In the eerie hours half asleep
I heard my name in a soft voice.

It was a wake up call I couldn't resist
The jungle was in dark mist
The night ending but morning was still frail
The call was to tread on the fallen leaves trail.

The trees were shaded dark the sky was pale
Every bush was where the shadows fell
Quiet was the air our heart tautly tense
We tiptoed our best, and it made sense.

Tweet of early birds didn't sound sweet
Danger awaited at all sides to meet
We strained ears for the slightest sound
The jungle a romance on a perilous ground.

On the dry boulded river shapes were deep
Moving in a herd crawling to the steep
We stood frozen on this other side
To let the distance between grow wide.

Years have flown and whenever in the woods
I see my father's figure in jungle brood
He wakes me up and stretches his hand
We fly through the bushes in jungle land.

wondering at wonderful things, wonder
being my word,
meaning something to me as sure as
meaning anything to you, or them, the others,

those, there, beyond us, makers of stars
from matter in time, using power
by any name, called to make ready
a place for me.

Centered self-centering, spinning energy and
nought into creamy nougat
sweet and salty

but, E itself, power filled hosts of forces,

ha, some men trust in horses, now measurements,
horsepower, taken in from out,
observe the fact, fine act, great quest
made- p-ting snowball earth phase,

preparation of this place,
for us, not us alone, but us involved,
folded into the batter before the baking.

Co-ignition.
Sudden, at scale,
Massive, at scale as well. Immaterially.

Light first. Nay,
think, others thought this through

I flatter myself that I have discovered---

waste O2.

-- in the span of mind time, autotrophic
timespace where does e come from

phototroph
chemotroph

whence comes stuff, heterotrophs

chemoautotrophs, absolutely
in-credible, how does any mind wonder?

-----------

Stamp my little boy foot and swear,
I shall prove death has no sting.

I shall think
of our sun, source
of life
in our bubble
of being.

It is imagined, by professional learners of such,
that the inter-stellar medium
holds cloud like structures,
in my day we called them nebulae, today
we may surmise, I suppose, promise
together surreal, point to miser's misery,

Midas, Phrygian king, washed clean of his curse.
Baptism at work, in the story of reasons for war.

Was the death to be immediate, or must we wait.
What knowledge bred this means, these letters,
letting us learn the memories,

first stories of broken curses that were first wishes.
We wish we were as wealth, as bling,
the thing, the will to be loved for my own good,
the beast that lay beside the door, waiting,

allusive link to ancient knowledge, used knowns,
knowns used to build the nations whose weapons

must be fed.

And not by bread alone, by my leave,
I learned, the story used to make money
the core reason for war's use of pride,
to make glorious loyalty honorable,
by the time the military mind
matures to use the values,
those to hope for glory,
those minimize truth,
key freedoms known
held under loyal lock down.

Sense.
Common sense, some is not
evenly spread across the gap.

You may never have heard a search,
with helicopters, the after silence,

then, the peace, pure re-
lief as well, laugh let out, you know,
we are invisible,

so we dance where we touch.
Friction ridges caress our valleys,
with swirly rippling Erotes, giggling.

Tuning to a single line of reason,
reasoning I know nothing, as I ought,
I thought, per
haps, gathered happenings, overtime
thinking why in full Kerrigan angst at WHY!
Dunning-Krueger.
Rhetorical quest punctuation, bang. Pre-
tend to pay attention, at the exclamation,
"For crying out loud, don't you know
ANYTHING?"
Rhetorical all caps loudness, registers, in
tentional, attended to,
appropriately,
ignored, as the current opinion
forms followers,
swirls of fast and slow linking interstellar medium

in our wake, as we take life in passing so near,
one mind
one time, see I knew it was me and not you,
who pulled the loose thread to open the sack,
and spill the beans.

Now it's Tuesday,
on time and wisdom, I was thinking,

the noble question B. Franklin proposed

as the noblest in the world:
What good can I do in it?

What good to know do I know?

Well, well, as an interjection, cast
in the word use we are making sense
from
for an instant, now and then,

Yes,
this idea that we exist as related
by lines that link us as fibers in yarn,

conscious use of science, learning
the winding of the bobbin,
and the rhythm of the treadle,

the perfect pinch and firm gentle tug

catch a whisp of wool pulled from distaff
to spindle

and singing all the while, to the muse

---------------
A thread spinner, not a weaver
of novel patterned knots and crosses,
novel, none the less, some olden
but, well, twisted fiber strands,
formed with certain genetic magic
from soil and water and time… I am.
Sure to leave my moment seeming so.

To leave my being so, to let me be,
not the bearer of tales, but the twister.

Some times, well, once, I imagined
spinning ghost turds into threads,

-- the bogus science, bovine male excre-
mental mind boggled constipastory explo-

it. Done, punish me or pay me, I care less.

------------
Not the only version of this knack,
have I,
I've not the rhyming step step slide version,
nor the read out loud oral interpretation version,

permitting
*per- (5)

Proto-Indo-European root meaning
"to traffic in, to sell,"
an extended sense
from root *per- (1) "forward, through"
via the notion
of "to hand over" or "distribute."

It forms all or part of:
appraise;
appreciate; depreciate;
interpret;
praise;
precious; price; & *******
by way of
pornē "*******,"
originally "bought, purchased"
from traffickers in abandoned words,

idled by devious psychsyncing punishing
similar spinning propensities in fluid pre thread
mind windings, ready to retell, as if we all think

we understand the Goldilocks paradox.

Pull your version of the moral in the story,
who do you think Goldilocks symbolized,

deep in the thinking of your child mind?
What color are you, while you imagine
three bears? How forgiving are you
to your invaders?

High Jack,
have you any wool,
we spun the lord's and madam's

and found none for the widow's
children down the lane?

Are ye daft, Poet, mad as lead'll
make ye? Have ye taken to spacing
unkerned letters and lines with old

lead type weights to use gravity assist,

cam, see, loop de loop, and spin and spin,

threads to weave cover,
threads to weave rough leggings,
slow, so slow would be the learning

without notions popping up from nowhere,
as that man called the fool on the hill,
continues to redeem idled words,
and silently sing perhaps praise.

Worthship, measure of effort to enjoy,
get it.

It is the economy,
take joy as yours where you make it.
Peace, too.
---------
and thus not really any of my busy-ness
that I am to mind as my own, strictly
speaking translatable speils as wisdom,

Sophos, herself. per se,
they say she is the spirit in the works,
omakes ur will to make something from our
selves, our advantage as language users,
with letters translated chchchanges
into all understood
by using
simple child morals used
during emperical propagation.

To know wisdom and instruction;
to perceive the words
of understanding;

To receive the instruction
of wisdom, justice, and judgment, and equity;

To give subtilty
to the simple,
to the young man knowledge and discretion.

--- await the call, simple kind of man, listen
did you never read the rules for ready writer
status among the unemployable gifted sifters
of dust amidst the wonders of life in haps past

dare I hook a poem here,
after that very likely the, bluebird of happiness,
flew by me singing, twice, today, per haps

you stumbled into my realm,
I blew my mind in 69, and I am without guile,
no need, no greedy habit crying feed
feed feed the need to grow the talent, eh, weight
and see, fact check me, how heavy
was a talent in pure money
at the moment, back when
the metaphor this fits in as a piece,

was used to test the discerning disciple,

was it Diego? Si, yo crero per
haps, the meaning of things, and the matter
with words, is perceptual, per is a polimental,

many ways perhaps evolve comprehension,
little senses we have in common, luck factors,
time and place chances we be the readers ready

to bring justice and equity
to the beguiled and nonguiled,
while converting the guilty to con-
scientious objection to past proofs re-
proving the efficiency of meandering mind
streams
fluid fiber memory imagined in the Eighties,
here,
my old haunts, hang around,
we meet Suzi Creamcheese, she say, Uready,

we say, may be,
and so it is, with wisdom, James,
and so it is, indeed, first peaceable,
gentle, easy to treat kindly, no warring
spirit meetings of the convinced required,

wisdom works at a word taken for granted,
idling at stop signs where you looked both ways
and listened, as a child, and you escaped death,

time and again, what nearly killed you, did not,
and your life has not been dull, but worth it,
did it, with a happy ever, after all's said and done,

but, that won't happen here today.

--------------

Take a minute,
think this is me, five years
senior on Seinfeld, your felt
field
there it is, hier es kommt
lang syne
emotion, whata mensch, turns out he is
one of those
in the business
of exchange and wealth accumulation resulting
in absolute freedom
from any but the deepest rooted cultural veins,

Kosher Money caters to the crowd,
the joke was, at least, she did not marry a goy,
Jerry never said that, but
you'll never know
if those legal pads all burned

said the old man to the traditional up and comer,
still quick to mention awareness of the markup,
I could get that for you wholesaled, but
keep it between us,
lemme know, any time,
idle minds worked by devils,
we see it all the time,
before our very human eyes,
the bad guys ever corrupting absolute power,
intended to purify,
prethinking
zero sum a we
you all must die,
let fly the strategy of peace past
one mind united under one
ambitious will
misunderstanding,
look up and wonder,
thinking, you know, this is easy enough
to imagine being encorporated into,
swallowed up
by a self image, autosprachen
will zur Machts mehr als nichts
taking the Sysiphus helper role,
to make ends meet the first
mobius twist in real time awe
as sum'n granted mine to project
as well, we tried, and found umph worked
with persistent phi ties to intial spin on truth
as that which makes free, and freedom becomes
pi spherical only under artificial symmetries,
a mortal fiction, save in the proper mind,
mind your manners, find doors open.

Temptation,
take the money, honey, and live
like a refugee, high
in the hills
with all the others

all simple kinds
of men, being bound
on momma's wishes,
and grandpa's example, come to hear
this one old boy pitch the services
of an old converted Pentecostal Jew,

whose hair whitened early granting authority,
at the boy level most men use to worship with,

when I was a child, eh, you familiar with the verse,
I thought as a child, yes, we are similar -save
in this,
when I became an old man,
I was advised to examine my life, for worth,
when judgement comes to take account, each word
idle or abused, each lie believed let go be told true,

what we see is what we get,
what we think is what we see, and we all

work, on different frequencies to ensure novel lives,
no twice in the same instant aha,
I got this… since I was seven,

EUREKA, peace displaces gaseous forms of war.
and nonsense doesn't seem so different,

you never feel the nonsensed effect.

My poem, my words .
Let's paint it...
With lover's pink
Or rebel's black !
Words would be honing
Minds and thoughts
Those are blurred &  slack !

My poems ,my words
Echoes from corners
Like song of freedom
free your dreams , fears & lies
Shackled in the cage
Once fallen & Crumbled
May fight, may arise .

My poems ,my words .
It's an Art
& I am  an artist ..
It may or may not align
With realm,you live
I'm ready to call myself
Culpable  anacrist!

Sometimes lying in my bed I close my eyes and imagine myself back there again
Back in my old childhood room, in my old childhood bed
I can see the green nightlight shining on the wall
See the dark outlines of the wardrobe and the dressing table
The moonlight coming in through the window
From the street below I hear a lone car passing
You can hear it coming, then arriving, then gradually fading away into the distance
Then the silence returns
I lie there in the quiet
Then suddenly…suddenly I find myself…I find myself rising
Like out of my body, rising up toward the ceiling
I can look back down and see my physical body still lying there on the bed
Then I turn and I fly right out the window
Suddenly I’m outside and I’m free
It’s dark now, a world devoid of colours, a world transformed, a World of shadows
With the big moon shining over the bay
The flowers in the front, their petals closed…drooping
Their all sleeping now, grown colourless in the pale moonlight
I fly over the shrubs and the flowers, fly over the wall and the front gate
The coast road it is so quiet now, not a sound of a car
Or sight of any soul out walking
It’s late…
So ghostly in the quiet, the outline of the other houses along the street
Just like faces sleeping
I fly over the road and over the sea wall, down the steps to the beach
All the sand and the little shells and stones
And the big rocks just standing there so still and so quiet
Almost like their watching me or waiting on me
As if…as if questioning
I look over at the big mountains of the headland in the far distance sloping down toward the sea
Their great big dark outlines dotted with little lights from all the isolated farms and villages
And there at the very end, the lighthouse, it’s red light winking back at me at intervals
All under a beautiful star laden sky
It’s wonderful, magical looking !  It reminds me of Christmas…the lights at Christmastime.

I fly over the big rocks and the rock pools
Wow! Look now, the sea!  The tide!! The tide is coming in
Like a huge…great army moving stealthily under cover of darkness
Stretching the whole way as far as you can see
Inching its way along, the water filling the little grooves in the sand
Wow!  Just looking at it, watching it, it’s awesome! It’s mesmerising!!
Soon it’ll be joining the rock pools
It’ll be like an army pouring into a city
The water level will rise slowly
And all the sea creatures will start to come out, the *****, the eels and the fish
It’ll all come alive.

So I fly over the silent standing rocks and the strand and the tide that’s coming in heading up toward the village
I pass an open stretch of beach with hardly any rocks
This is where the young families would come
The mothers with their little children to swim and play
But it’s so quiet now…so quiet and desolate…lonely looking
Now the children have all gone
Now there’s only the memory…the echo
Yea! Now there’s only the sound of the ghost children playing, splashing about
Their excited voices still ringing in the air…somewhere
Once as a child I walked these same beaches
I knew every rock
But strangely I can hardly remember myself now
That child I once was
I feel somehow that he left me…left me a long time ago
Old friend we knew each other once, why has your memory faded away from me
Have I changed so much
Do you not know me now or trust me
Am I too scary for you to look at or talk to
Have I sided too much with this world, a world that once used scare and pain you so
You and I, we have wandered far from our old toys
Were forced to play more different grown up games
Had to adopt many guises, wear many different masks
All those things I had to do and those different people I had to become
Just to survive here
Yea! This world it blew us onto many a strange shore,
And now, returning…like an old man from the sea
Weathered and half broken, still with little of any worth to show
Tell me…tell me you haven’t left me…left us
That you haven't abandoned us
Take us with you, we’d rather go with you than stay in this…this empty place
With you there was always wonder, there was always magic…every day
It was always more fun when you were around
…we miss you, where did you go Old Friend ?

I fly on, there’s the old swimming pool
All quiet now, hushed, silent, not a sound
So ghostly, no laughter, no splashing about, no shouts of delight
The night how it offers a contrast to the day
This ghostly world of stillness and of quiet
Of shadows and memories and lost things
And I like a ghost just wandering here
The daylight world remembered from afar as the dead might remember the living.

I fly on over the swimming pool
Now I see the village itself, the street lights and the lights from the pubs still open
A few people out walking along the seafront
Husbands and wives perhaps…young lovers
Y’know I can remember this beach thronged with sunbathers in the summertime
All the colour and the noises
I can…I can remember the wild days, the stormy seas lashing the shore
Remember the high winds buffeting the house at night
I can remember the high tides when the sea would come right up to the steps
Would swamp all the big rocks
All you could see was this huge massive blanket of just blue sea everywhere
And in the Winter time I can remember the snow on the rocks
The snow over everything, so white and clean and fresh, all fresh in the frosty air
And I remember the tranquil Summer evenings, the waves gently lapping up against the shore
Lulling you off to some sweet dream...or dreams faraway.

When I was young I didn’t know what this world was and why I was here
And now, I still don’t know, I’m none the wiser
But wherever I go, I know there’ll always be the sea…
It’s a part of me…these memories, these things I’ve seen
Wherever I find myself, in the heart of a grey city or out in the green countryside
There’ll always be that…that seaside village
Yea! There’ll always be the sea.
I grew up in a seaside village…a seaside village
One time long ago.

I got my raise at work today
it’s a reminder that you’re worth is based on percentages in life and titles that you hold
I should be so happy
I should be grateful for pennies because I even got anything at all
my value is in the dollar amount I make an hour and bring home annually and I should feel proud that it still isn’t enough but I made more this year than I did last year so how dare I be ungrateful
I should be purposefully working my youth away for a few cents every year because I have a job and I have a roof over my head and bills to pay
And ya know Wow what a blessing it is to be alive and be a human
in the rat race called life I should just so grateful to be here….