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 Oct 2023 Jack B
stargazer
tired
 Oct 2023 Jack B
stargazer
i am so tired
but
everything that
exhausts me
keeps me
awake
at night
having a hard time sleeping
 Dec 2020 Jack B
Seven Nielsen
If
you
speak
with sweet
lithe tongue, my
sanguine heart will hear.
If you sing refrains unsung,
my soul becomes a tear.
But, if you say you
love me not,
I will not
live
the
night.
For you are all there is of me,
my
heart,
my
breath,
my
sight.
 Dec 2020 Jack B
Traveler
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim
.


Hay
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!

Vanity
All is vanity
The meanings of passion
The aesthetic expression
The lines we draw and stay within
Even love is beyond intent
Vanity transcends
Flowing from our pens
And so we breathe again
 Dec 2020 Jack B
Tom D
Dreams
 Dec 2020 Jack B
Tom D
Dreams are to escape
The laws of physics
They’re the playgrounds of analysts, psychics, and mystics
Ethereal visions of a make- believe earth
But in the end
We’re unsure of their worth
 Dec 2020 Jack B
Tom D
If there is but one hour
of lighthearted ease
And within that hour
a moment's peace
How do I think ill of the day
and dismiss myself
from among the grateful?
 Dec 2020 Jack B
Ken Pepiton
Toy poems with metre measured in secret
mathic rhythms to mask the chthonic excuses

hidden in couplets and twice twisted sevens
jots and tittles known only in song

Cantor sing of alleluia, jah jah siss boom bah
Yah, who lifted us from slavery and brought us back

on track to be conjoined in
twin snaking tales of things that work, well

function for the good
in the principle
idea of be, aimed at
am-ing, ping, ding, ****

the witch is dead,
which old witch?
the wicked witch, ding **** the wicked witch is dead.
And that past as a flash- back to the future,
home again, home again,
higgs-idy lickity split,

you remember. We are old… working out

Silver sneakers, so Hermes-ish, I wish
to find that character playing the guesser guessing
something like the common sense
some folks scorn for simple use,
in times of electricity, whispering revealing the insanity,
in order
to lieve be the madmen, wombed and un, effected
by the tribal lie, used to shape a nation
from a ritual story retold to fit the pleasure of the tyrant
of the time,
time sold for membership in the mess,
a seat at the table….

imagine the aftermath of hate, juxt
now,
oppose the forethought,
say no,
the worst is not to come,
not from my agreeing with those fools
who
accuse me of lying in wait to take your soul,
and keep it safe,

wished you knew the secret of secrets, did you?
what do you know?
Death can be imagined more often than possible,
truly, once is enough,
truly, fleshed out with characteristics common-
found as basic features in life's
entertaining devices used to hold the oxen in line,
daily grind, grease the squeeks, see the wish
wish wish

all the stories speak of ever after this,
then that we know

yes,
know,
some sudden how, now
we know…

nothing.
F'sure, like I said. God, make me like Socrates,
and Jesus, suddenly
I know
nothing. But I'm alive.

And life still works, asking no further effort from me.
Exercise in being what I wished I were, I am in an odd state of readiness for next, and not full or empty either. Maybe I broke something inside, or, even better-- I transcended fear of death for one more day.
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