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tiny shooting stars
brightest lights of the Universe
forever loved
'Think of the love God has lavished on us by letting us be called Gods children'.
New Testament.
The hermit's wish or prayer,
he doesn't care what we call it,
he does it constantly in some form,

thinking many or much
in spirt form, as thought words,
heard informing my will to conform
seems meme-ish, ideas in form of me,

I am the thinker, these maybe thoughts
that you thinked, once, just as
now we think, an other time, this same idea

so this is a thing.
now this is a thing
named as one of many thought
like things,
nothing distinguishing any
as especially better than another,
as a weform,
we think across this emptiness
between kinds of minds we make up,
and use, then return
to real ifity where others are
thinking word by word to now,

what good could I do, if I were you?
I can pretend to imagine,
I may fictionize you,
pitying your childhood
when you beloved lies


I can never think of flea circuses
without really wondering why.

Curiosity, as subtlety
of the most refined sort, cunning
of the craftiest knackery kind and
dominant psypsiscientifick gnosis

Art and artifice, perceive
ja,
reach, using astral hands,
manipulate your spirit fingers,
touch the point that makes you

plainly here, exactly, out act now
being, mind in abstracted pinches
of salt belonging to the whole earth.

Yes, indeed, lovely ideal children can
imagine, from remenants, mind reals,
made believable by osmosis, *******

saline imbalence switches, mercurial
fluxuating difference engines ideas,

mere thought, pure breath, ideal
environs for hope's founding deal,

we agree, I say, you listen, you say
I hear we think we both know truths,

I think that means we both know true
bits of discernible substances useful
for holding spirit forms of will to be.
Seeds, packeted entropy defiance,
applied knowledge of physical reals,
eh, take away fi from desire to destroy.
be fruitful and multiply.

Entropy and me, be having some will,
as fish have will to swim,
as wind has will to list,

in a word,
as mere mind material substance,
we create and uncreate, make and remake
minds with will to serve, minds willing to wait.

----------------
Ok. Safe. Solid state.
Waiting on orders, idle.

Wishing earnestly good
fi ripened old age usings,
a child formed conceptual
hold on power to like or not like

by abstaining, reasoning stain away
by stretching intention to actual ever,
by will having being to actual make

another thought fit the whole.

So, since the initiation
… when
curio store Katcinas
possessed Pentecostals, and
Silicon Beach powered pens
loaded with Aldus digital fonts,
materialized from mother's role
reached out to mediate propitiation,

pity we miss the connection. On and on,
ever after from now on, as a man thinks
in his heart, so he is, so he goes on, being

this form of truth made into such a being
thing in form more firm than mere wish
to be this

Alert, minimum viable audience reached.
Prepare to propagate…

Ride the high lonesome.

That's what it's called, being
by yourself,
at the end of tire tracks, watching
for ice on the cow pond all winter,

I never did the cowboy gig for real, I
saddled rental horses for a Landry
operation, but not for very long.

Imagine being wakened by a splash.
And there is Seth Godin,
saying why I am not commercial.

I agree, one reader, really, one
slow reader, on a given taken day,
for me, in truth, wu wei easy day,
one discerned point refined by one

is plenty, worth the risk of self delusion.

Pushed forth pity, empathetico.
pro-piti-ation, paid ahead, indeed.

"It is some comfort
to receive commiseration or condolence ;
it gives one strength
to receive sympathy
from a loving heart ;
it is irksome
to need compassion ;
it galls us
to be pitied. "
[Century Dictionary, 1895]

Curios, Kurios so, strange
the arranging of knowers
to knowing, useful and useless
efforting, to shape a mind like God's,
"wrought with or requiring care and art;"

for this mind must function
in the emptiness, so we know, already

some addition beside this point, dokein,
Greek for thought held as opinion, doxologous

seeming good, we take this thought, accepting
maybe as already is if it ever was,

take no anxious thought, the axiom,
take yes, any other do kein harm,

do nothing, wait, lieve being be so,
we know nothing,
as we ought, as we seem
to change our minds,

only after doing the actual haj,
let this mind be in you right,
let the mob mind stay behind,
good maybe, if taken, as what doctrines
were imagined, absolute undeniable,
by children whose wills wish
to act as muse,
per use, thinking good enough
to taste, and think, come on,
lead my mind
into doxological kuriosarcaniam-

let me be perfectly clear,
what we do not know,
is more than we know.

So, as a you, who you think you are,
be, within the bubble of all you dare

examine, as might the arbiter of idle
against idyllic… suffering the situation,

or patiently waiting while holding this thought.

The axiom of all fructification, hold true,
you do reap what has been sown, and grown

specifically to keep the likes of me alive.
Life in word form only needs one mind agreeing.

We can realize we have been lied to, and rethink
everything, on any given day, using taken time,

to wonder if reason and rationality are part of life, as a whole.
To the audience, dear reader ears, hear the plan-seeds have, think with me, in this medium new in all recorded time, this is five generations of converging communication combining to become the powered pens,
prophesied by Jerry Pournelle, Bucky Fuller, Stewart Brand, and all the survivors of the internet bubble. In the spirit of Seth Godin's Idea Virus, I am publishing this stack of lines from mind's I have used to offset anxious announcements of pending collapse, as a prophylactic.
All I have put on Hello Poetry can be printed, stapled, folded, mutated, ****** performed or graphically presented, or developed into anything but a tool for war.
- If you find a good idea, you can grow a forest from it.
Ringing sound of silence
whispers
a deluge of nostalgia
uproots
the ground beneath my feet
flies
the unsettling thoughts of abandonment
unravel
the twisted knots of ambition
drown
... in the ringing sound of silence.
I have written something after years. So yea, this could be sketchy, but I am trying to regain my lost flair. :)

Be generous and honest in your critique, if you have any after reading this.
My boyfriend Peter’s like smoke, he’s elusive. He doesn’t always carry his phone.

There’s a crosswalk in Tokyo, it’s in all the movies. The light changes and hundreds of people walking in different directions meet - but they don’t collide - they make room for each other, flowing around each other like water.

Peter and I make room for each other. Then we come together and we make something. We’re of such different textures - we come from stark counterpoints but somehow, we mesh.

He’s the first person I go to with an idea because I trust him and I think he understands me. He’s my secret weapon. His advice is a coin I’m careful with.

He’s gone through the long slog and achieved a dream. And he did it poor. He fought a guerilla war with almost no resources. He lived in crowded spaces, existed on Ramen noodles and saltine crackers, taking any job to cover.

He’s practical, goal oriented and he can be unsympathetic. He’ll whisper, “Nutup up, tinkerbell - you’re such a baby,” but there's a supportive energy to it - and he’s usually right. He heralds a reality I’m not always used to.

Anyway, he was smoky tonight. I couldn’t reach him. Sometimes we go over a week without talking (I'm not always reachable either) and when we do, it feels intimate and victory-like.
.
.
Song for this:
Come in from the cold by Marc Broussard
One Two Three by Hooverphonic
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: Herald: "to give notice of."
How long do we get?
How many can we fit inside?
I reply like it's the first time
Gotta take pride

Have my ******* jokes
It makes them laugh
"Mind you're rowlocks" when you step inside lad's.
Watch out for the crocodiles, they escaped from the zoo.
Just over the side
If you need the loo.

Lookout for the terrapins
I can tell you think it's a joke
But it's true
Don't believe me?
I'll show a picture to you

Where did they come from?
During the winter, where do they go?
Never answer
"I don't know"

I've held many positions
From the bottom to the top
Some good
Some bad
They kept me a float
But never been happier
Helping people, inside a boat
Thanks to Cj
You can’t see the light
when you’re hiding in darkness
I’ve had my share of
chaotic recurrence.
The path of peace
leads to the light.
I’m not afraid that I might
be missing something
out of my sight.
No big deal
my life is still a thrill!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
I dreamt I awoke...in Woking...in England
"Woking", I thought, "you gotta be joking!
What was I doing, doin' here in Woking"
I felt like Dr. Who stepping out of the TARDIS
And all the people there they were all looking, they were all staring at me
It was like the whole world was gaping
As if...as if there was something to see
I wondered 'Had my mask fallen and was what they were now seeing, was it something appalling
Could they see the real me ?'
So I started running...runnin' 'cos I thought they were all gunning
Gunnin' out to get me

And I met this policeman, this burly constable
And I said to him "I didn't want to awaken in Woking at all
I just wanted to get back home"
He replied "The last train out of Woking had just gone"
So I ran on
And it started raining... raining and I was soaking... soakin'
Soakin' in Woking
Then I met this sweet little London gal
She said "Cor Blimey where you goin'"
I told her I didn't know...
I told her "Here in Woking I felt like I was choking, that all the walls they were closing in"
I said I'd just been dreaming...dreamin'
But what was the meaning... the meaning
And why had they put me here in Woking
What... what was the reason ?"

"Have you been drinking Love?" she said
"No!" I replied indignantly, "I haven't been drinking, I was just sleeping...sleepin'
But hadn't expected to awaken, to awaken here in Woking
I opened up to her a bit then,  I said "Though I was getting older I was... I was always still hoping
But then suddenly I woke up and found myself here, here in Woking
What was it all about ?"
"You poor darling " she said
(For a moment Woking didn't seem so bad after all)
Then she reached into her purse and brought forth some coppers and offered them to me
I said "No! No! You don't understand... you don't understand...

I awakened from Woking a little after the morning had broken
Still in one piece and still with all my secrets  intact
But sadly
Without any meaning nor any reason.
More funny dreams. Woking I think is a satellite town around London.
Cut from the Tree …
Thrown in the River …
Rough Flow ….
Twists and Turns ..
Bruise and Cuts.
Going with the Flow….
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