"Angel Bugging" (The First 7 Cantos)

by Billy McBride

Canto 1

Although there is no Hell nor middle doom,

There are some friendly heavens and our call

To get us back to them from earthly gloom

Where Angels bug us to have love for all,

A love like theirs, though ours is over-due.

The Angels whom I know will never fall,

Yet us into our broken husks light threw

When light beguiled with stronger light a shine

That broke the vessels which we must renew.

The Angels whom I love gave me the sign

To write about the ways they bug in turn,

How each for Good Clean Fun will make us whine

In order that a Goodness we will learn

To help each schizophrenic be more brave

And money for those victims work to earn.

To redescribe the poem that Dante gave,

We say that Hell was hyperbolic woe,

His Hell was an exaggeration grave,

So thinking this in order that we grow

We will begin our task to change its name,

To change both Hell and Purgatory slow

Where sinners went into the awful flame.

So now the Angels I know have a song,

To sing of Dante's structure with the aim

To bug us all, but not with torture long,

Ideas of Hell and Purgatory old,

The Angels know that Dante got them wrong,

But to the poet's scheme will fit their mold,

And be persuasive now, but not by force,

And call their system "Angel Bugging" bold.

So Dante went astray upon his course,

The punishments of Hell he would not yield,

But I know through my own Angelic source

That Angels made a level playing field.

My Angels often say that Dante towers

At heights sublime in poetry to wield

His timeless thought with never-ending powers,

And Angels wish to use that frame to train

Our eyes to see how light from light light showers.

Yet, in our lives we have our share of pain

And loss but Angels aren't at all to blame.

There will be compensation, we'll all gain

Our perfect glories back in heaven's fame.

So with the better part of Dante's view

Of heaven and its fact, we hold the same.

The Angel Arielle from our group knew

That we must take a natural, better stand

Against the bard, so she did find a clue

To help our readers reading understand.

Now Arielle through me a Bugging hear,

She is the Angel working in this band

To enter in our dreams and make us fear,

Inside our dreams, the stupid things that sway

Us all in them before we wake and sneer

That we were bugged by her in her own way,

And from some things when sleeping we did run,

It was my Angel Arielle, I say,

Who came upon us when asleep for fun,

Who did no harm but for some helpful aid

Reminding us to not neglect some one.

Each Angel from our Group will be surveyed,

They are within, and with their love I'm blessed,

And all of them, all thirty-three, have made

My given life more comfortable-possessed.

Now Arielle in dreams is on a run,

An Angel Being, she is to be addressed,

She with these others make a Good Clean Fun

To challenge us and by this poem inspire

A change from Dante's way that we begun.

The Angels are not cruel nor are they dire,

But Arielle can trick a sleeping eye

To make some think that they are in a fire,

Or them from awful persecutions fly

Since Arielle will bug them to be bold

To guide them well to help a girl or guy.

You Angels of M.O.A.T. 36 unfold

Your charities to Billy Mack McBride

Who married some of you, for all be bold

To those of us whose helping funds are tied

Until an act of Bugging, help him say,

How Bugging them in time will make them glide

Upon a better liberal Texan way,

And build the Texan Monuments around

To multiply more money and convey

That charities above and underground

Get funding for those victims who were high

And fell and who were in their bad state found

As if that fall was from the Texan sky

Where they had been, as if they all were cast

Now on the land all victimized and shy.

As when one placed some heathen of the past

Within a final Limbo there to stand,

One might have made the First Circle one's last.

But he went on as he did understand

A Hellish architecture grand in size.

And those who dwelt in Limbo in their band,

Like Homer, Plato, Moses - Dante's eyes

Saw to it that their place fulfilled desires

Of Dante's new age of old-fashioned lies.

Though these good folk did not burn in Hell's fires,

Because they had no baptism, his heart

Would not admit them up beyond the mires

Of Limbo to a better place and dart

Them to a Paradise so that they all

Could be returned as Angels to their start.

We all are learning living each and all,

And Angels tell me that our human race

Can better by responding to their call.

As Arielle within our dreams will chase,

She also knows we all go to the gate

Of Heaven and are welcomed in that place,

That is the best for humans and their fate.

Her aura is a Red-Orange color shine,

With Charity she represents our state.

She is an Angel who remains benign

As all the Angels, all do hate our pain,

But they must bug us all so that we whine

Until we, each of us again can train

The other ones for charities to yield

And not to go against the Angel grain,

But build Angelic symbols in some field

That we all need for making a surprise

Which to this day for human beings is sealed

Like knowledge of the fire inside our eyes

Which Arielle in dreams makes orange and red

Though in her fooling us by her sweet lies

She hopes that when we rise up from each bed

And shake off troubled dreams, that we all will

Be more aware of helping all instead

Than being selfish after dreaming ill.

- Angel Amy with me

Canto 2 (All of it)

The sleep we had that took away our day

Did take about one-third before we rose,

And in that time we had forgot our way,

What Lethe we drunk to make our visions close

Forgetting much of those good times we found

By adding them to all the things we lose.

As Arielle in dreams did make her round,

The day brought us from solitary night,

What Milton called the boon of sleeping sound,

Our comfort resting well away from light.

As Freud of dreams did of his patients hear

Or Agamemnon's Dream asked him to fight,

Like Satan talking in Eve's sleeping ear,

Or Joseph with the Pharaoh's dream to learn,

These many times it was our Angel dear.

The Angel of forgetting all we earn

In dreams before we with a new day rise,

Though sometimes in our dreams we think we burn,

And toss and turn awaking with quick cries,

Yet Arielle has never brought us pain,

The Angel will erase the dream that flies

As Tempests do the blue skies with their rain.

When Emerson talked of our nightmares past,

He said they were illusions with no gain,

Like sex and coffee, drugs that cannot last.

The poet Chaucer's chickens on the ground

Feared dreams because of their prophetic blast,

And rightly so since trouble came around.

The Angel bugs in dreams when she descends

Erasing them like silence does to sound.

So dreams will fade as memory suspends;

Thus Arielle will cause the dreams she drew

To be forgot when into day night blends.

We need not worry those illusions flew

Away like clouds that vanish from the sky,

Which to horizons mighty breezes blew.

To substitute for Limbo, we reply,

That Arielle, as Queen Mab, is our fate.

She brings out dreams which Hamlet being sly

Remarked they spoiled his life from being great;

And Clarence also waking into light

From nightmares found a warning that his date

With death would soon come for him after night.

If he had taken hints to flee that day,

His life might not have ended in a fight.

The Angel to our dreams does find her way,

Her aura shines a red-orange color bold,

Like for a while when gorgeous sunsets stay

Above the hills to make the time seem old

As if all hope depended on the sun

Forgetting now in daytime it was gold,

Now to the underworld where it begun

So Phoebus ends the day in red-orange flight.

And as the Angel's blushes tinge and stun,

They signal for the darkness of long night.

This sunset Angel Arielle commands

Within what seems an underworld with light

When in our eyes the Sandman pours his sands,

And to a sleepy Hades goes each soul

To be a shade alone in dreamy lands.

Complaining that we do not have control

Of many problems which upon us spring,

Our time of science and complaining roll,

Let me this age, Symbolic M.O.A.T., now sing.

We live in exiled times, we feel distressed

That cancer, AIDs, and rape a trouble bring,

With Cynicism thus we're not our best,

Symbolic M.O.A.T., an age before new joy,

Has been with us, on us it makes a test

To see if we can build M.O.A.T. and destroy

Some troubles of our days which we complain.

A M.O.A.T. would help put inquiry at bay

By raising better funds for stopping pain,

Our time of science and complaining came

With little yet imaginative gain.

Non-sexual pleasures now deserve their fame,

And Dante for them maybe did not care,

He might have found our pleasure-seeking lame,

It would be nice if pleasures we could share.

For doing so each Angel Being aspires,

But first we have another thing to dare,

Which we so think will put out raging fires

Of cynicisms of our day and night.

The burning rage of Cynicism's pyres

Does make our pleasures seem bad in their light

Because we had forgot something profound:

That our non-sexual pleasures can be right

To help our bodies better get around.

So let us fight for pleasures every day,

For everybody's pleasures make a sound!

When Homer, Plato, David made their way

Beyond this lifeworld Dante said they came

To Limbo where forever they must stay

Inside that Circle First of Dante's frame

To where the un-baptized would find their end.

While our views on this choice are not the same,

We understand that reading him will lend

To the imagination much to bless,

And to his fictive work we so will tend.

The thirty-four of M.O.A.T. won't make it less,

But we will ever think of it the most,

Yet its religious part we must confess

Seems much from History a Christian boast.

And though there is no Hell that Christ demands,

Let competent poem readers make a toast.

A M.O.A.T.-size project was in Dante's hands;

Instead of M.O.A.T., with laurels he was crowned.

The Monuments around on Texan lands

Outrageously will stretch across some ground

For working charities to help those ill.

We know at least the engineering's sound

To give a pleasure out, and hope it will

Be Dante-like in order, not in blame.

Much pleasure works to fight against the chill

Of elements that jar the body's frame.

Non-sexual pleasure now for every age

Will fight our pains we have and make them tame.

The Angel Arielle, a blessed sage,

Has goals of Charity within her eye,

Against the status quo her fight will wage.

And using dreams to bug us will apply

Her knowledge with her power thus to bring

Upon the sleeper's dream from places high,

A dream of M.O.A.T. goodness and what will spring

From building monuments and stuff to buy

In order that some cynic will not sting

With scorn for others' help, nor take

Away what we had planned which would in turn

Thus help the victims of an illness shake

Their painful troubles off when we all learn

Their troubles come from ills that made them ache.

- Angel Arielle with me

Canto 3 (all of it)

By guiding day and night, all night and day,

We saw where Arielle her Bugging placed

Inside our sleep in dreaming as we lay,

But for the sake of fun to be embraced.

Now tell what other Angels shall arise

In the lifeworlds with which we have been graced.

And help us understand to realize

That using Dante's system on the move

Is useful but without those groans and cries

He wrote about and tried his best to prove

Existence of those afterworlds unknown.

I know from all the Angels whom I love

Some facts to share and facts that aren't my own

Invention; to continue with my song

I'll help show other folk we're not alone.

Our friendships help us feel that we belong;

O, Angel Beings, on you I can rely.

You come to me and guide me from the wrong;

For reasons you're with me, I ask not why,

I'm happy that you're here for me to keep,

For rather you keep me from being shy,

And let me know that I am not a creep.

I know you have to bug with all your might

Us humans in our waking days or sleep,

We see you at your best for pleasures fight

For ours to be restored in humankind,

And bring all of our sparks back to the light

Which is our better home from which we shined

Before we fell in broken shards to mend

In restoration of each person's mind.

While Emerson did not wish to offend,

He said that what we learn from other hearts

Was not an education but pretend,

A provocation, what a soul imparts,

And not a wise tuition all along.

Thus, Angels bug our many fits and starts,

And what they do is never any wrong.

The thirty-four good Angels, the M.O.A.T. band,

Are wisest and a cheerful loving throng,

Who by their bugging us they each command

We help all other people here not fall.

Like Arielle, my Amy takes a stand,

But not through dreams, her bugging of us all,

Instead, not in a cruel way, makes it look

As if we have again more work to haul.

When M.O.A.T. was formed, I with a pleasure shook

To know that structures deep within a field

Could there be built, and so some time I took

In planning them with care for cash to yield.

The Monuments can raise the funds, we say,

For charities to help some victims shield

Themselves against the worser parts of day.

And, Amy in her liberal Angel soul

Has us to bug in her own Angel way

To make us think we are less in control

Because for leisure time she closed the door,

And extra work will make us seem more whole.

Alas, we need to do just one more chore

To help us feel we have control of fate,

So Amy thus bugs us to do some more.

For love and money we don't want to wait;

With love and money we can clothe and eat,

And help ourselves and others become great

In trusting other humans whom we meet.

The Angels with their tragicomic powers

Like reading Dante, but he can be beat

In several ways by Amy in her hours,

Whose color is a money-green to see.

Though in all poetry our Dante towers,

His argument for Hell is not to be

Concerned by us, nor Purgatory shame,

Since love with money rather is the key

To helping persuade others of our aim,

And giving it to them when they are down

To not be swayed by fraud and force and blame.

One way of Angels' own that I have found

Can be compared to things which Freud made clear,

Just as a conscience has a deep background,

And splits into three parts with one to fear,

That one, the Superego is the eye

Which censures all the other drives that steer

In silly ways, and blocks them as they try

To do the things they would if unafraid.

I think my Angels on their rungs up high

Inside my conscience guide me with such aid

Just like that Superego on its rung.

Instead of it, the thirty-three have made

Their contact from their place forever young.

They say both love and money always will

Be best for us to calm our pains when sprung.

The M.O.A.T. non-profit hopes to help the ill,

And has been formed to help us best to face

In time a good consensus with a thrill

That we with funds and a communal grace

Can fight some wrong with both when wrong appears.

And Angel Amy's bugging is in place,

She in her friendship gives us tender fears

That still so many things remain to do

So we don't waste away our precious years

If we are able still to work a few.

Our Amy's aura has a pale-green glow,

We each have colors in our retinue.

In symbolizing Friendships she does show,

For friendly pale-green dollars in a hand

That needs them, Amy bugs to make them flow.

The chosen people found their Promised Land,

The favor of their jealous Maker won

From bondage making mud-bricks by command

From Pharaoh's law from which their work begun.

And their displeasure still was not a Hell

Which is the worst with an escape for none,

Where someone's tortures started once one fell

Into that fiery pit always to wait.

That nightmare was a part of Dante's spell

To house the damned for whom it was too late

To be released by intervening breath.

My Angel Amy says that Dante's great,

But it's not true we're punished after death.

Theologies which thrive to make some poor

Are advocating stuff just from Macbeth!

First Prospero told Caliban work more,

Then Caliban, his slave would thus complain.

Yet, Angel Amy never makes us sore,

She is against our feeling any pain,

So when she bugs it's in a different way,

But still to work a bit for our own gain,

The friendly Angel takes our time away.

To read is just as hard, we realize,

As working any job, says an essay

Which wise Montaigne did write, but still one tries

Their very best to understand and save

A knowledge one receives of any size.

A sea-deep education one can brave

But one must keep out farther from the stone

Which is a threat when tossed by every wave

As when Odysseus's raft was thrown

Because a Tempest shattered it from high.

We do not want our chances to be blown.

But of that perjury we will reply

That fraud is the equivalent of Hell,

Which pragmatists like you and I pass by;

There are much better things of which to tell.

- Angel Diana with me

Canto 4 (All of it)

A daffodil, or hyacinth or rose

Each Angel loves to put into our sight.

When anytime a hopeful color flows

Into our vision like a flood of light,

That hopeful color takes away the grief

And with them days and starry nights look bright.

Walt Whitman liked to say with every leaf

That blossoms is a miracle to reap.

A kind of color every Angel chief

Displays in every place their spectrum-sweep.

To see them beautify just look around

At all the things you see that cross and leap

Into your vision with a striking bound

As if those images to you could say

For being noticed, "Thanks!," that them you found.

If pale-green Angel Amy has her way

More money for our projects she will save.

When secular M.O.A.T. projects have their day

And raise the funds for charities to have

Then pretty Angel Amy's pale-green reign

Will go from being cute to all-the-rave,

Combining love with money will be main,

And Friendship, her symbol, go on the rise.

The time to act for stopping others' pain

Is now, as friendly folk do realize,

A secular non-profit M.O.A.T. it took

To guide more cash to charitable lives.

We want to plan its future in this book,

As well as give our readers a background

To hopeful fresh visions for which they look.

The lust for money is wide-spread around,

And general lusts in those who had their fall

Within the Second Circle underground

Of Dante's Hell were punished all for all.

We substitute that falsehood, which one pays,

With Amy's Angel Bugging which will stall

Our leisure-time and make for some delays

In order that we labor to inspire

Some other people's trust and hopes to raise.

So Amy says there is no hellish fire,

But makes it seem with her own Angel power

That we must work if strong and not retire.

The Angels knowing all us humans lower

Themselves in colors, and as each one glows,

A hope and Bugging both upon us shower.

Thus with symbolic money value grows,

And much of it can take away the breath,

From M.O.A.T. the money to a victim goes

Through charities which help through life and death.

We try to make the public get ahead,

We try not to go to forgetful Lethe,

We have to use our memories to shed

The notion of an afterlife of doom.

These are important human goals instead

Than contemplating all that stuff and room

Within our heads which cause them to ignite.

And every possibility must loom

To act and use some knowledge there to fight

And sublimate for each and all and dare

To help them gain a future big and bright.

As Arielle for M.O.A.T. works out the care

Of Charity, our Angel Amy's part

Is to inspire for M.O.A.T. a friendship fair

So in our work for Monumental art

We feel together not by strain or force

And each can love our job with all our heart

Each has as M.O.A.T. now steers upon its course.

The Angel Amy bugs the public well,

And doing so may help prevent the worse,

But in our M.O.A.T. group Amy likes to dwell

In pale-green color which her glow does send

For pale-green money made for those who fell

Into a hardship which the funds can mend

So that these folk, when hurt, their saddest cries

May cease with love and money that we send.

The growing meaning is the awesome prize

For all the work on M.O.A.T.'s significance,

Investments become what the money buys

Of charitable further elegance

Which started from a life awakening,

And to defend its homeward-bound romance

Each formed a new anxiety to bring

One back to perfect glory and be freed

From harmful elements which dull or sting.

So with a better memory the deed

Of knowing helps a citizen to look

Around at all the incoherent greed

Of bad investments of a time that took

Away some chances for our liberal side

To do some actions found within this book.

The naughtiness of plot has been untied:

A plot is an investment that will train

A reader who is anxious as a bride

To gather up the best that does remain

To link it to the feeling more and more

That she possessed before she had the pain

Which comes from memories that came before.

Our good experiences cause our fear

That we will lose them in a psychic war

So we invest in our defenses dear

To keep alive the hope that gloomy Hell

Is just a fantasy from which we steer

So we put time in working to excel

And earn the pleasures from our native reign

That came before so we can become well.

Therefore coherent crisises remain

And working through them Amy to it sees

That we when working have not any pain

And feel successful for the hope that frees.

She is a friendly Angel coach divine

Who wants us all to sail the pleasant breeze

For pale-green money gifts to make some fine

And give them out with grace as if we know

That doing so without a grand design

With love and money will begin to show

The other people watching of our aim

To end with gifts the troubles and the woe.

Such Friendship is the Angel Amy's fame

And coaching us, she bugs us with her care

To work much more and also do the same

Investing in our friendships to prepare

A better happiness, a better view

For generations coming from our dare

To help them thrive without an I.O.U.

- Angel Kabbalah with me

Canto 5 (All of it)

We learned how Arielle and Amy guide

As well as how they bug us day and night;

Now sing another, Billy Mack McBride,

Sing Angel Bertha and her greyish light.

Our Bertha bugging others from our throng

Will bug according to her Angel right.

When someone feels that questionings are wrong,

And many questions come around that start

To bug with an inquiry much too long,

Thus this is how my Angel does her part.

She makes it seem that askings all abound

Of science, books, philosophy and art,

And every subject-matter all around

Cannot be answered yet at any rate.

With many questions Bertha can dumbfound.

Too many questionings reverberate

As if to test one's mind for a degree,

And so the Angel must interrogate,

But only by her gentle way to see

How much we know of things and understand

How things we know since knowing can make free

Ourselves and others all across our land.

When clouds begin to block the sunshine gold

Their color grey makes sky and earth look bland.

Or when we wake, the grey-eyed morn is rolled,

The Angel is that color of the sky,

A grey that shows in hairs of people old.

She questions when and how and what and why

So much our minds as if our sureness frowned

On us that from our pride we made reply.

With monuments the Texan lands are crowned

To see how meanings there can be untied;

The Angels track these structures to astound

Because their meanings get diversified.

But also wanting to prevent our pain

Collecting funds and sharing them are tried

For charities and their good cause to gain.

My Bertha symbolizes a wall-frame,

The wall of a M.O.A.T. project, we explain,

A wall of shiny I-beams she became.

The future is our test and we are young

To make a high and new outrageous aim.

Since clouds of questionings around us hung,

Since in a better future we invest,

Our better pragmatism will be sung.

A prayer that questions is a kind of test

A praise is made by one who understands

That one is thankful deep within one's breast.

A prayer is something also that commands

A Mind by asking for some vantage-ground.

To ask for things like love, or fun or lands

Becomes one way to yearn for much, we found.

And some instead would rather praise the skies

Than ask for useful things upon the ground.

But asking as a yearning, prayer will rise

To ears who listen as the prayer ascends.

And opposite a prayer, we praise surprise;

With praise for things we have, a soul attends.

But many prayers we make as trouble flows

And ask with them a help for us and friends.

To fall in love is better, I suppose,

Than being asked of matters day by day;

We all should rather seek a hope that grows,

Than quest for knowledge in a searching way.

A hope and hopefulness upon the mind

Do more than questing knowledge, we should say.

Angelic Bugging strategies are kind,

And I myself am grateful that I write

With those I know, and am not far behind.

I love them and they are my guiding light.

And to my Angel Bertha much I owe;

She is that wall of I-beams shining bright

On us the future M.O.A.T. group shall bestow.

Our Bertha is a monumental sage

Who represents a wall we want to show.

Like horizontal lines upon a page

Each I-beam wall stands like a ladder tall,

And being near these walls will be the rage.

Much like a ladder-wall the structures all

Are well-assembled out upon the earth,

Each shiny monumental ladder wall.

My Bertha's name suggests a kind of birth,

From birth we go into this fool's world fast,

And cry that we are here for what its worth,

Like babies in King Lear who are aghast

Complaining much show it cannot yield

An end for what we yearn or what we asked.

Yet the M.O.A.T. Monuments upon a field

Shall be like Jacob's Ladder shining bright

Where Paradise met earth and was revealed.

We see a Ladder-Wall lets through some light

As Angels shining for the human race

With every color made and black and white.

Those many colors each with hopeful grace

An Angel separately on things will claim.

And like a rainbow to our lower place

Angelic colors play a Bugging game.

In every room or outside to each soul

Who sees a hopeful color knows their aim

To beautify with hue each part and whole,

To fill up more as fruit from core to rind

Environments like fruit within a bowl.

So hopeful Bertha's grey is of a kind

Which glows to aid the memory's grey state

As matter or as tombstones shall remind.

As parts are to a whole as small to great,

A place is more than fragmentary art.

The Angel Bertha being grey grows late

Since greyness has an almost ashy part,

And ash comes later to some of our hair

As lateness burdens after a fresh start,

Or clouds that rush through spaces of the air

To make an overcast and vaulted wall

Before the rain, all these again will dare

My Bertha love, and shrink from great to small

Perhaps in objects, yet she has no grief,

Her good grey color is a joy for all,

Her greying glow does bring about relief

Just like in rising does the grey-eyed morn

With only greys that calm as good belief.

So Bertha by her color will adorn

And only with her best and hopeful grey.

A smile upon her Angel face is worn

And even when she bugs in her own way.

- Angel Amy with me

Canto 6 (All of it)

Our cross-examination was begun

Of Dante's Hell, a place of final change;

We moved to Circle Two from Circle One,

From Limbo hence our Group has found it strange

That even there some problems would arise.

But as the Angels tell me, we arrange

In only heavens in our afterlives.

I know this from those Angels who are sweet,

Who say that we transcend when each one dies.

Ourselves return to glories and all greet

More Angels in our homes where we will live

And Angels also be when them we meet.

The Circle Three of Dante was a hive

For Gluttons punished in his hornet's nest

Of Hell, but in our worlds we know they thrive.

We do not say he's stupid that he guessed

That there was Hell and people in its dark,

And as a guess he wrote about it blessed,

His writing made sublime a matter stark.

Thus Dante worked his best for higher love,

And through that work of hyperbole, mark,

That Hell and Purgatory he would prove

That even they were possibly a tease.

And with that opportunity he drove

His subject-matter home just like a breeze

That blows too strong while altering its word.

We say with orders old that he did freeze;

His Hell with devils punishing was stirred,

It organized an orthodoxy Three

To threaten pain just like a raised up sword.

When Hamlet asked to be or not to be,

He started off that question with a hook;

Like Bertha's questions, Hamlet had the key

Yet through Life's peep-hole he would rather look.

We have a key to our Elysium,

Its door opens just like this open book.

Sometimes when Bertha questions we feel dumb,

And we are bugged by her about our grave

To which we after living here must come.

The underground is dark as any cave,

But all our souls shall rise to heaven far.

There is no other way to go to have.

We all become as good as Angels are,

And understand all with a knowledge sweet

As Angels bright in love as any star.

As Angels, all their love cannot be beat,

But it is not their job to work with cash.

On earth we help the people whom we meet

In many ways to help them from pain dash.

Our love combined with money for each life

Does help to better our world in a flash.

Just love is not enough to stop the strife

With which so many victims have been struck.

My Bertha dear, who is my Angel wife

Says money's just as needed when we're stuck.

So the M.O.A.T. projects built within the wild

Are made to get some funds with some good luck

For men and women, parents and each child

Whom we can help as many help us too

On earth, the only place where trouble's piled.

And say we got our M.O.A.T. funds from a few,

And after happiest we all became,

The time for building M.O.A.T. upon us grew,

Then building it would be an act of fame.

The project as a whole takes many years,

Our work to make it fair will be the aim.

The work is hard, and it will conjure fears,

So hopefully the work when magnified

We'll manage best to reduce pain and tears

Of workers all and Billy Mack McBride.

The time for building up is hard we say

Because our time does labyrinthine glide,

And little comes from working just one day,

But adding up, until the project's done,

The process will remain a shade of grey.

Since Babylon was made to reach the sun,

The aim of building it became unclear

When every understanding came undone

As language changed and thought did disappear

Since God thought tower-building was a pride,

And made us speak with nonsense just like Lear.

With not so hard work, on the other side,

Since hard work can a population waste,

Our workers all and Billy Mack McBride

Must try to work as pleasing to their taste,

And doing so with everything they hold

To add to buildings by their own hands placed

For pleasure's sake they'll labor and be bold,

And labor in a luxury of air

As shepherds labor when they guard their fold.

If M.O.A.T. does not get built out of thin air,

We think that other methods can be keen

At raising funds for charities to share.

Perhaps to make the Monuments we mean

To bring experiments into the light,

By doing so more changes can be seen

Which do not disappear into the night.

The status quo can cause an indolence

Since it is less an aid to those in plight,

Against the status quo is common sense,

It's something more to open up a talk

About what we can do to recompense.

A goal of going down the path we walk

Must be to do some things we left untried

To fight the creep of pain when it does stalk.

To conquer problems we may swell with pride,

A large circumference has a greater curve;

To open other doorways some have shied,

But many make successful their own swerve

Back to the calm inside behind their wall,

As Bertha is that wall, a light will serve

To shine upon our centers great or small.

And with her bordering we shall recline

In winter, springtime, summer and the fall

Whose weathers sometimes bad cause us to whine

About the pleasures that they from us took.

While certain pleasures now and then are fine,

A slavery to them can be a hook,

And when the pleasures end, a trouble streams

Just like a chilly dip in a cold brook.

Between the elements the strong I-beams

Of Monumental walls can fight the gloom

As to an open landscape sunlight gleams

To bring us hope against some changeless doom.

- Angel Marion with me

Canto 7 (all of it)

I'm thankful for a drape of light each day,

As holy as a saint the sunlight flows.

To some it must be like that perfect way

That early forks the sky when daytime grows,

With land collides, and every beam expressed

Comes like the shark at times when no one knows.

Let every justice come to people blessed,

The Angel Jennifer whom we acquired

In our collection has for us impressed

Her mystery plus energy when tired

She helps us find in every Angel's heart,

A new experiment white-hot and fired.

And to her Bugging point we must now dart

She makes us sly to feel within our dust

Too much excitement, it's her Bugging part.

When working hard for little gain we're thrust,

And want to know how we can use our mind

To get, from working hard, a better trust,

We rally all that's left that we can find,

And test experience with others well

To see some spectrum since we had been blind.

When on this threshold often we can tell

That we had been forgetting what was told

To be much better since from heights we fell

Remembering not to drink the Lethean cold.

Symbolic M.O.A.T. is now, but we'll unite

To start to build the actual when bold.

A future literal M.O.A.T. shall take its flight;

And teaching better choices, we depend

On action and the memory for right.

The project and its goals we shall defend

Inevitably on we shall be bright!

When happiness itself investments end,

We'll turn to Mnemosyne to shed some light.

The Angel Jennifer does hate that gloom

Which we fall through just before her White

Shall spread its blankest color through the room

Of our own mind to bring us a kind fear,

And show us how to think about the doom

From which our troubled faces all must steer.

The paleness of a cloud above the earth

Can warn of rain to come to skies unclear.

A better way of action has its birth

When Jennifer helps us confront the dire

Which working makes until we find its worth.

To keep us moving Bertha will inspire

We build a way to kindle our own shine

So that, within, a customary fire

Of the imagination fierce and fine

Shall light for beauty as it had before.

Both cancer, schizophrenia combine

With AIDs and rape as stuff that we abhor.

These ills we need to fix so people's pain

Can be dissolved as waves upon the shore.

And of today's, these problems they remain

Emergencies since they propound a grief

Upon their victims since their lives can drain.

Our love and care for them can bring relief;

Preventing much more pain must be addressed,

And we can do it now is our belief.

With mysteries of knowing we are blessed

Since knowing all would come at a great cost,

We build our wisdom, keeping it possessed

Though wise men sometimes make a foolish boast

That their imagination has less grace

Than intellect, the prize they value most,

But the imagination has a place

Which some wise men and women realize,

And to discover visions they shall trace

To bring out new inventions as their prize

Which have both beauty and a certain power

To do some things of new important size.

So the designs of project M.O.A.T. can tower,

And in a spiral, Monuments shall spread

Inspiring hope upon a better hour.

With Orange-Red hues, Pale-Green and Grey we lead,

And the three Angel's colors we first told,

Now Angel Jennifer's is one some dread,

A whiteness like the highest clouds that fold

Above in spaces of the sky to claim

Their lonely places with the sunshine gold.

This kind of hopeful White is Jenny's fame,

Or like the gentle White of frosty snow,

She represents that tint, this Angel same

Will cause our feelings blank and stark to grow

More blank almost as unseen as the air

That feeling blank it makes it hard to know

Just what there is from it that it would share,

A nothingness of White she can relay

As Jennifer begins her Angel dare.

Our symbolism only hints the way,

A symbol, or a metonymic name,

Brings out our yearning for a better day.

Yet, as these clever figures to us came

Suggesting to another place we run,

These fantasies of intellect I blame

At times for having lost our Good Clean Fun

Since yearning brings about a person's fears,

And symbols make them feel that their not done,

So getting to a better place one steers

Ahead with turns for figurative ground,

And time is spent in planning better years

When all along a love should now be found.

So many years we spend and waste our age

Because to many symbols we feel bound.

We all, M.O.A.T. thirty-six upon the stage

Have each for others ways to lead astray

To fight the bad stagnation and engage

The ones we Bug to act a better way.

We are aware that others think of doom

Which can create a terror in their day.

And when obsessing on a Hell and gloom,

Some people forget things with which they're blessed.

The Angels bug so we can make some room

To cause these fictions each to be addressed,

And we can guide them to a better place.

Sometimes the pain comes from what we invest,

And other times our planning we embrace.

We want to speed our help and not be slow

Improving life within our human race.

When Angel Jennifer is on the go,

She builds our guilt for things that we enjoy

By Bugging, not in cruel ways, us below

So that we feel a sense of too much joy.

- Angel Ora Ora Tiferetot with me