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Falling into the jangce jang
We sing with a clear
voice

Pass me the passport
Sail on the roads
Of perpetual
Drum

Dream of baobabs
Dream of saharas
Levitations

Crush as snake eggs
Thou lamentations

Make me a poet
Surpass me as teardrops
Mingle in every waterfall

Augure my autumn
Argonaut my silken
Wool crave me as a mad
Hatter

Call me a beauty
I'll be your beast
 Feb 2016 am i ee
Joel Johnson
Somedays
the wonder never ceases
and within me
it's all that was meant to be.

Steer me toward definition
a destiny lingering
longing to be beyond disbelief.

Forcefully it waivers forward
like winds pushing heartily
through motionless trees.

Disturb not a soul
they have not yet lain to rest
all that was dealt.

And then dealt the end.
A millstone of terrific intensity and abject tonnage , hoisted o'er
the muscled backs of goodmen , stone of great magnitude and wealth
bestowed his beloved , kindred recipients ....
Copyright January 29 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson *All Rights Reserved
 Feb 2016 am i ee
aar505n
All men are born heavy.
We do not inherited this weight
But seize the heaviness of the earth
Upon ourself.
Obligations and connections one can not ignore.

I am not yet light like you.
Floating from place to place.
Uncannily light so that you may travel
To even the moon and back.
Travel refreshes the eyes
But it is my heaviness -
that prevents lunar travel.

To ignore what roots me to the ground
would be to act falsely light.
But you are truly rootless.
Born lighter than a feather -
how can you be so unnatural?

Unlike you, I will have to earn my lightness.
But even then my body will still be heavy
But not lightless.
Enda ta boka translates to heaviness of the earth.
This poem is based on my brief study on the Orokavia people of Papua New Guinea conception of 'lightness' and 'heaviness'.
 Feb 2016 am i ee
Ja
Happy Thanksgiving USA
May peace and love, come your way
With thanks and praise, to fill your day
BOEMS BY JA 470
 Feb 2016 am i ee
Ja
When I was young
And in my prime
I could do it
All of the time

But now I’m old
My hair’s turned grey
I sort of from it
Shy away

Back then I’d bang it
Hard and long
But now I’m not
Quite as strong

I use to take
Those deep, long strokes
But now their only
Little pokes

I’d stroke it deep
I’d stroke it hard
The consequences
Disregard

With no control
I’d shoot and spray
Just used my stick
And flailed away

Then drove it home
And drilled that hole
With that last stroke
I’d reach my goal

But now that I  
No longer play
I will those golf clubs
Put away                                          
BOEMS BY JA 94
 Feb 2016 am i ee
Ja
IN LINE
 Feb 2016 am i ee
Ja
IN LINE
I walk in line, as we all do
Not knowing what’s ahead
Appreciate, what comes my way
And hope, I’m not mislead

Attempt to walk, a path that’s straight
To make my journey true
Trying hard, not to compromise
My position, in the queue

I hope to finish, in good stead
And not be turned away
Even though, I’ve not excelled
At least, I’ve paid my way
BOEMS BY JA 317
 Feb 2016 am i ee
Pluck
On a pain scale 1-10 death is a 0.

Zero for the deceased and a ten for breathing.
Appreciation at 1 when they come & always a
10 when we're forced to watch them leaving.

Days are numbered for us, for the people we love, & the plants that gift us breathe.
Would you still care? Would you still crave that job? Would that heart break still hurt if the clock was almost done ticking & you knew you were facing death?

A scratch wouldn't sting If it simultaneously occurred along with a stab.
The small joy of a giggle loses its stimulation when placed next to a stomach squeezing laugh.

More and Less, More or less? The words are meant to be a measure of the amount of things, or people, but in reality they are the enhancement and suppression of appreciation.
Ten dollars is appreciated until twenty is seen. Take someone who complains about asthma as if it's the worse curse & diagnose them with cancer, they'll suddenly forget asthma is even involved in the situation.

More or Less are just synonyms for Better and Worse. Better makes us blind and numb to what we have, those joys we already feel; introduce worse & we no longer need Better to see these blessings.
Everyday we count things, we count everything except for the things that count, lack of appreciation deprives us from making the days count, & then we wish we could have them back once begin stressing.

We always want more of anything pleasureful we recieve when it's really appreciation that should be given and received with repititon.

Life is a gift but More or Less makes us mortal, makes us ungrateful, & turns life into a competition.

The day we cease to appreciate our lives because we fall victim to the perception of More we start to live less and less, before you know it you've died while you're still breathing.

Ultimately we need pain. It teaches us to appreciate & ignore the more, we must hurt before we benefit it's like a baby teething.

**If you're alive, you're blessed, more or less.
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