"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