Because it's a certainty!

Post-NEW CLE AR Pulse beep-beeping at below zero.
Deceased confirmed.
Dead on Arrival.

The Dropped-Dead beat Poets Emporium .... a preview. Always a preview.

All on my ownsome, using the late Robert Nesta Marley & The Wailers as my inspiration, have been playing the "Music Song Game" in which the task is to alphabetically name a song and artist. I have not been able to cover the entire alphabet, however for what it's worth here goes:

Ambush in the Night
Buffalo Soldier / Bend Down Low
Could You Be Loved / Chances Are / Crazy Baldhead / Crisis
Duppy Conqueror
Exodus / Easy Skankin'
F
Get up, Stand up
Heathen
I Shot the Sherriff / I want to Give you Some Love / Is This Love
Johnny Was / Jamming
Kaya / Kinky Reggae Party
Lively up yourself
M
Natural Mystic / Natty Dread /No More
One Drop / One Love
Pimper's Paradise / Positive Vibration
Q
Rastaman Vibration / Running Away / Reggae On Broadway / Redemption Song
Small Axe / So Much Trouble / Stir it up
Trenchtown Rock / Three Little Birds
Uprising
V
War / Wait in Vain / Work
X
Y
Zion Train / Zimbabwe

F...Forever Loving Jah....

http://youtu.be/i3TlLCm7V8g

Thank ye, Sir, for your cool directional. Ol' bobby boy was great wasn't he? Obviously he made up the Wailers.

Thanks for this poem, Dread. I liked the read.

tommo / Ireland

Even in the afterlife good manners do not go amiss; so thank you Leigh2154 that one obviously slipped my mind; and on the N front it should be No More Trouble. Tommyboy1101 the world will definitely see my insanity confirmed when they read me writing you to say that words are far too trifling a vehicle to try convey the kinship that exists between pen, paper, your good self & yours truly. Thank you always.

By my own hand - as predicted though heaven only knows how so - a fair few of my words on here have been made to disappear into the nether regions of some server; never to be seen again. And so memory of a kind of existence is all that remains.

And so I soldier on as a pace-maker @ the keyboard. My thumb-tip making contact with & circling itself against the tip of each its' neighbouring digits as though trying to wear-out the unique pattern they have had imprinted upon them from birth.

Fact of the matter is that this is what it looks like when my mind when is deep in the throes of thought.

Yes, recollection and perhaps a wee small drop of wisdom are to be found amongst the remains of the deceased. Although being mortal neither of the two ought to be relied upon too heavily to make an appearance at the optimum moment.

I take the liberty of having access to the soundtrack of this birth, from here, where i have declared myself to be one of the Dropped-Dead & beaten-up poetless fraternity.

The first Bob Marley & The Wailers that entered our home was Rastaman Vibration. With a few tots of Talisker to fortify the aye's vocals, feeling is that aye could just about sing every tune on the LP.

As a young, impressionable teenager, acutely aware of the hardships of life in the third-world the aye would sit by the radio gram caressing the LP sleeve whilst poring over the lyrics as the songs played. Entranced we were as we heard the call that we were' not to worry because every little thing's gonna be alright. We knew the Crazy Baldheads and Babylon and the Rat Race.

Have the politricksters improved our lot?

And then to return to these shores just at the age of majority, as it was back then, to bear witness that here too the Brother is rightly regarded as a Beacon!

A Rasatafari that Ever Liveth.


Ol' bobby boy was a reasoner and yep he inspires the aye.

Immortal, isn't he?

Nice one tommo/ireland

The vision that aye aye-a-lysed as a Dropped-Dead poet,
instead of heartbeats aye got a soundtrack!
And in the place of blood, aye veins flow rhythms!

It was nuclear & aye
felt the aftermath &
this hears what happens
when you dead
but somehow think that you being alive
just because
you be
in & ex -haling
till the day
that
your
heart
exspires.

Remember...



The Dropped-Dead beat Poets Emporium .... a preview. Always a preview.

A wonderful thing - yes I am certain there are others yet to be experienced - about exploring existence from a posthumous standpoint, is that many, many matters that once preoccupied the self are found to have faded to beige; lacking real meaningful prominence. Such that casting a look toward them from this new standpoint the arc of one's eyes would be described as more askance than a discerning glance. As though from the bowels reverie see them there: worries, negativity, opinions, chattering voices. All now incapable of rousing the same passionate defence and/or rancorous offence. Naught more than make-believe made to lay down in a pose denoting afterlife. No more beats. No more drums. No more rhymes.

'Twas it all about the reasons we elevated into obstacles to deny our coming into full-bloom of our own seasoned purpose? Is that all it was? And if so wtf next?!


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1WuLUkd-lI

I am bored with flowers, unrequited love and love poems.
Please continue writing your poetry....
Welcome to the creative forums

As Mingled-Up & Stuff Like That
Was headed on the way down a server
& out of sight.
I tried resuscitation - mouth to mouth;
But 'tweren't no use.

On its' back' in the Savasana position.
Watched,
Life ebbed away.
Mortising the ankle joints;
moulding them poised en pointe,
As though to mimmic a touch of class,
In a framework of feigned weightlessness.

Frozen.
Misshapen,
Pigeon-toed,
nail-mangled feet
clasped over each other
as though transfixed in prayer.

I tried resuscitation - mouth to mouth;
But 'tweren't no use.

Ams were down at the side.

Resuscitation I tried - mouth to mouth;
But 'tweren't no use

As it lay Stiff Like That

R.I.P "Mingled-Up & Stuff Like That" (http://mingle2.com/topic/350766)
.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ankle

Voices: So dreadaye, how's about you share with us just how it be like down there?

Silence.

Voices: Now, now dreadaye, we know that the folks here don't give a damn whether you be alive or faceless, but betwixt us and you (whoever you be) there are some peculiar goings on in this corner of the web worldwide that we'd love you to share your unique perspective on. So ...

Silence.

Voices: Fancy that! A tongueless, dropped-dead & beaten-up poet. Absolutely no use insofar as communication goes! Wtf you doing posturing this stuff as 'creative writing'?! Take our advice, don't give up the day job.

Silence.

Voices: We were thinking that this topic is sorta like for real. You know what we mean ...? LIke when you done gone and breathed your last breath (in the body you've spent some time in) after which you become various shades of memory to the folks that still inhaling. Yes, individual shades of ever-wilting memory till you be "remembered-in-passing" by folks on their own journey to elsewhere... before they too expire. Damn! What a merry-go-round!

Silence.

Voices: Part of the reason we stayed around here was because we feel oddly compelled to. Seemingly the more things change, the more they remain the same. And as if to prove the point we've had the inside track on your recent musings with regards to the 'Match Program.

Silence.

Voices: Though some folks never had their mind's infiltrated by your previous incarnation prior to the NEWCLEAR eruption that put paid to Mingled-Up & Stuff Like That, we notice that the 'Match Program' is still processing according to rules that must be made up as time passes ... God only knows how that thing works, because by some logic it alone knows we notice that dreadaye appears to be mutually matched with 4!

Voices: WTF! Can you believe it dreadaye? You be dead. You be faceless. Your profile is thoroughly unworthy of attention, yet still the Match Program, a figment of someone's hallucination, reckons that you be able to find four mutually dropped-dead & beaten up poets!

Silence

Voices: Never you mind because we can't believe it either....!

Voices: Talking of the lunacy of the Mach Program it has just been noticed that the software reckons that the last post on this topic was -1 days ago! Is that yesterday? Or day before an indeterminate tomorrow?

Lol, let it go.....

Grand, Dread.