TOKYO CROSSROAD lyric J.T.BLEU music TAKU WATANABE

TOKYO CROSSROAD

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JEHOVAH MUST NEVER WITNESS PAIN

Is that why He offers no COMFORT to the grieving?

Asking for a friend.

ON THE MEMORY OF A MOTHER

How can an older brother sue his youngest sister and besmirch the loving memory of a mother who adored all her children?

As I said before: I’m asking for a friend.

The friend I am asking for had a proud and hardworking mother, in Japan, who passed away, leaving four children and six grandchildren — all of whom she adored equally.

But here’s the sad story of what the oldest son did to his younger brothers and sisters, which is odd, as he seems to have some kind of religion. But the religion seemed to make him mock and shock my friend (his youngest sister) when he would mock holidays, festivals, make up, and nice clothes anything that normal folks and his mother enjoyed; even his own mother’s memorial was despised most obviously by his actions and neglect to his departed mother.

Upon conclusion of the ceremony, he hired SIX lawyers (!!!) to harass his younger brothers and sisters (who had no legal representation) with fake deadlines, provocative fear tactics, and general assholery, because that’s what lawyers do. Shakespeare told us what to do about them.

And this all happened immediately upon his mother’s passing. He wanted to stop all the siblings from visiting their mother’s home to gather any heirlooms (we’re not talking about Van Gogh’s here or anything of more value than you would find in a flea market — just heirlooms, photos, items of sentimental value) to remember their dear departed mother.

But apparently, God in Heaven, this man’s god anyways, despises such things. So my friend, the younger sister, is being sued by her oldest brother.

And I am left to write about it and to wonder when this insanity will stop.

Stay tuned, because I’m a poet and we never let anything go.

Do you know why a poet never lets anything go?

Because a poet has a soul — something a bunch of religions and a lot of false education are trying to extinguish in these heady times of chaos.

*****

If you support humanity and belief in the soul, why not go over to AMAZON and purchase one of my books. 

AVAILABLE  ACROSS THE GLOBE

EXCERPTA / FRAGMENTA # 66 by J.T.BLEU

          for every sin

          you must pay

          to have it wrapped and delivered

          around the world

        🌎

EXCERPTA / FRAGMENTA by J.T.BLEU

Huddled together

For shelter from oblivion

Within the story

HAIKU to JOHN BERGER by J.T.BLEU

Self Portrait # 62 J. T. BLEU

Dabbling in sincere poetry—he learns a tough lesson—some things must die, and violently. It is then that he discards the bird’s guts and begins to write essays. And he starts a novel from time to time, the misty figure outside the window always an amanuensis, always a mimetic charmer—the secret sharer.

Time has changed. It is ungraspable. Once upon a time it was golden and hard.

Questions are in the air and will remain there…he swallows the acid reflux.

A black stocking cap on his oily hair, he is thinking about how he must wash it daily, a thought that began when he was sixteen and never ended. Is that eternity? Shit…

People always ask him: “Is it raining out?” Or, “are you sick?” His unwashed hair a great burden to his vanity.

Stupid questions give way to sublimity…and he prefers not to talk about it. Who is he kidding anyway? Not the future. And history nails down what it will.   

Confession: The result of his living 23 and 1/3 years inside a halo left various imprints not healthy. And he lost his verticality.  

Clichés about happiness, odes to obedience, and not-so-subtle putdowns by sycophants who saw themselves as shepherds of his soul, haunt his nightmares, but not in a scary way, just tediously like tyrants in their predictability. He paints the impression into dreams with cobalt colors, but something is definitely missing.

Energy is the new matter that must be explored by him. Can it be lost and found?

Newton or Einstein? Shakespeare or Jeremiah? Dying or living? Beginning or end?

Mundane Philistines, he thinks; then he watches the Whale and the Squid, and laughs. This is followed by reading PIMP The Story of My Life by Iceberg Slim.

Dave Chappelle recommended it. So he read it. Wait—he is still reading it. See, over there on the couch. 

He will recommend it one day, too.

It would make a good poem, especially the part about the bird's guts, you see, the Romans believed in augury...and sometimes they ate the lark's tongue. 

Sitting on a Japanese Samurai Tansu Drawer Chest (KIRI WOOD)

"Dangling modifiers are my style. I don’t want to change them."

LEAP AND DANCE FOR JOY