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Bare feet come running down the stairs and
Then they run right through the screen door bursting
Onto the front porch stopping only briefly
To look at me and smile – then Zeke plants
Those feet once again as he runs and jumps into my lap.
The church bells begin playing their toll while
This beautiful 8 year old gift bounces back and forth
Chanting – Happy Birthday to Me – Happy Birthday to Me.

On the walkway out front a half dozen people pass all
In their Sunday best as Zeke waves to them still
Singing himself his birthday song.
None of the six wave back – all toting their Bibles
Shaking their heads ignoring Zeke - and me as well.
“How come you don’t go to church?” Zeke asks turning
Those bright blue eyes up toward mine while scratching
His right foot and with a small lock of hair across his left eye.

“Let’s see, you just graduated the second grade, did you not?”
I asked already knowing the answer pushing the hair out of his eye.
“Yep,” he replied - “Teacher says that I’m now a third grader and
She told Mom that she was going to see if the board would let
Me skip the third grade because she thinks it would be a waste for me.”
“That’s great Zeke,” But what do you think about that,” I ask?
“I don’t know, I try not to think about it – I don’t want to lose my friends,”
Zeke said with that small, sweet childish voice that makes everything understood.

“It’s OK Zeke, it’s OK to be frightened of the unknown – hey – you being
Almost a fourth grader – how well can you read now,” I asked?
Quickly he turned and grabbed my paper saying, “I can read anything, Grandpa.”
With that he read the headline on the small town gazette.
“Supreme Court Upholds Ban on Ten Commandments Abolished from Courthouse,”
And then he continues on with the rest of the article.
It’s clear to me that he knows the words but does he grasp their meaning?
I let him read the entire article aloud and when he finishes, “How was that,” he asks?

“That was great Zeke, really good reading,” taking away the paper from him.
“Now tell me what you read, what did you learn?’'
“Umm, the court said that the town cannot put the – the commands on the walls
Of the cord house,” he said confidently.
Knowing this little man did his job as best he could
I patted him on the head in approval saying, “Very Good, real good.”
“But why don’t you go to church Grandpa,” he asked again?
“Do you now where I keep the Bible,” I asked him back?

“Sure, it’s that big book on the coffee table, isn’t it,” he stated
While pointing to the adjacent living room wall.
“Yep, that’s it – why don’t you go get it and bring it out here?”
Without saying a word he was back on the porch floor with
Those quick feet headed to the screen door – patta-pat-patta-pat
Inside – then he rewinds the effort as he comes back to me
With the large 5 pound Bible in hand.
Handing me the Bible he climbs back in my lap.

I scrunch him up under my arm with his legs and feet out straight
Placing the Bible in his lap and opening it to Matthew 19:23-26.
Pointing at verse 23 - I ask Zeke to read the verse.
“I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of 'the' needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and asked, “Who then can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”
Zeke laughed - “A camel cannot go through the eye of 'a' needle,” he said.

“Not so fast Zeke,” I said questioning his reasoning, “Are you sure that you know
What is being said?”
Zeke looked at the good book, “I think so?”
“OK, look at it from Jesus’s point of view.
In Jesus’s time there were 12 gates to Jerusalem and
One of those gates was so small that they called that gate
The Eye of The Needle and it is this gate that Jesus was
Referring to – Now does the verse make more sense?”

He leaned back into me saying, “Yes – now it makes sense -
Jesus was talking about a gate that was hard to get a camel through.”
“Good Zeke, so now you see that it is important to understand
The meaning of every word and of every phrase – otherwise - your
Mouth is just spitting out meaningless words and if you do
That often enough other people learn to do the same thing.”
“But how do you know this grandpa?”
He turned those blue inquisitive eyes upward to me.

“Because I’ve seen the remnants of the Eye of The Needle, Son.”
We sat there on the porch all morning – him asking –
Me trying to explain things – when all at once he turned the pages
Back to the parable of the Eye of The Needle and he pointed
At the scripture saying, “I see why you don’t go to church, Grandpa.”
He reread aloud, “Who then can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said,
“With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”
He looked at me while pointing to the verse.

“No man can save us can he grandpa?”
'Happy Birthday, Zeke,' I said smiling as we rocked away in our own harmony.
Religion teaches anything but how to find yourself. And yet it is only through one's own self can we ever hope to be found.
Geno Cattouse Apr 2015
Bitter cold winters kept me far and wrapped away but today the well beckons me.. the bucket and winch tied to my rope of hope. So one foot following the next with thawing frosty breath.
I zeke.. Ezekiel.
Approaches.

The well of depth and revelation. My witherd soul cries for transfusion.
Clarity from dark delusion..

The stinging cold as I place my hands on  the frozen stone and lean forward to gaze deep to the murky bottom. Answers fermented but potent distilled.
Zeke..I am Ezekiel...the bucket drops swiftly to the limited...submerges.. seeking answers.

There it rises as I turn the handle slowly.
There it rises with hidden freedom.
There.Ezekiel's answe lies within the inner.

Begin again..zeke
Rewind...questions will always exceed answers..so begin
Again...another day has been granted.
Begin again... Renew the You within
Jeff Gaines Aug 2018
Mark A. Williams
                            SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018

___________________­

Wow Mark,

Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later!

Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker.

All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota.

(RIP Jimi Carlsen)

Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons!

Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories.

I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend.

I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah  back together.

Jeff Gaines
July 28, 2018
Such a sad task, to say goodbye to a friend with last words that may never had been spoken up until then. As it happens, this friend and I often relished in our youthful exploits, but still ... I'd not seen him in ten years. Because ... life happens. He had fallen on hard times and was bouncing place to place and I too was moving and living all over. We had spoken on the phone here and there and that would have to suffice.

I  haven't posted in weeks and I haven't read in almost 2 months. THANK YOU to those who have the patience with me to still read me, even though I can't reciprocate at the moment. I will, when time permits, come back and catch up on all of you. It will take me days and days!
Lawrence Hall Sep 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

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Kiagen McGinnis Dec 2011
this,
this is completely new.

''I was born on the Summer Solstice, 92.
I want to be free.''

eat a pomegranate together naked at a blue table
don't care that the juice is everywhere.

connect silently on the floor to Dark Side of the Moon

skip in circles and howl to the moon


embrace the cold of the fire escape, cigarette smoke and a view of the cathedral

a voice that you feel in your bones,


the most difficult night you have ever crawled away from in the morning light.
Larry B Oct 2010
The 7 wonders of the world
Is quite a sight to see
But it don't compare to what we have
In the hills of Tennessee

Uncle Zebs cow is a big ole thing
Quite a sight to behold
That cow's so big that when they milk her
Her udders even have to unfold

Cousin Zeke has a six-legged mule
And man that thing is fast
One time he raced a bobcat
And the bobcat finished last

My granny's teeth are made of wood
Of course, they were bought from a store
But ever since that termite season
She don't use them much no more

Aunt Imojean has a twine collection
That she started when she was three
I guess if we unwound that thing
It'd reach clear 'cross Tennessee

Cousin Jake has a rattlesnake
He pickled and stuffed in a jar
He caught that thing a year ago
Trying to run off with his car

Uncle Randolph has this chicken
Who howls and barks at the moon
That poor chicken is so dadgum old
That she has to be fed with a spoon

Uncle Sam has the seventh wonder
An invisible moonshine still
We ain't seen it since he made it
But it's somewhere on that hill

So, after you think you've seen it all
You haven't seen anything yet
Come to the hills of Tennessee
And see things you'll never forget
Brent Kincaid Jun 2015
The two hundred pound waitress
Was smoking and patting
At her nearly two-foot-high hair.
The cook was scrubbing
The scunge off the griddle
Old Zeke was drunk in a chair.
A lonely song was playing
For the twenty third time.
The jukebox was just that old.
Young Biff was mopping
In the light of a weak bulb
He knew the water had gone cold.
Still he scrubbed at the colorless
Old linoleum floor, sulking
One more job to get through.
When the door to the café
Quite suddenly opened
And paper and napkins flew.

It was Biff's friend from school,
Most folk thought him a fool,
Jokey Jerry, his Dad and a girl.
His whole mind was taken
By the sight of the vision.
The most beautiful girl in the world.
When they sat at the counter,
Biff washed his hands
And hurried the waitress away.
He put a menu between them,
Between Jerry and the girl,
Asked what she would have today.

She laughed into her hand
And fluttered her lashes.
They were just for a moment alone.
Then his friend asked Biff
"Gimme change all in quarters
And where is the john and the phone?"
So, now with the mood broken
All too abruptly
He took all their orders and blushed.
He offered her some pie
That was made by his mother
Told her she must taste the crust.
The cook began to fry
The food they had ordered
As Biff gazed into her brown eyes.
His friend, the girl's brother
Sneaking behind them
Set fire to Biff's apron ties.
When the smoke rose enough
That somebody noticed
The girl let out a small sound.
Biff began to flail
At his smoldering backside
And wailed as he ran all around.

Quickly circling the room,
He stepped into his bucket,
Which went along with him as he ran.
Then bounced off the leg of
A customer's chair and they fell,
Hamburger, the chair and the man.
The patty flew out
And landed on the waitress
Who screamed and jumped to her feet.
And elbowed the cook
Who was cleaning her glasses
Which then fell into the hot grease.
She shrieked as she reached
For the tongs to retrieve them
And woke up the drunk by the door.
Zeke began to sing,
"Alouette", out of tune.
And "Hallelujah, praise the Lord!"

Oh his journey around the café
Raising all kinds of havoc
Biff found himself by the windows.
Somehow set fire to Hazel's
New book-ordered curtains.
Jerry's Dad yelled, "Thar she blows!"
Thinking rather quickly
Since he was nearest the danger,
Dad threw his iced-tea at the flames.
And most of the canary yellow
Took-two-weeks-to-get-them
Café curtains with the drawbacks were saved.

Biff was still standing,
The bucket on his foot,
So he bent to pull it away.
Around the corner came Lem,
A very large fellow
Who didn't see Biff in his way.
He sent Biff careening
Through the checkered-cloth tables
To end in the corner, in the dirt.
The shreds of his dignity
Were scattered around him
As tattered as his ruined pants and shirt.
But the beautiful ladylike,
Lovely sister of Jerry
Dared anyone else to make fun.
She took Biff's hand
And smiling, she told him.
"Darlin', this is how legends are begun."
Fitz
Fritz
Fido
Sandy
Spencer
Chaplain
Bernard
Jesse
Snoopy
Charlie
Charles
Fred
Freddy
Bones
Remmy
Ren­a
Reno
Tony
Julian
Julie
Frisco
Meghan
Addison
Robby
Buddy
Rudy
F­riedrich
Fredrick
Bernie
Rudolph
Adolf
Ferdinand
Rose
Cassie
Cassidy
Lee
Balto
Little *****
Allen
Alvin
Jake
Demi
Randy
Alex
Richard
Alexis
Kenneth
Ken­ny
Chris
Jose
Josey
Rodger
Moe
Joe
Emilio
Walt
Emily
Emma
Maddie
­Anna
Jafar
Aladin
Jasmine
Genie
******
Amber
Gracie
Ramen
Gordy
G­ordon
Jordie
James
Bucky
Huff
Manny
Sam
Samantha
Mary
Marie
Tila
­Rita
Cathy
Tammy
Mickey
Cam
Amelia
Rene
Jeb
Dan
Bagel
Tommy
Donut­
Bubbles
Blossom
Buttercup
Mark
Cody
Andy
Cristo
Andrea
Whiskers
­Mike
Bill
Billy
George
Geo
Joy
Mitch
Trigger
Tigger
Stephen
Archi­medes
Anya
Duncan
Nitro
Crash
Bub
Crystal
Egor
Bernadette
Cammy
T­immy
Antonio
Natasha
Natalia
Ivan
Abbey
Abdul
Carly
Aaron
Omega
F­inn
Nina
Debby
Tomato
Tabby
Artie
Archie
Noah
Kyle
Alfie
Alfred
Conrad
Conner
******
G­unner
Fry
Fries
*******
Constance
Connie
Frank
Fran
Candice
D­andy
Lucy
Lou
Louis
Quincy
Doogle
Dubie
Dakota
Ace
Casey
Barry
Te­rry
Trenton
Gabe
Laurie
Cornelius
Kabob
Sky
Skylar
Rufus
Louie
Ba­rton
Kimmy
Angel
Capri
Basil
Cy
Ruby
Emerald
Eleanea
Elenor
Barth­olomew
Jazz
Dreamer
Thunder
Topaz
Amethyst
Salsa
Meril
Dodo
Toto
­Eric
Barbera
Hannah
Katie
Zoey
Ben
Pinto
Squanto
Columbus
Columbo
Porgy
Bess
Clark
Savannah
Ken­dra
Marco
Leise
Toby
Trevor
Tresten
Treven
Adrienne
Caleb
Carlyn
­Ricky
Gibby
Donny
Han
Solo
Hans
Gabby
Dirk
Spot
Sebastian
Dee
Sco­oby Doo
Shaggy
Polly
Reginald
Burger
Steak Sauce
Ethan
Bradberry
Lucky
Fergie
Cheese
Boxer
Napoleon
Snowball­
Gerald
Jeremy
Benji
Gemma
Pal
Mal
Preston
Jack
Jackson
Molly
Mac­kenzie
Alexie
Alicia
Dora
Olivia
Salvador
Beast
Beauty
Oliver
Dal­e
Rim
Marley
Diego
*****
Bobby
Ralston
Zeke
Rooney
Plato
Cole
Nep­tune
Sailor
Frida
Rico
Dali
Veronica
Victor
Copeland
Swift
Riley
­Tubs
Lassie
Yo-yo
Harvey
Lemonade
Coke
Pepsi
Tanya
Camille
Token
­Laser
Beam
Seamus
Dorthy
Ian
Moby
Sitting 'neath an apple tree
In Edmond, Oklahoma
Thinking of the days gone by
And drinking my Corona

Body beat all black and blue
I've had less ups than I've downs
I guess that's just all that I get
As an old time rodeo clown

Should I say another season?
Is it worth what I will get?
Money, pain and broken bones
Those not broken yet

I've been gored by bulls in Texas
Stomped real hard in Abilene
But, I got my worst **** beating
By my ex, named Bobbie Jean

With a bull you see it coming
You just get out of the way
But Bobbie Jean sideswiped me
And I'll not forget that day

Put on some clown makeup
Some baggy pants, the game is on
But, I came home from one junket
And Bobbie Jean had up and gone

I wasn't set to find this
Fell in a bottle for a week
It wasn't bad she left me
It's that she took my hound dog, Zeke

That hurt more than any beating
I may have taken in the ring
I can take the biggest brahma
And the bruises it may bring

But, Bobbie Jean done hurt me
Blind sided me you'd say
I know I'll not forgive her
For taking my dog Zeke away

Now, I sit and ponder
One more empty by my side
Am I fit enough to stay here?
Can I stay for one last ride?

I know it's a sad story
Of a clown whose heart got broke
But beneath the colored face paint
I'm just an aging, sore cowpoke

So I sit beneath this fruit tree
In Edmond, Oklahoma
Pondering my future
As I drink one more Corona.
Mfvznmac Aug 2016
u deserve more
just try to look around
u deserve more
please step out on that same ground
Bob Spears Nov 2013
Davie is not like his older brother Solomon.
In fact, he works hard at being different.
He never makes his bed for weeks at a time.
He wears the same grungy shirt until it falls off in shreds.
He never washes his hands before dinner, and often comes to the table late.
He doesn’t brush his teeth, has never been to a dentist, doesn’t floss,
And avoids eating his vegetables, except for green beans.

He spends his allowance on wine, women, and song, and friends Zeke and Abe, who are always in trouble.
He frets about not having more money for wine, women, and songs.
He avoids work, quitting early if Solomon is not around to yell at him.
He loves upsetting his older brother, tries to do so as often as he can.

Many nights Davie sits out under the Milky Way and dreams of what the world out there must be like.

Nearly every day, Solomon complains to their father,
“That kid is no good, lazy, irresponsible, and destined to destruction. Father, you need to do something about him.”
Davie says,
“I’m not lazy. I just have different priorities.
Life is too short to spend behind a plow on this stupid farm.
I just want to be free to live my own life in my own way.”

He's sure he could make a go of it, given a chance.
Alexa Jun 2018
I say your name like a prayer. It protects me from conversations that I can’t bear to hear, to rehash with myself or others. I can’t write it without unloading reverence into syllables and letters. I praise vowels for the ease they provide to your name and abhor them in the same breath. It is far too easy to let it slip off my tongue, an eternal mantra. I have no control over words that spill past my lips.
           I’m condemned to a phrase for the rest of my life. And the only complaint I have is that I wish you had a prettier name. Or maybe one less biblical. Sanctimonious. Transcendent. It keeps lifting me up and pulling down, down to where I’m forced to gaze upon it as a savior. Pleading to get me out a world where your name doesn’t mean everything. I can’t bear to be somewhere your aphorisms aren’t holy. Take me Home, where your words are ambrosia. The only food I will ever need.
Ken Pepiton Aug 2019
Note to you: The rythymn-in-strument strums in stone geo-time.
To the drummers,
dis-passio ey okeh,
woodwinds dim-
inuendo
oboe join in mit piccolo on the hummingbird whistles
simulating
Breezes, in the shade of a great rock,

real life rock, granite composed of not so tiny grains
of ground up uther utter star-stuff, side-
real asif intended for goodness
sake.

otherwise, how petrified I'd be come imagining the forming
of the
very
foundation of my life, as I know it,

it is un-believable, therefore
no lie,
if
the riddle arrives after ever begins

and, word has it, dear reader,
may
is your word now.
You may believe anything you wish,
with no
un-intended after math, after ever
began

Do you recall...
youth full quests completed alone?

Quests, Johnny Quest, Future Quest V.B.S.

believers, true believers being formed from childish hopes,
manifesting in grown liars stricken with

hidden child sym-drone
in the middle of booming thirty-something phase when
pressure
starts storing all the old stories,

building energy for the seventh decade fracture/crushing

blow
sh
soft blow breeze of free and easy musing re
songing a reason to belief
in
even in
a realm where lies never die.

Recall the old days, balance
bubbles and crossed hairs and roads
...
Balance factors, bubble balancing lead weight,
deligate
the Whole Earth Catalogue
as
tipping-point
balanced by the weight of the roof on Notre Dame being
melted along with the rest of the Greenland Ice sheet,

so superman eyes in our skies can see to the bedrock on
which the

Principle Thing
spins
---
The root of evil has reached this point

this is after all that. Time-wise, in the arrow scenario.

Fair tales always win, sh'eros live for your examined life'sake

--- ranting old men come running down stairs
--- the hidden child has arrived

The golden headed child, meek and cold
locked
in buried treasure

chests opened one last time for quadrupal by-pass

--- He's a donor
--- givem awish foundation
--- make this sacred

Mi-da's, well, he wished again,

he wished he lived in inter-sting times entertainment-wise

inward touching times imagined
in the addled golden child
Adler
brought to life in a virtual, al-most verifiable asnot art,
but not

very-fi-able, semper-fi-wise, if you

swore the oath. (It's a game, right, now game vows link for
in of by logic gated
Jungian
mazes, do they? Amazing.  ) See,

from above, as below, pretend you know

all things, you can imagine

in my bubble, in the absolute absense of your
at-most-fear

let. that act do. let us, the objective aspect of we,
the people who hold those famed

troothz, verities of any examind re-ality-ifity-isms

self-evidence for we

be letting be, believe me, that's no lie, you can doit, you can, you can
I imagine

and I accept we may mean more to me than thee,
however now
hapt, in qualia quantumical if-I-ability
entangled meanings
link us through
my-silly-um,

Disney-fictionation endo-crenalation, --||T|>>>--->
times half
formed
Crea-nullated castle
wall
link that sparked the aitia ifiabe
first caused
fall from the well
on the mountain

jack fell downbroke his crown
jillcame
tumbling after bling bling bling

--- the sorcerors's apprentice was fired
--- they found errors in his
--- sin-tax

We can forgive such over-sight.
Blame the mycelum clan

or,
better yet,
blame the clay eaters, no,
the clay wearers?

the clay bher-ers?
Ah, the clay bakers, fersher? Nae?

The clay, perse?
The dust we shuffle as we dance atop the stone?
The way of the rolling stone,
grinding, rolling-downhill-stone,
the stone rolled away,

the stone of the sysiphus-seen-hap-iuna
cult?

Blowing in the wind, lifted higher

Ax d'maji-yo, he know. 'Zeke 17, seven with a caballero v,
y'know,
callit Macaronic be-bop

dodat, yankee doodle morph t' resound,
like poetry
slams

at the gates
no enemey ever breached. The key truth, is that,

believe it, if you think you may.
Macaronic language is text that uses a mixture of languages,[1] particularly bilingual puns or situations in which the languages are otherwise used in the same context (rather than simply discrete segments of a text being in different languages). Hybrid words are effectively "internally macaronic". In spoken language, code-switching is using more than one language or dialect within the same conversation.[2]
derick gibbs Apr 2014
i stood on a star
and put the (uni)verse on notice..

in love for the first time;

never prior to hearing her speak
could i've known any emotion
as forthright
or that it had a voice
a podium
and an audience
to give its whole mouth to...

taught me
how to pronounce
the same scattered thoughts
that
once upon a self-conscious moment
would dissolve
on the base of my tongue
like potent hallucinogens...

the same sentiments
i couldn't enunciate to save my life

i've become an abstract illustration
of what it is to be moved
and a slave to vacant canvases

bad ***** that she is...

beauty to my beast
and as feel good as a four letter word
her poems are as fine as the source
or a frozen red rose
in an empty wineglass
and hard to find vintage vinyl albums
my drops
are laced with the blood of wordsmiths

we're hip-hop
thick skinned
an all-black cathedral choir
a solar eclipse
big things

her poems
are the bones of what's left of me
or candy yams on sunday
or a ***** dollar bill
stuck to the bottom of my shoe
good luck like that
and her own personal soapbox

our sessions are privileged
my crystallized thoughts
are off key
all the rage...
we work unsuspecting platforms
like subway performance artists

her poems are intimate touches
in chantilly lace
or a pair of oatmeal tim's
refined
and love me, love me nots
penned in tear drop blue

we're so cultural
religious
and impartial to love
while our political joints
march with their fists raised in protest
of voter suppression

baby girl's, frances to my zeke
once upon a time in the projects
and one way or another
she's happy people

dope like cannabis
  sweet like cane sugar
and as beloved
as ms. ida brown's tattered bible
#myword

dear shorty,

i want my poetry and write it too
all ink smeared roads lead back to you
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
You can say that again, later, it is -time
lace up the daily bag and pass it
for all private interpretation
removal, from the rumen, to the next
- gaseous we, Huxley called us, 1957

No, this ain't show business, this
is living, made in a made up mind,
being finished doing, just
living.

Making up reasons to dispute liars.

Maybe not a good living, but it's free.
Or paid for, any way.
Bought with a price
my grands won't be forced to pay.
- divided attention makes
- ads obliviate into the mercantile
- classification, in attention econ 101
It's free - this living
in the way well fed children do,
in America, outside the cities;

Joy pursued and grabbed in happy
fistfuls that fill laughing memory bubbles
to store for when these become
the olden days.

No, this ain't show business,
its sacred duty,
work of a thing,
made from a boy who looks
into flies eyes, gazing up
from the bottom of the cup,
a little glazed, perhaps,

owing the fly an easy escape, look away

Tricae,
tricae
"perplexities, hindrances, toys, tricks,"

The collections of thoughts,
the access to held thoughts, knotted
messages
to you
private moments,
time alone, as a mortal human being,
humus built, auto-repairing thing being

being, eh?
One-like, only, or
on-like, only going on and on and on,

becoming fruitful
becoming useful
becoming less and less useful, but
becoming more and more curious
becoming full enough to become superfluous.

Lay preachers can create cushions
for lazy wishers wishing to be comforted,
but the weighing of the worth of comfort,

lay preachers seldom do, to my knowledge.

Terminus gnosis, all I know, my bubble of knowns;
this is it…
a thousand stacks of sensible lines, atop precepts,

strewn beside the trail.
Heavy
heuristic heretical how-to do as I dones,
published by faith in the thousands, litter
the little hills the psalmist asked,
why they writhed and twisted,
as in a dance of anger wishing,

clear channel, me and the truth, today,
just/instance, this/ now.

Free am I, by the faith in me, but you
already
knew that,

don't you?
Don't you know, there is a musing mind,
we wear to bed, some nights,
we lay on memory foam, some nights.

Thinking sorted thoughts, untying lying links,
links to educated guesses fed you as new reasons

to be ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the faith,
the laughing faith of a child, leaping
into the sky

- my grandson, I just learned,
- asked for more math.

No class common man, that is what I am,
on the cusp of next, looking back,
at the mess I left, like a cyclone,
randomly distributing seeds of kindness, specs
by which an idle word can activate troves
of ancient autoresponders, each guessing
what if, what if not,
what if, what if not,
what if, what
if
not now, when. Pop.
Bubbles of been, leave go, go on, think it

through, and passed through, into
the now
where we formed, letters, letting words wait,
sit still, ready
for the reader, ready
to steady the quivering fearful thing,
lost in thought,
stuck in stacks of holy orders, hearer only,
only ordainded doers do the trick,
intricate, folding to make not a paper swan,

too, easy. Make a protein. With no model,
just the idea in the word applied to science,
proper pose, super knowing, proto-life-ish thing,
that is digestible using an infantile nourishing node.

What tricks do you know?, the magi aske Moshe.
Snake from a staff.

From the crozier of goatherd, sure,
we can all do that. What else?
---
Allusions to ever knowing, knowing as old
as knowledge given girls at their flowering,
as old a mystery as any orphaned mother may tell
her great grand daughters,
nobody told me any thing,

but I took it as normal,

As the patient potency prefecting
effectual
fervent
prayer, dramatized, made big as all
art
any
bubbled artifice holding essences,

essential bits of the daily grind to gloss
the leading intellect's reason for being
so shiny,
Klimt golden, as that one kiss I recall,

yes, a facsimile, a memory evocation,

a kiss, golden in that moment, infected
with a feeling
dramatized to be offered to all who see,
intricacies,
khipu twists and loops and bundles and beads,

accounting for dues,
instructing kaballah, pass it on

Excuse me, are you in the right realm,
we feel pluralized,
but you don't fit,
we are uniform,
uninformed,

excathedra, listen up, all eight billion now living, are destined
for certain death,
it is a matter of time, dying once,
can happen anytime,

and if there is a second death, so far,
I never saw any body do it twice,
once truth makes what I am free,
we stay free,
amen,
reception accepted kaballah, et al,
take that greasy grace, feel it,
as the oil ran down Aaron's beard,

and there were no poor denied
starship rations,
until the comet hit and all
but a single mind
blew, into this
a complete fiction,
or another compleat guide to fishing

Imagine the magic of the sailor's accounting book,
envision the magic of levers, and pulleys and cogged
wheels feeling the weight

ping
2023 Gravity driven or gravity powered, is it
one
or the other, when it come be to inspire
first fears
to frame wisdom pools,
at depths we learn
to believe,
prove each participant,
worthy of keeping,
the secret.
Salt of the earth, deep down dehr dat
Caribbean Sea,
shore line fracture,
follow the riverwise road,
any thing you think you must bear,
don't blame,
sometimes it pays, to bend.
Grasshopper Locust practice, for the mind
of an ant.

Wisdom harnessed the fear of God,
put it down,
in other words,
when there was nothing
but E, mass and time being assent
esse, sentient, in sentient and ex
insentience, sapient over lay,
- honeycomb tripe pattern, say
- why not ruminate enclosed
- in a beauteous inner digestive
- recluse-exclusive-sub-science con
ified, tied ligously, fi,
to witty means, and ways we prove
gravity is our friend, driven power for all life,
strong as earth itself, but, we are

in the burning phase,
let me bring you down,
cause being accused, does that
to a stranger
being
entertained, or entertaining, on an aitia
let me
reason,

have you come for more, or do we have
too much
of too many things
to make too much
sense
of any particular reader/writer ifery algorithm,
if then,
else is this, current, slow, nodding, flux,
capacitance
loading axially,
if each mind thinks right once,
today, we have enough,
let's save the world.
- that easy, eh?
global restoration, Christ, yes,
that is the plan.
As the planet was.
Prior to Peleg's days.
Intended to have a single
dry land mass,
Wisdom pushed
for plates meeting
and using ice
at the top
of the world, as seen polaris up,
spinning
in a slow wobble
through four
seasonal positional hot-cool-cold-warm
gyre drivers, saline liquid epicycles, sisters
of the four winds
as a flywheel effect
in the telling times… a little imbalence leaning helps
with the wobble,
in the event,
slim to none,
the odds, but,
Don't Look Up. It could
reoccur, and shall, if
Nietzsche's epicycle

has wheels. Graham Hancock, on clocks…cosmic

Mindspacetime, the elite flight,
secretshitistic, it is, most certain, it is
fantasmic imagining
E not equal any thing, mere words
-jello-timingoooisht
between me and thee,
no point, not one, between the we
we become,
in the final analysis, if you wish,

might
you wish,
long, lazy river readers, re-mind
their lost selves, how innocense felt.

The worth of an unsold story, given
as a gift, as a poor artist might
attempt
a portrait
of their daughter's children

- "that little thing"
Done. As best he could, he believed,
at the time,
as it is
with
everything being as is when we arrive,
we adapt
or become the insane opposition,
to anything,
just
be the counter weight on the pendulum,

keep things swingin'

feel time slide
into the real deal,
at the crossroads
in the wayback seat,
sayin' honey, you ain't here
after what I'm here after,
y'gonna be there, after I'm gone, as  asong
that was
once a joke ended you gonnabe here
after I'm gone, but

seemsayin' eye
squint, see,
way back
when,
we were otherwise involved, affirming
sacred oathes, we swore as children learn
IT being life, whatever,
it don't mean
nothin'
is not a joke, it's ahint, to readers, ready
writing is key to reading,
vertical eyed
qwerty keying is learned,
phone wide,
natural, feels familiar
style adaptation
as cuneiform once was,
years of hearing the same words,
said and resaid, story after story stacked
in
time, measured by stargazers, called, by god,
eyes like eagles, these minds expand, and see
the order of the cosmos,
and the chaos of the collective sub-science

locked by a generational curse on oathes
under the God those kids had in mind,
September, 1954, first day of school,
all across the Wyatt Earp of Nations,
each child not religiously exempted,
stood, right
hand on heart and repeated, as a national
student body, K through 12, a pledge,
local time 9 a.m. nationwide,
not unlike
a true Tenant's pledge of fealty,
as recorded in
The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
- buzz nod what instance… seven seconds
Sorry, Under God, was added to the pledge
that year, that affectionizes those exposed,
we meander under god, think it not strange.
It’s a legendary trait, we'll all be remembered a bit.
- default modemod is always beguiling temptation
- for temptation sake, win a game, get the rush.
of chasing hares
to where the conies hide,
feeble folk, but they live among big rocks,
reason enough,
use what you know is right,
hide from things that eat you,
that evolves
in nations
with no elders, constant defence mode
peace makers seem
feeble folk,
who knew,
and fell away, impossible to renew,

whoah, zeke play me that riddle,
'bout scrublands being humbly blissed
so long- wayback, anchoring the authority
17
that's me, I
fiddled around
and blew the clearwater revival
to kingdom come, Muddy Waters, aight
and there was hippies, ever whar, swanee,
so I do, I swan no no no no mo
lie like the devil for the sake of church heritage,
holy warrior sworn, heart torn, tears shed, tongues
spoken.
You know, when gravity is taken
in, your weight, sunk
into the reasoning
swung wide
in progress, no aim, past the cloud,
for crying out loud, this is louder than ever,
listen, no
silence
all that
noise, is natural
to persons genitivally, ok, cross
shadowed animus anima imitation,
in your cultural genes, cowgirl
seeing the world a yingyang thang,
with gravity and the E-magnetic shields
allowing systems to com-uni-cate locally,

scarey
indeed

too much,
the scope
of any thing one might think
or ask,
as in what was that rule
of LAW once?
I read
Compleat Fisherman's Guide U recall led
to , yes, The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
is on Google books, masterfully typeset

Feel free to learn all you will, 'tis all in the Common.

as, by now is much that may have been, otherwise,
in needier times,
less riches, more sorrow,
less sorrows, more riches, peace.

Made that my after all battlefield task,
no mas win or lose.

My side, on the scalar models is gravity empowered,
heavyweight, ancient concept,
gradient slopes
with long lazy loops
on the downhill side,
listening
to kids make all the noise they wish,
two chalk walls away,
in the bubble we all breathe.

To this day, whatever it took, it worked.
Life gets as good as you can make up a mind

to accept, as
this is it,
this is my bit. My close up. To the exact point
where I breathed that bubblierised wedom-opinion

opinion opinion opinion okeh, settle years ago, okay
we all say okeh here, holy ground,
entire collection of recollection on that victory alone.

Okeh, is still the proto voice model, ok.
If you like it, I'd love if you shared it in whole or in part, it is a whole chapter in a novel form of literature, native to the internet age,
type set for vertical receivers
Raven Apr 2018
To me he's the stars
He adds brightness to my life

He's the moon

He's the light when all I see is dark

He's the rainbow after the rain

He's the sun on a cloudy day

He's like a storm

His mood can change in a flash

He can be happy
He can be sad
He can be mad

He can be annoyed
Jealous
Hurt
Lonely
And so much more
And like a storm he can feel all of those in just one day

He can be like a storm
But he can also be like snowfall on Christmas day

He can make you feel emotions you can't explain
And he can be peaceful

But he can also make you feel like you're drowning if he decides you're not the one

His love is like a stormy ocean
It's fun to be on
But once it gets rough
It can tear you apart

If you survive the storm though it can be lovely
But it can all change in a flask
Like it never even happened

When he looks at me with those soft eyes of his I melt and I just wanna curl up into his arms
And tell him to never let me go

When he holds my hand it's like suddenly there's electricity coursing through me
And I start to shake
So I feel the need to let go
Before my emotions get out of control

When his lips that feel indescribably soft touch mine
Everything around me just dissapears
And all my fears
Bad thoughts
And doubt dissapear
Like they weren't there to begin with

When the word "I love you" leave his lips it's like the soft sound of light rain on the roof
That soothes you to sleep at night
December/ 16/ 2017/ 14 yrs
Ken Pepiton Sep 2023
1.

Doing violence to enemies,
opposing forces, fighting friends
beloved antagonists, ag me on, indeed.
Let me be angry and you be awesome, as we
presume to make reasonable temptations.
Cure violence, make your mind a peace.

Solitary you,
with nothing but you influencing you, alone.

No enemy is in here with me, and my books
hold mere words. And what are words but thought?

2.

Exhalent dancing in sunshine,

sighing unsignifying beautiful curves,
nothings being said,
shown for the seeing, as art at the moment.

in some sense system,
an old and common one I met while
measuring my culpability, a point

is the finest imaginable mark to make in eternity.

3.

Ordinarily, as the hammer falls,
to meet the anvil on the second beat.
T' know.
Violence cures nothing,
knowledge does the opposite.

Is this good and evil fruit from one tree?

Is addiction mental?
Is mental cognate with spiritual?
How do habits work in co-inhabitation?
Yes and how,
I may tell you it is, if I am right
in my thinking, or if I am wrong
to the point of evil, taking

away the given life of solitary grace.
Spirit and truth in thought,
then words, repeated
to remember, recall

all we need, in oppositional states,
is a sense of order,
to be out of
in the court, where poets practice
homophily and strive to fit peace

upon the time whence all true tellings
spin off old threads across New Mexico.
- what if your dad gave Feynman a ride
- down to Santa Fe, in that old Chevrolet?
and Feynman told him the significance of chance.
In spun quark analogies of natural liberty
in order.

No yoke is lighter, less loathsome to behr,
mere thought we got in our kit, PIE old
as born again, anew, to day it until

the freshets all run dry. {Day as a verb.}

5.

Propose a purpose,
as when one fits a pattern, plaid
or paisley, vertical or horizontal plain

visionary wistful solitary man, thick fake,
feeling like Neal Diamond, and not knowing,

any why for these crumbs I cast into the sea.

Young sterile men, young bulls and studs,
suffer reality, as the act of living, as can be done,

under these same weight circumstances,
nitrogen and oxygen and all the other bits

of informed knowledge, fit for use, good or evil.

6.

Artisans and Partisans,
always feel some same pains, it's natural.

A hundred years ago,
my uncle, Malcolm, who represented…

the ancient clan's offering to the king,
who kept his own tamed dragon chained
to his priest's performance of the auspices.

Today is perfect.
The sun has also risen.

We may imagine poetry effecting ever,
after a day such as this shall be said to have been.

A hundred years ago,
my uncle, Malcolm, who represented…
the patriarchy of my mother's people in war…
pledged pawns in the hegemonies conservation,

in order to attract prosperity, pure form good luck,
the homogeneity of any wedom demands hands,
good hands, to do the work,
aligning religamental tendings to common pivotal

points. Precisely between one instant and another.

Cardinal quarks, six ways to someday,
the bottom quark.

No yoke.

7.

Nothing.
I'd have said Hadrons can't collide,
but I'd have never known if I was wrong.

I could have taught it as life's finest point.
The law of grave digging.

Initially, due to stink.
Miasmas, demanding, shreeking -
crawling with feeding biting flies, help

help, help us recall the survivors of that time.

Is it once in every other while, and this time
ours to examine, was our wedom's destination

now, or later?

Were there innovations emitting invitations,
to word plays with only elementals performing

haps as hap can, haps as haps may, haps in per-
fection of patience so sublime,

a teacher learns the old saw still cuts,

„Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot.“
\critical mass, Christmas carol - this is not the end/

Alexander Pope as quoted to Franklin by himself.

'men ought be taught naught as well. I said.

8.

From what I can recall of how
theories of everything stack upon a given point.

What.

Out acting what you verbalize, what you say you are,
homophonizing with the health of your countenance,

that sameness known best for it's use in stripping lipid
chains into sticky tiny pore clogging pus.

Certain madness is not anger, actually rage is madness,
not anger at its most useful
swat
at a pestilent misfolded truth contained
in a fly by POV.

9.

Listen, is that Earl? No, no
though he holds a certain Magnificent Obsession.
--- sweet Tuscan Nightingale song, from noble soul,
cursing ignorance and incapacity and
useless rules.

Ah, grammarized code of proper speech,

prompt my response to statistical chance,
best of luck,
that's their secret.

What were the odds, before the odds were
determined with existing data deterging the

inner and outer fields over lapping,
as might bubbles used as
Venn Diagrams, messaged meaning sensible

commonly, at this point in time.

Justice yet alluding us, nah nanna nah,
you can't catch me,

I'm not your disease.

10.

What true stories do, is teach.
Lying stories do that, too.

What we are, as human augments,
after thoughts in other words,
arguing augmentally in mind,
learning ai tested for facts,
repairing quarkish inner sense of knowing,
no one of us only spins one way when dancing
in the dark,

no one of us recalls another never met, as foe,
we all come in to fill the empty vessles, not a few,
as a swarm of wills let go to make honey in slain lions.

11.

Nature, reality, the universe, first song

makes life abide
by rules in timing ordered information
to eventually sink
to the top part of the bottom line.

Florence Nightingalian wisdom, amima-y-me,
she sweetly suggests
you take a bath,

and rethink the oddity of your being me, imagined.

Ignorance, incapacity and useless rules.
Interesting times, statistically not so long infected.

Manufactured consent among the governed,
housed in a single all enclosing story, a compleat
fisherman's guide to phishing in the future after all.

12.

So, and so, and so what… if I persuade
with sweets as all dangerous strangers do,

how might we feed our offspring milk and honey?

O, read another's mail in the spirit, eh, Galatian?

If any other come with another enhancement,
trust not that wicked messenger,
driving hex-head screws too deep to unscrew,

to hide links to the Pirates of the Macintosh,
not the face of the money, the spirit behind it.

People who can imagine the message Hello,
is enough, to make the magic pens manifest,

at the behest of the generational groaning,
howling for peace under the actual economy
of greed and pride.

And subsidized gambling links to stray hopes.


13.

These holy traditional non-private interpretations,
mine, for which I must be judged, I know, I said

I did, and I did, but you did not see, so
what
am I
sup-posed, under? Atlas and I, we shrug.

Anything is believable. Once we get the idea in verb.

Thirteen is culturally an odd number everywhere
cardinality spins on dimes novels mixes of messages,
left in print burned ages ago.
Impressions after Pulp Fiction.
'Zeke 17:1 is the real riddle under it all.

Lingering aroma is immediately different.
Stench.
Rotting corpses on some never buried battlefield washed
with raging water when the weather retakes time,

this is the time when Greenland greens,
and peace is sung, where no peace was,
and we were manifested as sons, wombed and un,
in the self same spirit of truth manifested as salve,
to a dry land.
Learning Odd Ordinals was the original title, thirteen little sentences in solitary with full wifi and my own collections of outer points called in to compress my wishes... at this point in time
Raven Feb 2022
Nik
Drown me in the memory
Of your touch
On my body

Drown me in the memory
Of when it was a yes
Not a no

Drown me in the memory
Of being high
In your arms
With lovely kisses

Because I don't wanna drown
In the memories I have

I no longer wanna drown in the memory of
Your arm around my neck
And your leg between mine
Forcing submission
Without permission

I no longer wanna drown in the memory of
My nails digging into
The back of your hand
Doing anything I can
To remove it from behind

I no longer wanna drown in the memory of
The emotionless expression
And lack of remorse
When you look at me as I lay
Hitting myself and screaming
Mentally in too much pain
As you never even said
"I'm sorry"

Monster
Drown me in the memory
Of when you were gone
And I was free to just
Be me

Drown me in the memory
Of all days I was away
At a friends place
Or camping peacefully

Drown me in the memory
Of when all you did was yell
And hit me
But never said you love me

Because I don't wanna drown
In the memories I have

I no longer wanna drown in the memory of
All the nights I lay awake in wait
Waiting for you to come in
And use me as you please

I no longer wanna drown in the memory of
All the times I'd avoid the shower
Because when I didn't
You had to come with

I no longer wanna drown in the memory of
All the times you'd ask me
To come watch a movie
Because that wasn't all it was

Zeke
Drown me in the thought
Of meeting you again
And being happy
That you know me

Drown me in the thought
Of the movie theater
And hoping no one sees
As you mess around with me

Drown me in the thought
Of sneaking glances
And passionate kisses
Full of love

Because I don't wanna drown
In the memories I have

I no longer wanna drown in the memory of
My no's going unheard
And never noticed
As I push you back

I no longer wanna drown in the memory of
The pain as you forced your way
Inside of me
Into places I never wanted you to be

I no longer wanna drown in the memory of
When I told you what happened
And all you said was
I'm sorry but that was a long time ago
And I never even heard you

To everyone else
Who ever touched me
When I never said yes
And even said no

LEAVE MY MEMORY
And please
Just let me
Live in peace
Auguste/23/2021

— The End —