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Ottar  Aug 2013
It is a breeze
Ottar Aug 2013
The skin, feels touch a cool gentle touch,
                         it has not felt one as such,
since the last time, replacements arrived.

It is such a tease this breeze moving slowly,
                    one minute and creeping lowly,
begging you to chase it close to the ground.

Suddenly changes swiftly, forcing curtains out,
                                     of the way, oh don't pout,
the breeze will come back and get you to play.

Reaching up to the sky to stretch and tire you out.

You'll be a dried up leaf chaser, catch sand in your face,
one second slow next fast and faster to change the pace,
what a delightful tease lifting curtains moving branches,

                                                    Exciting flowers to dances,
                              go ahead play along take your chances,
        not a cloud mover, it is just a breeze, trying to please,

Trying to put you at ease,
                                           after days on end of summer heat,
                       still stale air and relentless heat,
                                   be polite and sit still, offer the breeze a seat,
             resistance is a bold stratagem, but your
weak, open your arms embrace them,
          easy as pie, it is a breeeze.
skin cells replace themselves every.... # ....of .... days.
Anyone?   Anyone??

Breeeze - spelling error on purpose to accentuate, I know you all get it, ... !
Ken Pepiton Feb 2021
sides in position
self imposturing, pre sep
paration, settling scores and bounds
separation
church from state… wait

what are these

things? Words? Or mental wisps
inter
daring done to render due
to whom due, honor or otherwise reknown.

Heroic words. I've uttered some,
imagining all boys did,
singing with their dad's, to Queen,
we
are the champions
of the world, we pretend, to the end, then

we fall away… or they
fall away … the anthems in the ballparks,
oh,
say. can you see… we are the cops,
we are the redcoats and the brown shirts
and the cavalry and the real estate speculators,

slipping my grip, the idea of me, citizen-soldier,
come limping home from the edge
of baseball,
where futbol over laps ancestral lessons
in rendering unto the owner rents ……….

How old is old?
Ask a child, for old men never
learn the bounds, or
if they do, I can't say,
there seem no theys I fit just right.

I
balance _ or I lie /I\ am lifted leaning lost.
…………..

Salt, salaried man,
spending time in reading strange sayings
as if
we
know there is meaning found some times,
we think.
we mentalate, cogitate, take a tic

to stop
and think
a gain or a loss, more sense or less, inessence
or essential point

in time? See? Say what you see? Squiggle wiggle
vermicule breeeze, or
whispy vapour
rising
above or diving into a period,
a point
in time to see ifery vanish in wasery wonder iffing
whatsitmatter,
any way.

We lived past that. Now, we make sense……..

Radical is root-related, as well as
edge
related… out on the edge of known
a
self awareness wonders at my existing
outside the inside
as seen on TV
via AI guides through the explosion of knowns

I am anonymous.
There is a canyon near my home
the sign says it is the canyon with no name.
The map says it is a slot-like canyon, with no name.

Thingery thinking in terms of lines and letters letting
all we knew
blow into the winding times told of in tales too tedious
to
recall
with Howard Bloom level detail. {he is unique}
He touches me, do I not touch back? The curio knows.

How sharp the edge of a point stretched from

the mind that could see the wind whip a spark to life.

Sense when nonsense seems the fashion, the way
forms fashion fasteners around axes,
facistical twigs and vines

something says this is missed as a message,
this ax bound in sticks,
I dare, I do, I ask what was the meaning of this,
and
while we're on my dime, what's with the wings
on the Phrygian cap,

I mean,
what was the artificer's source of inspiration, like
why is liberty always a lady
wearing fashion far up the ladder of learned things,
what is the trick
that
feminine wile, legendary lure, curious art, enchanting
c'mon
one bite.

That idea, boing, stretched so tight it threatens ever
if it
breaks once, just
once

the attention span…

An encrustation sensation overwhelms me,
I'm thinking
I know
I know
I know
nothing so important that it could not wait to be said
by you, reader/writer being ready
read on

words to the wise are plenty,
these who say we know bread, they say leave the leaven.

:they said leave it in Egypt:

But who knows how?
Sour dough is sour dough, y'knows, it don't cook with no bubbles,
no,
dough rises in a backpack tied to an ***, crossing the red sea,
near that place where
National Geographic got that image of a golden chariot wheel,
reminiscent of the drowned army,
or was that
not true?

Do you believe AI knows? I mean, does your believing matter?
Ask who knows what and you learn, the memory we share
holds answers to questions you are afraid to ask.
………….

One in 8 billion, those are the current odds,
taken to scale, with man, all varieties and models,
augmented intellectuals allowed,
the measure,
of all things…
but
two's a crowd.
Social distance morphic resonance,

send me money, I am drowning in debt…
do I doubt?
Don't you, what if… somebody is going to win,
I think I can.

Ha, Wattie Piper, child hood infection exposed
too soon  to
W. Clement Stone, do it now

selah, right word right time, just before
I lose my mind

na na na na
--------------

Is the universe friendly,
does it matter if we know or if we agree?
It is,
I say.

I made my bet, I go with the goodness aspect
of knowledge,
truth itself, yes, the idea, real, the whole

enchilada.
Good is never evil. That is a true story rule,
you can bet on it,
because life isn't fair.

Think no evil, see no evil. My side won.
My weapons are not mortal, I know.
Once fooled, once ready,
I know
the trick is knowing good enough to know
the difference,
by now. We are mostly post-

original disconnection beans being removed
at birth,
with that little blue **** thingy,
nigh on universal by 1948,

super bloom, that was the year, the pollen way,
say,
hey, see this singer singing home song long song
so
far away, way way way away
hey

---- dancing dust motes seen in sun ---
A scratched itch, if nothing more.
jeffrey conyers Jul 2012
Young love.
They applied this term to us.
So what they call it now?
When we still together.

Years has passed.
And we have grown up.
I guess that's what confused them.
Who tried to predict our young love wouldn't last?

We just didn't run with the breeeze.
As young as we was.
We applied thoughts to many things.

We reflect back not with hate.
We accept that some thought we would make mistakes.
But that young love term.
Just never applied to us.
We sincerely knew we was deeply in love.
Prepare for the chills
Sending bumps
Like fright to thrills
Higher energy bills
Heat burning turning
Soul warm soon to glow
Watch how your
Temperature grow and go
Into a comfortable place
Then cut off the fireplace
Cuz we ain't tryna burn
To death
Look to my right and left
Got a beautiful woman
Who heart I theft
Had to she was waiting too
For me to come through
Cuddled up watching movies
Then later on the night
We hit the jacuzzi
So I told her don't loose me
Take sips of the hot cocoa
So so
We having a good conversation
No heated verbal debatin'
Souls creating
An energy my synergy
Coming outta me
Maybe it's because
We see the same light see
I been destined for prophecy
Since the age of three
Or better yet baby
I was in training and didn't even know
Now some gone ask
What does winter have to do
With the given task
Just listen closely
It ain't ghostly mostly
Spirits stick close to cold
Why you think most murders are called cold
Nature goes into hibernation
So the spirits can do their rejuvenation
Innerstand The need of seasons breeding?
And my girl look at me
Funny
But don't understand this is a price
That not even money
Could buy
Wisdom ain't for sell
Like freedom yells
To the sound of liberty's bell
So I'll be chillin' With ease
While my girl tease and please
Enjoying the winter breeeze
Steel blue clouds are rumpled across
The morning sky, looking ever so much
Like an ocean ******* at low tide.
That’s not a color in my paintbox,
And I struggle hard to make a match,
Never quite succeeding.
The jagged mountains are a breeeze -
Black against the morning sky.
The desert landscape spread below
Defies the choosing of a tube or tubes
To mix the multitide of shades of gray.
It doesn’t matter anyway, I hear the thunder,
And see the flash that tells me
Rain will wet my canvas faster than
I Can pack it up and run for home
          ljm
Still reveling in the beautiful place I've come to live.
you gave  it me the synopsis, i read  in bed
the next evening. there was no breeeze to
lift my hair, no sounds to thrall the quiet.
smiled at the memory, the company of others.

i have googled the songs, listened, yet
these were not your voices,
Jena T  Sep 2020
Ground
Jena T Sep 2020
I wish,
I didn't float so easily,
That my lungs didn't rejoice so with cool air,
That the night sky didn't fill me with longing,
That my thoughts didn't touch eternity every night.

I am,
A million lights and a void with nothing in sight,
A tempest given form,
An echo of past life,
A sunrise and sunset folding into endless light,
A storm of unparalleled might,
The child of my dreams crying at night
And the one who comforts her each time.

I will,
Attach my willowy ways to sinew and bone,
Stick my feet in the Earth,
Find peace in my temporary home,
Ask the highest of you
And not think less of you when failure is due,
Be the gentle breeeze caressing your face,
And the violent hurricane bringing change,
Be the storm inside of my wildest dreams.

— The End —