CHAPTER 1

Shadow of a Woman

A lonely life and a prayer for one.
A call to God with a song.
I look to the skies and into the sun.
I wish for a thing and a thong with a ding and a dong.

From the darkest depths of the silence comes a whisper.
Out of the light of darkness appears a shadow.
A mumble becomes a rumble, as a voice becomes crisper.
Like a snake armed with its rattle.

The sun's distance brings the moon's battle.
The day's brightness brings the night's creepers.
The sound is of a sheep, but then there are cattle.
The whisper becomes to be a shout and the weepers
are then sleepers.

A line becomes to a curve with its matter.
The lightness carries a figure of a shadow.
A dream becomes reality, as I wish I had her.
The silent stream's flow brings a canoe with a paddle.

From the darkness comes a figure with the shape of a wife.
A shape of darkness with the light of the free.
Shadow of a woman and a life.
The darkness is lit and now I see.

5-1-07 Mr. Bad

This poem "Shadow of a Woman" was written because I amaware that a young blonde girl is following me. I wait for her tocome to me from hiding, like out of the dark and say hello to me. Ihave been waiting for some time now for her with a wedding song Icreated and a lot of love. There have been, as I have heard, friendswho attempt to convince her father that I am a nice fellow and agood man for his daughter. There is also my jealous daughter, alongwith a Hollywood actress, who attempts to divide us. It seems theHollywood actress had claimed and paid for the delivery or a onemillion dollar check, along with a new 2006 Ford Explorer I wonfrom Micropuff, but there seems to be some bribery involved in orderfor me to receive what is mine.

Behind Closed Doors

There were the places with no faces, but voices with their own choices.
Indeed there was one dumb like a bum and she drank the rum.
She stood behind closed doors squeaking like hoists'.
I had all the answers and she must have blemished like a plum.

So, she did try to be sneaky and say I was tweaky.
Her voice I did hear and I gave her fear.
It is true now that she is the freaky.
The facts are in now and they are sincere.

Behind closed doors she stood to listen.
It was all so stupid and she was a cupid.
She did not scream, but she had to listen.
Yes, it is true that cupid is stupid.

Even as I slept, she crept.
She stalked and the cracks she caulked.
She was spying and dying, as she wept.
She was behind closed doors, as she talked.

Molested and beat she was, as she tried to hide.
Like a red curtain behind closed doors she was flirting.
She did indeed play her game, but on the wrong side.
Behind closed doors she was hurting.

6-18-07 Mr. Bad

"Behind Closed Doors" is a poem I wrote about my oldestdaughter secretly following me around and getting herself in trouble.It has now become clear to me, of all the troubles I have beenhaving. A daughter had been called and was following me aroundwhile she got involved with a male, who has beat and been threateningto hurt her, if she came to me. He seems to be using her for some sortof conspiracy against me and trying to stop the sweepstake winningsI had heard of winning.

Crazy and Lazy?

I labored, sweat, starved, and craved.
I looked, listened, chased, and shouted.
They attempted to lay my path, but it was not paved.
They talked of crazy and lazy, but it was doubted.

There was the Po-Po and Toto and I heard who liked and who hated.
There were the rangers and the manger and I knew the stranger.
The game was started and the traps were laid, as I bated.
The players there were and I was the slayer, as I used love
and my anger.

Crazy and lazy, but actually only hazy!

I chocked, they joked, I smoked, they coked.
I heard the rumors of boomers and the talk of my balk.
They waited as I slated and I was tainted, but I never fainted, I only
soaked and poked.

Crazy and lazy, but with Daisy!

6-20-07 Mr. Bad

"Crazy and Lazy" is another poem written because I was awareof people spying and stalking upon me, along with their talk aboutme. I have had a daughter stalking me around and being involvedwith an Arab male, trying to tell the law, who also have been behindme, that I was crazy and even lazy. It seems as though there havebeen many people, who followed me around hiding behind trees,bushes, and buildings. There seems to be those, who attempt tokeep lottery and sweepstake winnings from me, and those, who triedto get the winnings and a girlfriend to me. They have tried to markme and even put shame upon me. They have followed me to all myplaces of employment watching me sweat and work hard, as they stillattempted to say I was lazy.

Broken time Piece

Ashiny 94 Beretta and clean as can be.
A smoke shack, but without a seed.
My sleigh was paid in cash and I could see.
Residence with a number and a deed.

The one and only operator with four wheels and a G.
A coach without Cinderella and a lost 14 carat winder of gold.
Fully functional, legal, stinging like a bee.
A slip and I got the tip; the detective must have been bold.

The broken time piece and my sole had no crease.
Upon polished holly laid lost and found.
Never had I rented and there was no lease.
I knew I was tracked by a hound.

The piece I knew came from the detective.
My wagon was dusted, but it was under my feet.
Broken time piece came to be reflective.
I was aware that it came from one on the beat.

Like a hand in the cookie jar laid that piece.
Monitoring service, which lost and gave a clue.
I didn't catch the name, but maybe it was Reese.
Now comes the time to pay their due.

6-21-07 Mr. Bad

This poem is a poem written about a wrist-watch winder I foundin my Chevrolet Beretta, which I owned and operated. My car waskept clean most of the time and I never allowed others to drive it. Ihad sensed that I was being followed by the law because I startedto hear their voices at places I went, such as shopping, school, andwork. It became apparent to me that I was being followed by thelaw, after I found the wrist-watch winder made of gold on my frontdriver's side floor board of my car. I knew someone had their handup in my dashboard and most likely got their watch-winder pulledout of their watch, as they attempted to pull their hand back out of thedashboard. I myself never wore a watch and no one else was in mycar that had been missing one. This poem is therefore titled "Brokentime Piece."

Water Only

The belly feels good when the crispy chicken is on the plate.
But when the plate is empty the ceramic doesn't satisfy.
The belly feels great when the red wine is with the date.
But when the wine glass is empty the polished glass doesn't ratify.
The belly feels good when the silverware has a fight.
But not when the shiny silver is without a stain.
The belly feels good when the salad is in sight.
But not when the green leaves with their toppings are not part
of the main.
The belly feels good when the desert is scrumptious.
But when the fruit salad is colorless you sure get rambunctious.
The belly feels wonderful when the mouth is full.
But when the taste-buds are frictionless the esophagus can't pull.
The belly feels great when it stretches in delight.
But when the prune is dried out the moisture has no route.
The belly feels abundance when the candles relight.
But when the flicker is out so is the scout.
The belly feels, as if there is a tomorrow when there is
something to eat.
But when the kettle is empty so is your right.
The belly feels very ill when there is water only.

6-22-07 Mr. Bad

"Water Only" is a poem written about a time I had whilestaying in a three bedroom house and I starved about a week straightwith water only. I could hear the voices outside my house that werefrom the law, a young blonde girl, a daughter of mine, and others, asthey pride upon my privacy, causing me mental stress and starvation.I can honestly say though, after having starved and survived the hardtimes, that when a person really starves that bad, the heartbeat can befelt in your stomach.

Looking for Mr. Goodbar

From the radio my ears were stretched like a feather.
The announcer was asking, if there is someone or whether.
Her name I was told was not Heather.
I am sure she would look good in leather.

Her name I was told was Sheri and she had been searching
for a sweet berry.
Requirements were given, but they did not ask for Larry.
I imagined a girl grazing in a pasture and a whole dairy.
I felt a little lucky and thought she was a good fairy.

She was looking for Mr. Goodbar and gold fingers, one who could
open her jar.
I didn't suggest, but said I searched for a gold bar.
Once I did take the bus because I had no car.
Of her residence I had no clue, near or far.

Her voice then was apparent to me, she chose me over the other one.
She started to follow and I had some fun.
I waited to see when she would knock and we would be done.
So, I wished that we would have a son.

Her presence was noted by me, not just once, but all the time.
She found her Mr. Goodbar and I wrote her a rhyme.
She hung on tight and she knew I had not a dime.
She was indeed young, but I committed no crime.

6-24-07 Mr. Bad

This poem was written about my young sweet blonde girl whofollows me around. Her presence has been noted by me the wholetime. She had been following me at the time of the making of thispoem, about three years now, waiting for her father to allow herto just say hello to me. She has been freezing the last two wintershiding outside my house of residence and going through every summernight waiting for me. She was "Looking for Mr. Goodbar" and,therefore, is this poem so titled.

When she is Eighteen

There were the answers, which were not true.
There were the ones, who lied and turned blue.
There was the talk and I had more than a clue.
There was a first, a Japanese woman and I asked her to say, I do!

I played my hand of poker with a hand full of jokers.
I spun roulette, threw craps, and dealt with brokers.
I was the cook, baker, and bought from the best grocers.
I turned the table with players and swung with cokers.

I gave a promise that when she is eighteen.
I will drive, fly, ride, and with her take a freight-train.
I didn't know, but I learned she was just fifteen.
I said I would wait, until she is eighteen.

We want my blonde and me to be one for the other.
We want, me and many, even her brother.
We want her not to smother.
When she is eighteen she wants to be a mother.

When she is eighteen I'll take her to heaven and back.
When she is eighteen I'll take up all her slack.
When she is eighteen I'll be true and never lack.
When she is eighteen I'll let her be my nick-knack.

6-24-07 Mr. Bad

"When she is Eighteen" is a poem I wrote as I waited for ayoung blonde girl to be eighteen, who wishes to be with and marryme. Since my return from Germany in the year 2000 I have beenmaking an attempt to be married once again. While I was attendingthe university I made an attempt to marry a Japanese woman whowas my Japanese language instructor. The Japanese woman afterconsideration told me she had gotten married and I was also toldthat she returned to Japan. I then became upon a young blonde girl,Sheri, and at the time I thought she was twenty-three years old orso, but to my surprise she wasn't. I had promised her that I wouldwait till she is eighteen and give her a joyful and rewarding life withme. The women, the Japanese and the young blonde girl had beensecretly following me around and spying on me. Whenever I askedif someone knew something about them following me, they said theyknew nothing and that I must have a mental problem, even though Iheard them talking behind my back.

Golden Fingers

A hand of five or two of ten.
They measure up to the greatest when.
A touch of this and a touch of that.
See what they have pulled out of a hat.

Fingers so fine and they are mine.
I wish they could dine.
They are fingers of gold and not pine.
Golden fingers they are and they are so fine.

When they touch, they bring so much.
They are though, also a little Dutch.
Golden fingers they are and of such.
They walk the keys and need no crutch.

Fingers of gold and music they play.
They even write a special way.
Golden fingers, so I say.
They are for a very special day.

These fingers of mine, they are so gold.
They are so shiny, but they are not cold.
Like a mold of gold, they hold.
Golden fingers and they told.

6-24-07 Mr. Bad

"Golden Fingers" is a poem I wrote because as I was livingalone in a three bedroom house, I had developed six songs on anorgan I worked for using the hours of work to pay for it. It was thetype of organ you would possibly find in a church with many buttons,along with its own drum beats. The music I created without learningto play either an organ, or a piano. Therefore, I like to think that Ihave golden fingers and have titled this poem as such. However, oneof the songs is a new wedding song I wish to put on the market andplay live at my next wedding. It is twenty-eight minutes in durationand compilation and it has a very wonderful sound to it and I call itLove Boat Alley. The music is like there are two tug boats pullingtheir freight towards each other and steps are built within the musicfor the steps the bride takes to the alter.

The Sharks and the Mermaid

Half fish and half beauty, she swims in a treacherous sea.
Her floral of fins and elegance is all that need to be.
She is a goddess and so sweet, like the honey from a bee.
She swims in the deep, but her territory is not free.

Pursuance is near, shadows in the deep, which she has to fear.
Approaching ever closer and soon the terror will be too near.
Sonic vibrations travel to her as she swims for the clear.
The predators near and with fright she can hear.

Swift and furious with razor fangs, the shadows become larger, as her
nerves begin to wither.
A path of wet and blue divides, as her perspiration is slither.
Dashing from the deep she swings her tail dither.
Frantically splashing the chaos explodes hither and thither.

Massive and mighty the fearless snap with an explosion and the fright is
too terrible.
She splashes to transcend the cold sweat that is unbearable.
The taste of a mermaid seems to be less than parable.
Opportunity becomes a delight and unintelligible.

Fin thrashes and water splashes, as freedom becomes frantic.
The sharks and the mermaid's fights are gigantic.
The escape is back deep in the Atlantic.
Out of the depth comes the strike of a dolphin, which sinks the sharks like
the Titanic.

6-27-07 Mr. Bad

"The Sharks and the Mermaid" was written to express howI can hear a certain girl trying to escape from being terrorized andmolested with drugs from two male individuals, as she attempts tobe with me and be free. Her father will not allow us to meet andgreet one another, so she must fight the two male individuals off, evenfreezing out in the cold. I can always hear them in the distance andwhat is said outside in the open, as I am homeless myself sleepingoutside and attempts are made upon her with drugs and sexual acts.For me it is very terrifying to hear how she must go through suchtremendous harassment and terror.

God's Will

We are all creations of the mighty God.
At times I look in the sky above and nod.
What God may want, God will get.
At times he uses more than just his wit.

God is good and God is great.
God has the will like a huge freight.
God's will is the greatest thrill.
God has the will like the greatest hill.

Six days of wonder and even with the thunder.
From far above us and deep down under.
Creations of nations with the best notations.
God's will could be probation.

God is good and God is great.
God's will could give you the largest bill.
God gave the apple which Adam and Eve ate.
God's will is like the works of a mill.

God is heaven and God is earth, God is will of birth.
God's will has the greatest girth.
It is the will of God, which deserves a prayer and a nod.
God's will and the will of God.

6-27-07 Mr. Bad

This poem "God's Will" is a poem I wrote to express thatit must be God's will for me to be together with, Sheri, the youngblonde girl, who follows me wherever I go and is in love with me.Sheri, which is her given disc-jockey name, as she worked at a radiostation. She is the young blonde girl, who is in my heart and much ofthe poetry I wrote. She follows me every step of the way, whereverI go and she waits to be eighteen so that she no longer is authorizedto ask her father's permission to say hello to me. She spends theentire hot summers outside and also the very cold winters as well,following behind me waiting to say hello. Her father does not fullyagree to our age difference but still I say it is God's will.