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Metaphysical meaning of Lod
Lod, lod (Hebrew)--
division; conception; emanation; pregnancy; travail; nativity; birth; contest; cleavage; fissure; strife.

A city of Benjamin (I Chron. 8:12). Its Greek name was Lydda. In the New Testament it is called Lydda.

Meta.
The breaking up of an old group of thoughts, or thought habit in consciousness, that a renewal of the mind may be accomplished. In other words, the effort that the seemingly human mind expends in bringing forth new and higher ideas, or the strife and contention that attend the breaking up of error that Truth may be brought to birth and take precedence
(division, conception, strife, travail, birth; a city of Benjamin)
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how would-could you know that my Hebraic background,
gave me a specialist insight into your writings,
in any language you employ
each and every trait.
in a potpourri scented and secretly elixered

division, conception, strife, travail, birth, travail
fissure, contest, nativity and birth

a potion powerful that needs to take
the moments of anyone's life
and bring to it, to them,
scope, recognitions, inside light,
for all conception
is precessed
by de~visions of,
strife, travail, birth,
for us all, even those,
who hail not from Lods {z}

there is much mystical here,
even magical emanations that occur in seconds,

how does one concept~conscript them,
to take, remake, mold them
both new and old simultaneously,
is a quality super
so truly human

so Agnes, write to us, write for us,
in any language of your preference,
for the it is the
captured content of those exquisite seconds,
that is all that matters,
and be of good cheer,
for your are
*well received
Lay that thought to rest,
If it's not personal, it'll never be your best.

They can sense fake,
they know when it's not true.

It's not personal,
if it doesn't cut you.

If it doesn't sting
or make you bleed.

If you're not afraid,
or choked up when you read.

These lines are your life,
your babies,
your soul.

Put out to the world
to rake over the coals.

To poke and ****,
dissect and analyze.

The critics don't care
how much you labored or cried.

In fact
Most will never even acknowledge your work
until after you've died.
It's almost funny how much we labor and struggle
and fear what people may think about what we write.
Maybe the hardest thing to learn as a writer is that you
have to put everything you have into it knowing that
most people will never even care.
But someone will
Someone will relate if it's real,
if it's personal!
And that's who I try to write for.
"It's raining in my skull,"
says the woman who creases

matter-of-factly into sunned chop
of stone beside me on a city corner;

her eyes topple and drop into
her sullied mauvish oval bag

which spills crowds of rag and bone
into her floral fields of lap.

Then: a sudden psithurism
fences us in elm tilt, we sag

into the listen; what strange words
these foredoomed leaf-curls brush

into prose, sericeous speech
that smuggles death lessons

through the ring of afternoon.
It shakes us both: a mouthful

of extermination addressed
to us in the language of night places.

An empire of silence is reinstated
for a lonely tyrant minute until

the bus arrives; she gathers
her handfuls of sparks and solemns,

steps up into the air, and is gone.
Alone, I rescind every mercy I was ever given.
Psithurism: the sound of wind rustling through trees
October, bring me home to all the scents I so adore
clothe me in cinnamon dreams and help me collect
all the  colors that I so lovingly wrapped  
with burlap's gentle touch !

October, blush me with orange and tangerines
tint my lips with red and crimson sheen
and as the fall foliage falls away from me,  
bring me a mug of  pumpkin spice, Oh please

October, while  your busy bagging gold
I am gathering dry leaves at my feet
Raking in hopes for a mild mild winter,    
and marshmallows roasting by a lovely fireside.

After the first hard frost comes the gentle snow,  
then later on if we are lucky, a beautiful warm spring in toe...
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                               Everyone Has Advice for Writers


      There is a man…hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on        
       brambles…

                                      -As You Like It, III.ii.377-380


Who is your target audience, they ask

A pair of clevers on the telescreen
Giving their audience suggestions for publication
Ideas for making it on the writing scene:
“Target audience” is their incantation

Who is your target audience?

Is your target moving or stationary?
A paper bullseye or something edible
An enemy, a thing, an adversary
A carnivore’s luncheon spreadable?

Who is your target audience?

But a reader is not a target
She is not the object of your life -
She is the subject of her own

Respect your reader

Respect
 Sep 22 Agnes de Lods
nivek
held fast by consequences
the butterfly effect
made choices

free will
a way to go
to make a change

small can be beautiful
full of strength
a shared beginning
 Sep 22 Agnes de Lods
nivek
joined up letters
a family of oddities
the naming of children
by the parents of poetry
perhaps a subject already well covered. but I consult no one else,
who can expertly summon the artificial artifacts, no better yet,
art~iN~facts of prior expert~tease, and speak only and wholly
for myself, blatant, and openly undisguised

it is the spilling, the upward sensory explosive detonating,
in a pressured chest, the eagerness
to race, to complete,
find the next line, to define, to refine to get the balance tween
elegance and simplicity, to have the ******* sensory totality
of completely having spun off a piece of me and let it free float as a balloon, that may fly to China or get stuck on a telephone pole
just beyond my front door
                                      =============
^ I write this midst the composition of another poem, wherein
unusually I feel the need to pause, collect my thoughts which are bombarding my atoms internal, causing  a new fissionable element,
distinct and unique, my poem…next…
If you have not experienced this,
then why write?

Because you know,
it is inevitable
                                 that it will happen…
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