A Black Wave Cometh to Burn


Kiss Me When the Sky Goes Dark
(Preferably with Tongue)
Release the hounds … of hell … with the fangs of a serpent … dripping fresh blood … stained from the primal slaughter … sacrificed to the gods of war …
Bred six feet below … raised from the marrow of ancient bones … a spell of abomination … infused with the instincts of an apocalyptic chimera … a plague … a pestilence … a path gone astray … salvation set to the symphony of chaos …
Raining brimstone from the broken sky … a pillar of fire … towering … tumbling … crashing … see no evil … hear no evil … speak no evil … silenced are the muffled cries of innocence … splintered shards of madness … laughter howling across the void …
To the victor go the spoils … an arid…

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A Black Wave Cometh to Burn

Kiss Me When the Sky Goes Dark (Preferably with Tongue)     Release the hounds … of hell … with the fangs of a serpent … dripping fresh blood … stained from the primal slaughter … sacrificed to the…

Source: A Black Wave Cometh to Burn


 I lost you today, after such along time together. Now people just stare at me as I try to smile. Parting is not so sweet when it was not what you wanted. And oh what a hole you left when you departed. Something like this has not happened to me since I was so young. When a man is young he bounces right back, “oh” he says “another will come along soon”. But you and I practically grew up together. The many times we spent enjoying a steak at that nice little restaurant down on the avenue. Or, how about all the times we would go to the Red Sox game just to eat those hot dogs that you can only get at Fenway Park. I may not be so young anymore, and at my age there is not much sympathy from others. Everyone experiences loss at this age they say, “get over it, move on”. I can’t move on as easy as that. When I was a young man I would just grab that extra money that I had because of what had happened, and from not having them here anymore, and with a great big grin on my face I’d eat an ice cream bought with that money. But not today, not now. That is why my face looks this way. Why I have no desire to just grin and bear it.
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Because losing an Adult tooth, is not the same as loosing a baby tooth!

Stop Killing Children!

News reports today of the killing of a young 8 year old in Yemen a starting to trend across the internet and social media. As reported in an article the an online issue of Hindustan Times,


“The 8-year-old daughter of al-Qaeda ideologue Anwar al-Awlaki was one of the civilians killed in a US raid on al-Qaeda militants in Yemen, media reports said.

“She was hit with a bullet in her neck and suffered for two hours”, Middle East Eye quoted the eight-year-old’s grandfather as saying.

“The daughter of Shaykh Anwar Al-Awlaqi is martyred in the US raid in Yemen today. Obama killed his son and now Trump kills his daughter,” Jihadist group Al Maqalaat tweeted.

The raid that killed Awlaki’s daughter was part of a dawn attack in southern Yemen on Sunday that killed a US commando and around 30 people including al-Qaeda suspects and civilians, the US military and local Yemeni officials said.

It was the first combat casualty of the Trump administration and its first operation in the war-damaged Arabian Peninsula nation against a powerful al-Qaeda branch that has been a frequent target of US drone strikes.

Medics at the scene said 30 people were killed, including 10 women and three children.”

Get this straight, I am sick of my government killing children around the world and here. Is that enough of an article and commentary ? Just stop killing children right now!


An Afternoon Poem


not every man is evil

not every man is evil
not every man hits
at the woman
said he ‘loves’
nor speaks low
and grotesque
mean or sexual
nor to provoke

not every man is evil
not every man lies
at the woman
said he “loves”
nor flirts low
and sweetly
secretly behind
nor to cheat

not every man is evil
not every man puffs
at the woman
says he “loves”
nor puts down
and degrades
loud or unknown
nor to be top

not every man is evil
every man is evil
man is evil
and there is
no excuse
for me

or two…

Route 66 Hiking to Hitch

asphalt bubbling along summer roads
steps turn into enemies heavy and sticky
battling this backpack an elephant above
piggyback riding me the first twelve miles
leaving Chicago alone on double sixes
two thousand four hundred thirty six left
four wheels the brain talk constant now
feet swelled and blistered boots eyelets drip
their wet balls travel down tight nylon laces
mocking me in steam rising clouds of queries
they hit hot pavement ahead of each footprint
in black quicksand stuck thumb extended

Psalm 21

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The king shall joy in thy strength, O Lord; and in thy salvation how greatly shall he rejoice!

Thou hast given him his heart’s desire, and hast not withholden the request of his lips. Selah.

For thou preventest him with the blessings of goodness: thou settest a crown of pure gold on his head.

He asked life of thee, and thou gavest it him, even length of days for ever and ever.

His glory is great in thy salvation: honour and majesty hast thou laid upon him.

For thou hast made him most blessed for ever: thou hast made him exceeding glad with thy countenance.

For the king trusteth in the Lord, and through the mercy of the most High he shall not be moved.

Thine hand shall find out all thine enemies: thy right hand shall find out those that hate thee.

Thou shalt make them as a fiery oven in the time of thine anger: theLord shall swallow them up in his wrath, and the fire shall devour them.

10 Their fruit shalt thou destroy from the earth, and their seed from among the children of men.

11 For they intended evil against thee: they imagined a mischievous device, which they are not able to perform.

12 Therefore shalt thou make them turn their back, when thou shalt make ready thine arrows upon thy strings against the face of them.

13 Be thou exalted, Lord, in thine own strength: so will we sing and praise thy power.



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That’s me right next to the teacher.

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Written on Thanksgiving 2015

Now don’t think to yourself, “Rob has really gone off the deep end now”. We all know that happened long ago. Must be that, comfort food smells as memory inducers thing, but it is Thanksgiving day and I’m thinking Irish Soda Bread. So if after a few of my Catholic School stories you are wondering, if having missed the yard sticks, and ear pulling you benefited somehow, as we say in Da Bronx, “Forgeddaboutit!” (The pronunciation is universal, while the spelling is not, if fact,is still progressing).

 With that in mind and submitted for you approval, St. Patrick’s Day at St. Helena’s circa 1970 something.
 Long before Lord of the Dance, Celtic Women, Martha Stewart, or even AC/DC, these celebrations of Food, and Song, Music and Dance in the Irish tradition were developing in the small Irish hamlet tucked between Westchester Avenue and Olmstead Avenue in Da Bronx. Being Italian-Irish as opposed to Irish-Italian, I couldn’t say for sure if this took place on or before the actual day we call St. Patrick’s Day. I assume it did take place before since I know Columbus Day was a School holiday at this time, and at our state of evolution in 1970 something, if St. Patrick’s day was not I’m pretty sure war would have ensued and I could not be writing this now in 2015 something.
 What a joy filled occasion it was back in the day. The day would start as any day in St. Helena’s would then. The pledge of Allegiance to the Flag.
 Which went like this, I think.
(disclaimer, as I said we were not yet fully developed in the brain back then so feel free to insert any religious deity, or none, any flag colors, or none, any national sexual orientation or disorientation or none, group of letters, numbers, symbols, light beer, dark beer, cans, or bottles, that may be required at present time as to be non offensive, non discriminatory, non invasive, non inclusive, inclusive, conclusive, non disruptive, non destructive, or just outright silly. Which will allow you to avoid costly litigation and logical thinking.)
 I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation, under God, Indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for All.
After which we said something else or other and did this or that, leading directly into a very Irish young man playing the bagpipes, a rendition of Amazing Grace even AC/DC had not thought of yet. Upon completion of which the most beautiful Irish girls in the whole neighborhood would put some very loud shoes on their feet and dance so wonderfully and fast that during their performance the most delicious Irish Soda Bread would be cooked to perfection, and set before us with sticks of real butter and jars of real jams and jellies.
 Who was the best dancer and who brought the best Soda Bread? Colleen, or Eileen, or Mary, or Catherine…O’ or Mac, all I know is it had the greatest smell as the pounds of butter slowly melted into it, and the bagpiper was long forgotten beyond the plaid uniform and knee socks. And shall remain a memory long after the days in Central Park for St. Patrick’s Day, with the mud and the blood and the beer, have vacated this beer congested brain. I can smell the Turkey cooking now so I’m off to sing a bar of Alice’s Restaurant and switch gears again. I love my Irish heritage, and the memories it provided that are truly priceless. I know that yours are too.
 The names may have been changed or forgotten but the comfort that Irish Soda Bread with lots of butter and jam brings will remain forever.
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