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a little humor to make you smile !

A real cup of coffee feels nice on the tongue
it has a pleasant mouthfeel and it is warm
Some think dung coffee lists high on the rung
while others believe it contains fungi-form

A teenage diary with a fountain pen nib  
quiet often it holds emotions real true
Melodramatic entries sometimes its a fib  
oh it comes easy when your feeling blue !

A serious person has two brows knitted
thinking about things between the ears
A stand up comedian often quick witted
peak-brows it as he jokes & draws near.
We are not the most intelligent
Species on Earth
But brilliance is found
In all things
Everywhere

Whether we refuse
Our brains
The heart knows

it was designed
that way
by the divine
cloak of darkness
In the shadows
Where possibility grows
Down in the fertile valley
of quiet

Trees saving trees thru
Root of the root
Or bees doing
Their diligence as
Written within their
Tiny bodies

As caretakers of Earth
We cannot escape
natural law

Nature is delicate
She must be revered

The next level is not optional
Sentience has spoken
The new age is subtle and
Silently here
to stay
Shhhhhh…
All seems different,
like a blurry landscape
with vanishing maps.
The distance from the past
keeps growing.
I slice through space and time,
on the chosen path,
along a trajectory of circumstances.
Against the denial of access,
against the gate closing,
just to hold together what was apart.
I am ten crows, twenty-three starlings,
one tree, a world of racket, every dusk that ever was.

I am a holy heart four angels defend,
other times I am nothing but flesh and fingertips.

There are four seasons, three necessities,
two sides to the moon.

The window has eight panes;
I am in them all.
This is a "flash 55' a poem in exactly 55 words. All the numbers in the poem add up to 55 as well, though that is not a requirement.
#55
Have you ever been drunk,
and submersed in a funk,
as if trapped in a trunk
but then asked to write junk
in a poem which stunk
though your mind has been shrunk
by a psychotic monk
who’s been beaten punch-drunk
and if not a slam dunk
as a poet you’ll flunk?
I had too much Pastis tonight...
There’s gray
in my beard
but no gray
in my soul
Where Peter Pan
flies
Cherub’s wings
in control

My edges
though silver
my center
of gold
One glance
never tells you
what prescience
— beholds

(Dreamsleep: July, 2025)
Vastness on high
In a troposphere of sky
Delicately blazed
And so intricately phased.

This cavalcade of cirrus
With a slash of errant wind.....
Then, behold, with bravado,
To let the stampede begin.

A clash of hooves at gallop
Across a turquoise sky,
Joins the thunder of the passing,
With the scream of equine cry.

There's Mare's Tails in the Heavens,
In a symphony of song
And the Gods roar embellishment
At the righting of all wrong!

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
Variations on a theme... for in tonight's clear blue sky, across the vastness of the grey Tasman sea,.....
The Mares Tails extend, hugely on high, heading our way, indicating the arrival of the harmony and celebration of our late Winter Solstice.
M.
On the white screen dance the stringed dots
Mind spilled codes of hieroglyphic thoughts
Slowly they emerge handholding lines
Not always yielding intended designs.
Something was brewing inside the head
Coaxing to weave and take it ahead
The drunken horses so wildly gallop
There is no leash to make them stop.
Nerves are taut and they won't relax
Till all is vented they reach the ******
It was thus fated the moment it was sown
What's to be grown could never be known.
As the fever wanes arrives the new child
It may be adored or it may be defiled
The canvas is washed clean as in the rain
Something is brewing to be vented again.
He walks alone, the path unsure,
Yet sees beyond the present lure.
With eyes that pierce the veils of mist,
He speaks of truths the world has missed.

Clad not in robes, but thought and air,
He heeds no crowd, nor seeks their care.
A whisperer of winds and time,
He answers not to man nor clime.

They mock his gait, they jeer, they laugh—
Yet drink his words by quartered draught.
He is the stone the builders spurned,
Yet in his silence, worlds are turned.
An observation for the young and gifted Emirhan Nakas
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