herself
Tell her to let love bloom, to spring back and to forget what's been told and untold
and promise her some more honey

As Far as I can Remember

As far as I can remember
People called me Bobby
I was never more conscious of it

Bobby for a long time in those early days and still some ladies
My mother my grandmothers my cousins my sister
Call me Bobby

Joey Sacca called me MarCrotchy or The Crotch in elementary school
Which rhymes with my last name
It bothered me then but now I kind of like it

When I introduced myself on the first day of school
My ninth grade English teacher asked me if I wasn't too old
To be called Bobby so I changed my name

My wife is from southern Italy
Where I was told dogs are often named Bobby
So my father-in-law called his new dog Billy instead

Now I go by Bob
Which is what my father goes by and so I
Go by the same

A quick short movement up and down
A man with no arms or legs floating in the water
A kind of haircut     A cult

Bob is a common nickname for Robert
Someone asked me once
Why not Rob but I had no answer

People who don't know me call me Robert
That name is on my birth certificate and other documents
That I have accrued over the years

My students call me Mr. Bob or sir or just mister
T-Bone calls me Biz     My son calls me daddy
My wife calls me tesoro     amore mio

Bob is what it is
The same forwards and back
My name and then some

Praised

Names are great 

They really are 

without them what will we call each other 

but I sometimes wonder why 

why that name 

why am I Ahmad 

 apparently, they named me after my grandfather 

they say it means the highly praised 

that I get 

other than the fact that my grandfather was so unoriginal that he had to steal my name 

you should praise God that I am generous enough to be a part of your miserable life

you're welcome.

What's behind my name

My name is behind me

Holding my missing heart in her mighty hands

Like a cup of rose oil

From the town of Magdala

On the Sea of Galilee

In the land of fertile soil.

She is a Hebrew tower of strength

Weak with love, dizzy with fear.

The stony rain will fall at length

If not stopped by a single tear

Of unorthodox forgiveness 

Followed by a list of sins scribbled in the sand.

Speechless, she will stand

In her stunned and lonely loveliness

Purified but still unsure

Demure, almost pure

Cured without a cure.

He will speak and let her go

So she can find what she doesn't seek

The other cheek

A rose that will grow.  

Newborn

newborn king arrives with no tongue  

can barely catch his breath, from his one tired lounge 

active and creative

he danced to the rhythm of the people

as they fed their applause  

he manipulated his tools to tell a story 

but hid them deep 

whenever someone tried to peak

this king is now still growing big 

unable to process where the current of the wave is taking him

to a cliff? 

to an end? 

he trusts his accomplices and believes in his future

-he jumps- 

Hi, I'm High

Credit: smokeblunts on imgflip.com

Hi, I'm High

Hi

My name is Aly.

That's Arabic for "high."

Now that can mean champion, or elevated.

But that's not why my parents named that.

My mother had to be under global anesthetic to birth me...

and you wonder why I have a long history of substance abuse.
Dude, I am literally high.

-Dorian. C. Major

ACTIVITY: Erasure

Find an article and delete, mar or remove words to create a new word order. Post a picture of your manipulation. Cite your source.

billions

Draper, Robert. "They are Watching." National Geographic. FEB 2018, 41.

Grey's Narrative

"Watch Face: insights from people who shape the watch industry" Debonair, Oct. 2017

The Right to Drugs

The Economist (Feb 13-19 2016) Page 9

Dorian. C. Major