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A bandit’s just a brute at best.
A politician, sharp and sly,
Is like a purulent abscess,
Destroying roots as others die.

A fool alone could place their trust
In tyrants posing as the wise,
Who open doors to lies unjust,
And welcome butchers in disguise.


In Russian:

Сравнение двух видов преступности

Бандит — обычный недоумок.
Страшней политик — он умней:
Преступности даёт он в сумме
Гораздо больше, гробя пней.

Лишь пень убогий может верить
Фашистам в облике вождей,
Их лжи открывши настежь двери,
Впуская позже палачей.
"...TO MAKE MUSIC THAT WILL MELT THE STARS..."
( For Ray of the Pools )

So, here we are
in Flaubert's garden

as if he has just
gone in and

will be back
in a moment.

We wait for him
to return

chat amongst
ourselves

intimate
with his very thought

having travelled
through his mind

and not mere
summer tourists.

We feeling we have
just stepped out from

a time machine and
a servant informs us

we have just missed the master
who had been called away.

We pass his photograph
with his melancholy gaze

"...it seems to me,,,"
it whispers as we past

"...that the rain is falling
through my heart...

,,,causing it to crumble into ruins.”

We return to his rooms
the mummified heads

stare back at us
through glass

screaming silently
"We were once like you!"

A fly argues
with a window pane

much as it did
a hundred years ago

time lost
between the tick and the tock

but now the sunlight
grows old

and outside the 21st century
awaits

angry at our escape
into another time.

I shush it
with a wave of my hand

“There is not a particle of life..."
I tell it

"...which does not bear poetry within it”



Musee Flaubert et d'Histoire de la Medecine
51 rue de Lecat, 76000, Rouen,

Flaubert's house but also on show...two mummified heads in a glass case, a full mummified body in a casket in a glass case, the skull of the Marquis de Sade and some plaster death masks of criminals that were guillotined!

“Human speech is like a cracked kettle on which we tap crude rhythms for bears to dance to, while we long to make music that will melt the stars.”
― Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

“There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it”
― Gustave Flaubert

“Are the days of winter sunshine just as sad for you, too? When it is misty, in the evenings, and I am out walking by myself, it seems to me that the rain is falling through my heart and causing it to crumble into ruins.”

― Gustave Flaubert, November



I wrote this after Ray Pool gave me a copy of Madame Bovary which I had last read when I was 12 so I needed to read it this time around as an adult. It was the writing on both occasions that got me!
 Jan 15 Ken Pepiton
irinia
these are still beautiful days to feel alive
despite the fragility of our thoughts, our tissues, our tears
the totalizing concepts swallowing the real
despite meetings without mirror, a strategy of the invisible
despite the decay of atoms inside walls, steps and apples
despite the accident of the imagination that we are
the excess of life, undigestible
despite the depth colliding with the surface of things
despite a pain without meaning, a dream without a dreamer,
a torment without memory
I look at things with crystallizing eyes
despite the limit of the impossible
 Jan 15 Ken Pepiton
Liana
A little oval
The size of a been
It's green
And I'm not sure if it's taunting me
Or comforting me
But it's there
Staring

It's hard to believe
That something so small
Could change my big world

I know it will dissolve
Into many little workers
Trying to take the wheel of my brain
For my captain is evil
And they want to help me

Please do help me

I've tried everything else
Starting to take Zoloft, I think I'm exited--but I'm mostly just done with feeling bad.

(This note was written by a mop that was supposed to clean but was ***** so made things worse. Like a lot of people a guess.)
I awoke this morning
To a fresh fallen snow
As the world basked in it's beauty
Showered in it's glow
There is nothing more calming
That I have ever known
Than waking up in the morning
To a fresh new fallen snow

The children stayed home today
We made angels in the snow
Then all went back inside
For hot chocolate by the stove
No greater time together
In heaven or down below
As the children stayed home today
My lovely angels in the snow

We went out sledding
All the kids and me
Marveled at the majesty
Icicles hanging from the trees
Nothing could compare
That I have ever seen
As we went out sledding
All the kids and me

4 months later...

It snowed again today
Just like the umpteen days before
In fact it's snowed for four months straight
But hey who's keeping score
It's cold and it's wet
I can't take it anymore
As it snows again today
Just like the umpteen days before

With all of this snow
Not sure if I should flip or fly
Since early September
I've been stuck inside
Go ahead and make your funny comments
If you don't value your life
With all of this snow
Not sure if I should flip or fly

As it keeps on snowing
The kids keep staying home
What I wouldn't give
For one minute of sanity alone
I'm not sure who tops the list
Me or them when it comes to groans
As it keeps on snowing
And the kids keep staying home

It's been one long blizzard
I feel the need to escape
I can think of plenty stronger words
Let's just say snow I hate
I should have moved to Florida
But I'm snowed in and it's to late
With this one long blizzard
And no chance of escape...
there is no ordeal
of the alternative love:
****** and its occult
Communism
pan-Slavism
and it's collective atheism:
currency of Christianity
via the denominations
Catholic Alien
Protestant Polytheism: ALLIGNED
and then Greek and
Russian Orthodox:
******* ISLAM!
and then Islam...
            so if the Catholics are to the Americans
like the Native Americans
then Orthodox Russians and Greeks
must be like... ******* ALIENS!
no! really i'm all wild eyed mushroom high
just fire and grass
and diasphora dynamism blah blah...

like pagan painted these other christians
in green and pink
and gold then some black:
dunno: ****** bro wants a chimp sneeze
to casual tux and ****...
jungle drums... urban baron
angry black father
why his daughter not on the market
like St Matthew in Ethopia...
a martyr...
              
but there's Edie my Yusuf my Yum of the Yah:
and she's gearing up
to make me ******* on her snore...
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