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init nice
init grand
init the new language
init this land.

init so sweet that they can't even tweet without init being in it,
but I've had enough of that init in stuff so stuff that in your pipe and smoke it,
init.
lucy winters Jul 2015
Somewhere in Cape town it always rains
And in some part of my heart the rain always stays
Waves crash deep within me
Like you,  they are always free
You know sometimes I still hate you
Just in between the waves build up and break through
Hold me tight and I sit where i Isit and you know
Of all the things I cannot let go
So here I sigh and sit
And remember the deep scars on my wrists
And we remember the reasons
Why I sit here quietly and let peace in
Peace for myself and I'm letting you be
You who no longer hold onto me



Ek en jy

dit reen altyd iewers in kaapstad
en altyd iewers in my hart
branders golf diep binne my
nes jy is hulle altyd vry
jy weet ek haat jou nog partykeer
net so tussen die branders se golf en kom weer
hou my vas en ek sit waar ek sit en jy weet
van die dinge wat ek nie kan vergeet
so hier sit ek en sug
en onthou van die diep merk op my gewrig
en weet van die rede
hoekom ek hier sit en maak vrede
met myself en met jou
wat my nie meer vashou
Written for H.  He knows.

Rough draft of translation on request
Micaela  Dec 2012
In the weeds .
Micaela Dec 2012
You grow your sadness..from a seed.
sooner or later it becomes a ****, 
until you put it in a mason jar
an outstanding grow, thus far
of course it can be obscured
but the problem isit can’t be cured.
whether to rip it straight from the root
is the question at hand..
but the dispute
is..if you can?
If I were named Violet,
would I still smell as much?
If my name was Phil,
would I stink so sweet?
I am the poet, Herbert, or
Isit? My real false name
Isearl. Of course, not.
My real name is
then tooth bone foodair
soaked tin watch Bag-O-Soul
outin now.
I could change names
if I wanted to
but I am afraid
of lawyers and you.
Poem by Herbert Edsel ( Christopher Terry Everson ) - 1994
It's always the poor folk who get dropped in it,init? and ain't that the truth,isit?It's
no wonder this country is lagging behind when all that you find are the youth who put more than the truth in the words that they use to confuse,like,
I was like init,wasit,yeah and she said,'get you, king for a day',d'ya get what I mean,d'ya see what I say and that's the problem with the country today,no one can understand the native language of this land.
I blame the teachers,the parents,street preachers,Tesco,Unesco,the allied mills,electronic tills and mostly these little blue pills which make me drawl and crawl across the unlined sheet until I meet the pen that meets my hand and makes me write about the language of the land.
Banned it should all be banned and we should speak in picture frames with names wrote out in jig sawed games and the youth should be seen but never heard,an absurd idea,another flawed plan for the youth will grow into the woman or man that we are,
never far from the truth are the youth of today,we should stop for a while and hear what they say,
but we won't and we don't because the truth's too close to home,so we'll gripe and we'll moan and understand even less,
c'mon fess up
you know that I'm right.
Laiba  Nov 2019
Being laiba
Laiba Nov 2019
The saddest part of being laiba
Is that even  if the world told me
It's not my fault
I would sit there
And say it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it isit is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is
It is is it is it is it it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is  it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is it is
MY FAULT
Life is ****
Being a **** survivor is even *******
And being laiba Is the shittest
Àŧùl  Sep 2019
Oh Love
Àŧùl Sep 2019

If beauty is to be a person, it is you.

Looking at you I feel so young,
Over to my lost years I'm taken,
Visit I do my teenage fantasies,
End the ones never would.

Yes, I float in love with you,
Of ethereal foam is my heart,
Up in the cloud nine, you're mine.
My HP Poem #1775
©Atul Kaushal
Ken Pepiton Mar 2021
time seems to pass
in spurts.
some days take for ever,
others are infinite from the start.
Rules and reasons for commas and
periods where entire thoughts screech….
to a crash, hit the wall
and bounce
ellipsis-missed stuttering futures all flash
in a wink,
we think
better to wander among lines integral to life,
than those that tie our hearts to the lie,
the big one, thou shalt not
surely
die. A subtle metaphor for ceasing to be
all you think,
in your core, where courage faces curiosity
by way of the oddly bent nerve carrying
intention to a tongue…

say, hey
the idea of anti-locks, for slowing the selahity--
ABS- fixes that --
those locked-up brakes scenes, in dreams
where you are about to hit the wall,
these days those are
set in the genes, like falling from trees,
you notice,
you never hit the surface.
You always wake in a nearly identical reality,
as when you last passed from awake and aware,
to
sleep, maybe with dreams, as it seems
there is no total recall, after.

Today we face the future, again
we imagine we
know many common things that everybody
knows, as bodies are
by nature, complicated things. More
complex than reason allows, thus

the urge
to slow the motion imagined, scrunch
each sphincter on the chakra ladder …
jah, wu wu, come up here, bunkuum bi yall,
be a me and thee, hooked to a book
swallowed whole,
when it ought to have been chewed real,
all your life, cha cha cha;
you been thinking this is how if feels, if, yes,
to be just right.
Just fine, thank you.
Fine, technical granularity in the meta data
of life, arranged in time and chance
to dance in an idea all minds name beauty,
poetry and song,
all flow into the lowest valley
where, today, we wake and
find a slew of beautiful ideas malingering,
I say I
know
that ain't so. The pond where those old knowns
were settled has dried,
due to the dams, but we can look up river
along the meandering course all flows carve.

We can find where those bemired beautiful thoughts
sprang from the first fully myelinated frontal cortex,
capable of gramary. Enchantmental
{magic-tech intuitive spelchek}
hexes and spells that repeat the effect
in gestures and words, once known
to have made axe heads float,
and fishes to multiply,
and vast armies to die at the river,
laying down sword and shield,
shrugging off the mantle,
leaving Sisyphus to keep things rolling,
-------------------
whole armies, flags to bedraggled ******
in the rereward, muttering incanticles,
we have over come,
we have reached beyond the grasp
of all our knowers,
yet they lie, for a living, to live in the lie.
Knowers who settle
in a slew of beautiful ideas,
un beknownst to them, the misery of e
vaporization
spiritualized truth, sealed in idle words,
deemed good for nothing
until these days,
this day, perhaps your first
aware
of waking with one, only, uno, uni
verse as long as life,
per se.
---------------------

As we ramble on, branching,
ever, where the pressure within pierces
the field opposing…
what
am I worth as a word writer compared
with Coleridge' the addict,
whose story lacked the wonderings of Cain-
for
Wordsworth, lacked the knack,
of knowing Cain,
murderer in the first instance, ere degrees
had words to make sense of them.
Not knowing the story,
the idea
left these novice evil thinking boys snared
by a musement of the classical
spiritual sort, either real
or fantasy, we call it
art, intuitively being attractive
to the curiosity
living in the knowing being -- you know,
you say you
tasted the Son and knew at once,
goodness,
in a word holds truth in a way,
we feel
touching each chakra, if you stop to feel,
each valve clampt to hold the surge,
urging up up up to
fill the face with bright acknowledgement,
mental
acting as known in a whatifery sense,
tasted, felt, not seen not heard in words
roger, acknowledgment sent.
ditty dum.
Free verse is worse than what,
would you say? Given a will that is wild
by nature, as you imagine nature
being, a force in physics that goes bio,
then logical,
logos
lives on as long as any knower wishes to know.
- Crime of the mariner?
he shot the albatross for the reason…
I can, I did not know of the link
to generations in the morrow,
twixt the twisted
real real alone alone as though a spell,
seeps from the story,
held with glittering eye, strange pow'r of speech
I know the man that hears me,
yes.
You know as well.

------------------

Time loops and worm holes,
time and again
the story follows plot to points we knew were
coming soon,
end of
all that was, then
this is new, reset, next level, literal game of life.

Grown out of all the dung counted
worth the recollection.
Yea doubtless,
and I count all things
but loss
for the excellency
of the knowledge
of Christ Jesus my Lord:
for whom I have suffered the loss
of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ

Wait a minute. that was a quote. "Winning" Christ is where
I draw the line…
tell me, if I know the truth, and the affect is liberty,
that is excellent knowledge,
Paul and I agree,
but what's to win, bro? Where is winning done, once
the destroyers works were destroyed?

That is the story under the headline of the ages,
It is finished, say witnesses at the event.
The Gospel is back, set in second coming Times Roman.
We won, peace on earth, good will to all who
take the grace as granted and ask what good can now be done.
We won, said the anonymous peacemaker.
We used the knowledge of good and evil, through deep
sapient
simple conditioning, over eons,
augmenting mental effort here and there with a genius off
the charts
odd
measurable in minds that imagine infinity is impossible.

In the early 1980s, Nobel laureate Paul Dirac
told Princeton University theorist Ed Witten
that the most important challenge in physics was
“to get rid of infinity.” 

From <https://www.americanscientist.org/article/tackling-infinity>

-- Disneyifity, wishery wu, to infinity and beyond

New times, new tropes, lose  slay-the-dragon,
loose distribute-the-hoard, hope to shout,
it all works out, and Jesus
fixes every thing…
someday
soon. Soon. Many sons, wombed and un, no diff.
on earth as in heaven… always answered,
nicht wahr? Immer so, amen.

Or is ask and ye shall receive,
speaking of the signal to reset your mind.
To get past infinity as a physical problem
that mortals must solve.
But what will happen to our craft?,
hear the institution groan.
What in deed, February 2021.
That passed and you barely noticed.
Not much changed among the Promise Keepers
crop of Christian Warriors marching,
as to war, with carnal weapons at the ready.

Now, as you may see, on TV, is the time to sow,
seed faith, {prove me now, pay and pray}
Yes -
All the riches to the glory of God,
building the Kingdom Now, for a while,
as it built the fabled Oral Roberts Disciples Network
of Kenneth Hagen clones clad in Lutheran sheepskins,
hiding scapula knit from Iberian goats
whose hair, twisted to itchy yarn,
made the shirt of several martyrs,
for whom towns and universities are named.
Such secret scapula
remind the faithful, fame is worth any price,
pre-pay shorten your stay,
puke
and now functions as advertised to envoke
itching to die for a try to win Christ,
by killing the enemy we love,
for Jesus… who
sent {SYTF} the comforter, to soothe the itch,
to break the bubble shaped like a tetrahedron,
for some phosphoric oomph, spilling
the golden oil -similar to the effect Aaron felt
poured on his head, dripping from the corners of his beard.

{there is legend of a prayer:
Abba forgive those who know not what they do,
I confess there was a flaw in the nature of man,
I came to fix it, and I did. Amen}

Bless me, must I know the meaning
of every thing I ever say?
Is there no easy way?

Look up. Yes, anything you wish to know,
seek and find, weigh with care,
find the measure of this to that, eventually all
leads to ever, but not hell.
Actual consciousness faints long before hell
is realer than men have made punishment.
------------
Cancel this variable with that probable, consider-ate
conscience, desider-ate desciency in constancy
- set the standard at good -
C is something other than imagined, thus
at Feynman's suggestion we swept infinity
under the rug.

Knowing all things,
It'll blow your mind.
Unsafe at any speed, be lief is the re lief…
bileave, one source claims is a noun, not an act,
a state of mind, bounded by
"confidence reposed in a person or thing;
faith in a religion…"
{granularity of substance assumed}
We can hope.
But that's after all sorts of lies have come to life
as institutions to shelter the meek from the greedy,
who then must wear this dread atop-- your's, yes
your head, wears the dread subjecting
all you know to ******* in service
of the Authorized Truth;
remember hell is as real as any place you may imagine,
given years of proper education
in the liturgy of survival
during next.
---------- seal it.
{Same yesterday, today and ever after - forever
is so ambiguous- }

--------
Gnathite seaton, right - that means
bug lips, no I was thinking Know thyself
in Latin or something
aca-deme-ware-ish, to push a button on
the whole truth
and nothing but - beginning as  belief released
as an act of will,
accepted that in this bubble
each emotion has
cause and stands accussed,
with a touch of pride
to expand the contention confidence and convening
event
soothing the rippling surface on the ocean of opinions
'pon which we bob
up and down.

Bait-taken signal to pull back on the tug,
set the hook,
feel the yelp and then the anger, of a fish
I wish
were that magic one, I never really caught.

-- I laugh, in disbelief, relieved of lying metaphors,
miss-labeled cans of worms from experiences
not common in unalienated minds.

------------------

------------

In the realm of recommending AI,
the pro
stitutes told the institutes ***
sells and sells and sells, but smack holds
their loyalty, violence
givem hell,
makem pay seven times seventy,
each child a slayer of his ten thousands,
-watcher set-
pay attention to the empath,
watch it cringe,
at
something words fail to convey, temptation
to defy a lie locking ignorance in place,
never wishing
to know all things
to prove a prophecy, such,
is only tempting if time is a factor
in the dis
cussing of certain concepts regarding the after effect
of an anointing on a lynching,
after a drowning,
and a burning while all the people sang na na
nawnaw nananana

and when the battle's over, we had lost the edge,
- contention comes from pride, and
- winners is proud, such pride has offspring
- messin' wit'cha mind… win Christ, for dung…

Covid binging
dulled
the point, but after all,
we are here and all who opposed us
now enforce the worth of words
to the wise.
It is written. So it is.
Consider a self, rich and sorrowless.
Be that a bit.
---------
Gramary is magic, Psyche is spiritual, at best.
Ach, Scheiz, not Grammerly, no, but a segue
I just did a product placement
for one of Spelchek's kids.
Gramery is spells and hexes in letters and signs…

And on TV is Osiris and Isit… bait for next
An amusement ride, not a catechism...
My brother John aka Gonzo as he's known has been unfairly  thrown of this site for no reason at all.
He may not be the most popular writer here be still it's not fare to just void out his account cause someone dislikes him.

Its called freedom of speech.
Im guessing in writtingthis im setting myself up as well.
Well how isit right to not even worn a person  a finewriter in Jack Horner  is also being treated in this same manner.

They have now lost work I belive they should both be allowed to both at least have there work   back  its  one thing to  not like someone  but this is just wrong.

If this is allowed than what next do youbelive just cause someone doesnt agree with you they should be thrown off?

My brother is many things including a first rate joker but
honestly he's been deeply hury by this and thissite not even responding back shows how  childish and cruel they truley are.

Please write the site and tell them to let Jack and John return.
Cause if we let this slide than who's next?

Its wrong plain and simple and same on the site for taking it this far
you could at least treat then with commomn respect.
Instead of just erasing there work like they dont even matter.

— The End —