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TheModernHippie
26/M/MNL Perfect translations when the heart sings but the head grabs the mic too often
does the moon get tired? ***~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock, by the light of the fireflies, till the angels are dispatched by Nana, to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~*** <•> while walking the dog I no longer have, a happenstance glanceable up over the River East, there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness , surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds, all deferentially bowing, waving, passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way perhaps, to Rebecca's northern London, of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^, in any event, the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,   all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place, Master of the Night Sky We, the word careless, poets excessive, sometimes called silly poppies, old men, left footed, still crazy after many years, most assuredly poets false all of us, without a proper prior organized thought train, outed, bludgeon blurted, an inquiry preposterous and strange, strait directed to the sombre face, to mister moon himself! tell me moon, do you ever tire? the obeisant clouds shocked as that face we all uniform know, unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it, watched the moon's face turn askew. He looking down at our rude puzzlement, with a Most Parisian askance, a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief, while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks filled with airy atmosphere, then he sighed so windy winding, was it, so mountain high and river deep, that those chubby clouds were blown off course, from a starless NYC sky all the way past Victoria Station, only to stop at Pradip and Bala's mysterious land of bolly-dancing India, on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila, magic places all! Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative   (me) and in a voice basso beaming and starry sonorous, befitting its stellar positioning, squinting to get a closer look at the who in whom dare address him in such an emboldened manner! *Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura, my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses, reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission, only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing, p o e t r y* head and kneed, bowed and bent, I confessed (on y'alls behalf) we take your luminosity and don't spare you even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid to you-up-so-highness, and we hereby apologize for all the poets without exception, especially those moon besotted, only love poem writing, vraiment misbegotten scoundrels.... with another sigh equality powerful, mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica, all the way to the  US's West Coast, up to Colorado, where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light so perfect for rhyming, kayaking, and moonlight overthrowing, once more, the moon taken and begotten, nightly, as heaven- freely-granted *yes, I tire and though  here I am much beloved, usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed, seen in every school child's drawing, in Nasa's calculations, of my influential gravitational pull, moving human hearts to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint, and while this admirable devotion is most delighting, would it upset some vast eternal plan, if but one of you once asked, you fiddler scribblers my prior permission, even by just, a lowly mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?* *yes, I tire, even though my cycles are variable, my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages, my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence, unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over how hot looking she is, I,  so more personally interesting, yet you use me as if I were a fixture, on and off with a tug of the chain string, never failing to appear, even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan, and worse, mocked as an amore pizza pie, do you ever ask how I am doing?* *yes, I tire, of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly, but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there, a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still watching over them* *how oft in life do we presume, take for granted grants so extra-ordinary that we forget to remember the extra and see only the ordinary how oft in life do we assume, the every day is always every, until it is not, only an only a now and then, till then, is no longer a now* <> oh moon, oh moon, our richest apologies we hereby tender and surrender, our arrogance beyond belief, what can we offer in relief? silence heard loud and clear, mr. moon was gone, a satellite in motion, so our words burnt up in the atmosphere unheard we did not weep nor huff and puff, blow those clouds back to us, for we knew the extraordinary would return tomorrow, we will be ready, better another day, to prepare a lunar composition, a psalm of hallelujah praise, for mr. moon of which mr moon will never tire, for filled with the perma-warmth of our affection for the one we call mr.moon
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Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
does the moon get tired?
does the moon get tired? ***~for the children who never tire of moon gazing upon the dock, by the light of the fireflies, till the angels are dispatched by Nana, to sprinkle sleepy dust in their eyelashes so long and fine~*** <•> while walking the dog I no longer have, a happenstance glanceable up over the River East, there you were, mr. moon, in all your fulsomeness , surrounded by a potpourri of courtier clouds, all deferentially bowing, waving, passing past you at a demure royal speed on their way perhaps, to Rebecca's northern London, of was it south to grace of  v V v's Texas^, in any event, the cloudy ladies, all bustling and curvaceous,   all high stepping in recognition of your exalted place, Master of the Night Sky We, the word careless, poets excessive, sometimes called silly poppies, old men, left footed, still crazy after many years, most assuredly poets false all of us, without a proper prior organized thought train, outed, bludgeon blurted, an inquiry preposterous and strange, strait directed to the sombre face, to mister moon himself! tell me moon, do you ever tire? the obeisant clouds shocked as that face we all uniform know, unchanged anywhere you might go  to gaze, be looking upon it, watched the moon's face turn askew. He looking down at our rude puzzlement, with a Most Parisian askance, a look of French ahem moustacheoed disbelief, while we watched as the moon cherubic cheeks filled with airy atmosphere, then he sighed so windy winding, was it, so mountain high and river deep, that those chubby clouds were blown off course, from a starless NYC sky all the way past Victoria Station, only to stop at Pradip and Bala's mysterious land of bolly-dancing India, on their way to Sally's Bay of Manila, magic places all! Mr. Moon looked down at this one tremulous fool representative   (me) and in a voice basso beaming and starry sonorous, befitting its stellar positioning, squinting to get a closer look at the who in whom dare address him in such an emboldened manner! *Mmmmm, recognize you, you are among those who use my presence, steal my lighted beams, my silver aura, my supermoon powered light, borrow my eclipses, reveal my changeling shaped mystery without permission, only mine to give, you tiny borrowers who write that thing, p o e t r y* head and kneed, bowed and bent, I confessed (on y'alls behalf) we take your luminosity and don't spare you even a tuppence, a lonely rupee, no royalties paid to you-up-so-highness, and we hereby apologize for all the poets without exception, especially those moon besotted, only love poem writing, vraiment misbegotten scoundrels.... with another sigh equality powerful, mr moon pushed those clouds across the Pacifica, all the way to the  US's West Coast, up to Colorado, where moon-takings from the lake's reflecting light so perfect for rhyming, kayaking, and moonlight overthrowing, once more, the moon taken and begotten, nightly, as heaven- freely-granted *yes, I tire and though  here I am much beloved, usually admired though sometimes even blackened cursed, seen in every school child's drawing, in Nasa's calculations, of my influential gravitational pull, moving human hearts to love and giving Leonard a musical compositional hint, and while this admirable devotion is most delighting, would it upset some vast eternal plan, if but one of you once asked, you fiddler scribblers my prior permission, even by just, a lowly mesmerizing evening tide's tenderizing glance?* *yes, I tire, even though my cycles are variable, my shape shifting unique, my names so at variance in all your many musical sing-song dialectical languages, my sway, my tidal currents so powerful a deterrence, unlike my boring older sunny cousine  who just cannot get over how hot looking she is, I,  so more personally interesting, yet you use me as if I were a fixture, on and off with a tug of the chain string, never failing to appear, even when feeling pale yellow and orange wan, and worse, mocked as an amore pizza pie, do you ever ask how I am doing?* *yes, I tire, of my constant circuitous route that changes ever so slowly, but yet, too fast for me to make some nice human acquaintances, especially those young adoring children who give me their morn pleasurable squeals when they awake and my presence still there, a shining ghost of a guardianship protector still watching over them* *how oft in life do we presume, take for granted grants so extra-ordinary that we forget to remember the extra and see only the ordinary how oft in life do we assume, the every day is always every, until it is not, only an only a now and then, till then, is no longer a now* <> oh moon, oh moon, our richest apologies we hereby tender and surrender, our arrogance beyond belief, what can we offer in relief? silence heard loud and clear, mr. moon was gone, a satellite in motion, so our words burnt up in the atmosphere unheard we did not weep nor huff and puff, blow those clouds back to us, for we knew the extraordinary would return tomorrow, we will be ready, better another day, to prepare a lunar composition, a psalm of hallelujah praise, for mr. moon of which mr moon will never tire, for filled with the perma-warmth of our affection for the one we call mr.moon
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BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY, THIS WILL BRING THE PERFECT PLAY OF EMOTIONS AND CAPTIVATIONS AND SURPRISING REACTIONS I’ll have a car, a ride, a pony, stallion HAHA or not. Altis. Grey. Just the right size actually. Shouldn’t actually matter, but it does if you think about it. Confused, maybe a little since it’s out of a comfort zone. Exciting, I felt the chills on my neck just now lol. I know I talk easy but my mind will be racing for sure. I’ll think about the mood, the vibe, think about where things will be and why. I’ll wonder why I’m there for sure. And I’ll be a little good kinda scared. But I will be growing, no matter. That night will be evidence. Too early to tell? I wouldn’t know. But I know I’ll have tried to get at least 1 friend to go. Or two. Probably should invite them now. But what if I DO lone wolf it? She’ll get to see me being outgoing and not awkward with people. She’ll see me as fun to be with knowing he can get out of his skin to make something of himself where no one judged who he was and where he came from or how he spoke and how he dressed. Oh, thinking about it, it’s what I really want. Exploration, adventure, people. Money won’t be an issue, but if I’ll need a tissue or buy a drink for you. Which I don’t mind too. Maybe you’d be thinking the same. I’ve known this human as a real being for only 4 hours max. All that online talk, sure we get each other, sure we connect, but it’s the night where I become something to you for sure. You’ll become something for me maybe, even. Hopefully, and fearfully. But tonight the night will surely be a new scene, so on our guard we’ll be. I don’t know if you do that, and you don’t know if I go to these. I don’t know anything about you I’m scared. I feel like I should. But nonetheless, It’s a process I want to be on. I’ll think a dozen things or two, and overthink what I actually want to do. I’ll roll with the punches and play along, and I actually had a thought, maybe even sing you a song. This is too early to tell. I’m usually like this, sorry. I attach myself to people easily, and maybe this is good or bad, Because we will connect and be on the same wavelength and talk freely without judgement from the lookers and nobodies. ... And we might even flirt a little, arm touching, smiling wildly, trusting. “That beer will do fine right about now :)” “You sure you’re not gonna get drunk like the last time?” “Trust me, of all the nights, this is one I want to be sober on. Plus, this won't be our last time :)” ... But it just means that I’m exposed. And my strength will dwindle, you see. For you are as exactly in the position to react to my actions and expressions that will drive me towards exaggeration and exasperation, or painful expectations and realizations, as accordingly. I cannot be defenseless. There is so much of me that needs work on And I know if you are everything I pictured you to be, then you are one of the only things that can destroy me. So who really knows how the night will end? Will a romantic be satisfied or continue to be deprived of something he felt, could be real… ...for a moment at least? Will he ever so gracefully take hold and do away with it so beautifully or will he be struck down once again, ever so dutifully? Well, we’ll know for sure, won’t we?
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Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 3:47 PM UTC
Picture description of night 1
BELIEVE ME WHEN I SAY, THIS WILL BRING THE PERFECT PLAY OF EMOTIONS AND CAPTIVATIONS AND SURPRISING REACTIONS I’ll have a car, a ride, a pony, stallion HAHA or not. Altis. Grey. Just the right size actually. Shouldn’t actually matter, but it does if you think about it. Confused, maybe a little since it’s out of a comfort zone. Exciting, I felt the chills on my neck just now lol. I know I talk easy but my mind will be racing for sure. I’ll think about the mood, the vibe, think about where things will be and why. I’ll wonder why I’m there for sure. And I’ll be a little good kinda scared. But I will be growing, no matter. That night will be evidence. Too early to tell? I wouldn’t know. But I know I’ll have tried to get at least 1 friend to go. Or two. Probably should invite them now. But what if I DO lone wolf it? She’ll get to see me being outgoing and not awkward with people. She’ll see me as fun to be with knowing he can get out of his skin to make something of himself where no one judged who he was and where he came from or how he spoke and how he dressed. Oh, thinking about it, it’s what I really want. Exploration, adventure, people. Money won’t be an issue, but if I’ll need a tissue or buy a drink for you. Which I don’t mind too. Maybe you’d be thinking the same. I’ve known this human as a real being for only 4 hours max. All that online talk, sure we get each other, sure we connect, but it’s the night where I become something to you for sure. You’ll become something for me maybe, even. Hopefully, and fearfully. But tonight the night will surely be a new scene, so on our guard we’ll be. I don’t know if you do that, and you don’t know if I go to these. I don’t know anything about you I’m scared. I feel like I should. But nonetheless, It’s a process I want to be on. I’ll think a dozen things or two, and overthink what I actually want to do. I’ll roll with the punches and play along, and I actually had a thought, maybe even sing you a song. This is too early to tell. I’m usually like this, sorry. I attach myself to people easily, and maybe this is good or bad, Because we will connect and be on the same wavelength and talk freely without judgement from the lookers and nobodies. ... And we might even flirt a little, arm touching, smiling wildly, trusting. “That beer will do fine right about now :)” “You sure you’re not gonna get drunk like the last time?” “Trust me, of all the nights, this is one I want to be sober on. Plus, this won't be our last time :)” ... But it just means that I’m exposed. And my strength will dwindle, you see. For you are as exactly in the position to react to my actions and expressions that will drive me towards exaggeration and exasperation, or painful expectations and realizations, as accordingly. I cannot be defenseless. There is so much of me that needs work on And I know if you are everything I pictured you to be, then you are one of the only things that can destroy me. So who really knows how the night will end? Will a romantic be satisfied or continue to be deprived of something he felt, could be real… ...for a moment at least? Will he ever so gracefully take hold and do away with it so beautifully or will he be struck down once again, ever so dutifully? Well, we’ll know for sure, won’t we?
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Pull me close, In fact closer than most. Probably all of me, the nearest to all of you, I'll be jealous, it's me over... those Don't leave me, even though I'm always with you, You see, without you i am empty and no more free A dark space with light I'll never see But around your shoulders, that's where I'm meant to be Know that I feel you, as much inches of you, there is of me too The mole on your shoulder, that bump's still blue I'll hide your imperfections, they won't have a clue Having me will never feel like déjà vu Trust everything in me As you keep in me what you value, I'll make sure, effortlessly Just reach and see, i'll feel your hand slowly It'll be normal and comfy, that's how you'll know, lovingly I'll catch that stain of coffee Let me freeze, i'll stay warm where you'll be Rest your back, I'll feel your nape on this tree You don't need to speak when you're with me I don't mind how you notice others I know all places your elbow's been, the tear made by your brother No one else will have our stories, see That fact will always keep me happy Don't you worry And when day turns to sleep, Throw me by your side, or even at your feet I won't always feel your love, be your shape But I'm home with you anyway, And love is made of faith
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Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 7:58 AM UTC
The Sweater in your Closet
Hi It seems like you no longer need me That's okay, I know I no longer fit. You've outgrown me, worn me out, and I do look tired. We've gone on many adventures you see, to places we thought we'd never reach, heights we'd never climb, views that were only sublime Were you tired along the way? I bet you were. Tell me, don't be shy. We've come a very long way, you and I But don't worry about me if you'd like a change. Another may carry you longer, and even farther, you may even feel you've grown stronger. You'd go many paths and crossroads, rivers and seas, upon many paths right through the trees And that's okay, because I've served my purpose after all, when you jumped and stomped and walked and ran, i took the fall But if you want to go on adventures again, I'll be there, in all the places you'd expect me to be. They won't be the same, you may not feel the originality You may feel bored with it, And all it would be is familiar Never feeling the same kind of free But look, see, I have no holes in me, I look tired but there's still durability If you fuss and twitch, i may still mold to your feet Because you were meant to go the distance And i was meant to adjust But that's just the way it is And can never be the way it was.
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Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 12:21 PM UTC
A Pair of Shoes
Face not the version of yourself That begs you to melt into the molds of inactivity and content Face not the man in the mirror who beckons you "Time is enough, time will let be" These are faces of you That I clearly bear too And these versions of me tell Of a clear blue well Of reflections with a face And versions I need to chase The same man of fires blazing The same man of passions razing Weaknesses and twin demons That if I let be, will raise legions Of more neglections of me Those I do not wish to ever see Strip the shell that covers the strength Time is a length well traveled, see We seem we're baffled by how much we try But if you look closely at you and you It might be clear and finally true The timely definition Of I
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Sep 20, 2017
Sep 20, 2017 at 6:16 AM UTC
I
"Flower and stars" "Beautiful things, for beautiful people" "My dress and your eyes?" "I'm looking up again, am I?" "Keep gazing Wanderer, I don't mind" "But let my hand fall behind your head?" "Only if you promise to stay beside me" "And we can stare at the night" "And you might give me a fright" "Don't be scared my dear!" "With me you've got nothing to, fear?" "Where else should we go?" "With you, no place we've known!" "So finish this champagne with me" "And one last bite for good" "This one, looks perfect in your hair" "You seem to be my own constellation" "Will you bloom near me?" "Will you pass me by?" "Keep me close to you On the ground, moving up" "Let me see you High up there, high on our luck"
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Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 7:03 AM UTC
Flower and Stars
I will love you but not forever Because time will not define a feeling so divine But this is not the reason why I will love you, but not as strongly Because slowly and surely, commitment will be the key But this is not the reason why I will love you, but not as consistently Because my eye cannot vye with two to compromise But this is not the reason why And the reason why must not shock you It must not phase or break you, this is not to contain you It will never mean to release you But hope, to engage you Because I will not love you forever Because of another And this is without hesitation, nonchalant One who may be a little ignorant But will always be more observant Deserving, learning, and maybe even infinitely more important Because as you will see, And I hope you know what this means Together we were never meant to be two souls in a constant tether; I will love our child forever
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Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
I will love you but not forever
If it takes 11 messages To get 10 "seens" Picking up your phone 9 times Talking to 8 friends With 7 telling you to forget it But 6 thoughts run in your head And 5 are pretty good ones I'd think 4 words Regret it maybe 3 times But after 2 deep breaths I'd take that 1 good chance And say, "Maybe we could work" And by "we," I meant the 2 of us. We'll count to 3, and the  we'll be Happier and louder than the 4th of July. Our hands meet; ten fingers become 5, After 6, the sky is bleak But we have 7 more hours to sleep. By 8, we have coffee and conversation And you leave me after 9 train stations I ride alone for 10 more minutes You've already left 11 new messages I called you and you pick up at the 12th ring I said, "come home," and I hear you crying So maybe we go round gain Here and there, tying knots and ends For if a countdown ever would be I wish the best for you and me Because numbers are there So things may seem fair But truth is, no matter the stage It is with you I'd like to age
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Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 7:54 AM UTC
Numbers
This is fine, for me at least Nothing can harm me, I'm stable by the table seat And life goes on, stories be told Whatever happens we'll grow old I hope Here's a crazy thought, An answer none of us would have sought It's strange, you always saw so little of me I didn't feel as well, so worthy But hopefully, I'll be strong for you See, you'll arrive and depart, I wish, with me there too Because choices you have, that will always be plenty I'll have your whole life, as much as I can carry I don't care, it will be a little clingy But let me know, I'll fall where you want me Just know I'll gather winds and rains And sweets and pains, with you i'll remain On the mountain lay me for awhile I'll be heavy, but I'll be with you for miles On a boat out at sea, go diving without me When you return, I'll be the same, still happily Of course, life will be lighter without weight on your shoulders But I swear I'll keep up and even make you better Don't forget me, cuts and tears and all We'll brave the summer, winter, spring, fall You're a nomad when all's been said at least And adventure stokes the fire while keeping your peace I'll be whatever you need, my cup is yours to fill And even when you toss me aside, I'll cry, but still be at your will Because your shoulder's my sunrise The sunset, and the moon and sun I'll protect your back from dangers and promises undone At the end of the day, I'll lay waiting till you wake For another hour, year, or decade, I promise I will stay
0
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 7:44 AM UTC
Backpack
This is fine, for me at least Nothing can harm me, I'm stable by the table seat And life goes on, stories be told Whatever happens we'll grow old I hope Here's a crazy thought, An answer none of us would have sought It's strange, you always saw so little of me I didn't feel as well, so worthy But hopefully, I'll be strong for you See, you'll arrive and depart, I wish, with me there too Because choices you have, that will always be plenty I'll have your whole life, as much as I can carry I don't care, it will be a little clingy But let me know, I'll fall where you want me Just know I'll gather winds and rains And sweets and pains, with you i'll remain On the mountain lay me for awhile I'll be heavy, but I'll be with you for miles On a boat out at sea, go diving without me When you return, I'll be the same, still happily Of course, life will be lighter without weight on your shoulders But I swear I'll keep up and even make you better Don't forget me, cuts and tears and all We'll brave the summer, winter, spring, fall You're a nomad when all's been said at least And adventure stokes the fire while keeping your peace I'll be whatever you need, my cup is yours to fill And even when you toss me aside, I'll cry, but still be at your will Because your shoulder's my sunrise The sunset, and the moon and sun I'll protect your back from dangers and promises undone At the end of the day, I'll lay waiting till you wake For another hour, year, or decade, I promise I will stay
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