Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2023
Acts of Kindness


let this be
my first rule,
and my last,
in ~ deed,
my only

begin, end,
and populate
my daily life
with the courtesy
of sharing my
with you

July 4th
Ken Pepiton Mar 2023
An Opus, is this. Ai do declare, my works,
my opera, taken in to my self aware, soft
and gentle
- tame the framing window

- as the Mona Lisa in chalk, let it be
So, old man, he says to me, quoteless in my mind;
what do you think of the last linear affect, my wisht
effectual request, quest for reason to will. May we?
Taste, and see.
Firsts are always free,
there, sit and stare at a stump,

At the core, before first root, the door
to out is locked up tight, living is hard.
Imagine many hands making light function, easy
shift from one sense to another, by the numbers.
Seed time.
Long time and short time
long lingering memories, short sharp reminders,
freedom, heard touted for all its worth, cost free.
Live to realize you did believe,
this is what we get, on earth, within bounds.
-mindtimespace and maybe Aristotle's four causes.
-there never was a hell those are church merch.

Coknowing, as any reader by now must be, coded,
we know freedom is not free,
we lieve be, it had to be won,
and as with any war,
winning is never done,
until we all choose, yes, or no, use our reasoning,
learn to bolt the rye,
- sift bran and endosperm
life has many
layers, many folds in a flakey crust

set… listen, windy March time flooding prayers,
asking the boss of all the weather, for wisdom
to come
on the folk who rebuilt
on the new sand.
Knowing, high and mighty.
Storms mean less to a house built solid/
broken bricabrac and whatnots galore,
shattered anvilt'dust,
as in the wind, once used to sweep away,
my married mind, unwound, or un raveled
as may be the case, aitia, as accuser.
opera operates deus ex machina

Is he free,
is his task his alone?

May be, may not, who could say?

Science with its native usefullness,
knowing good and evil, as translated
from the idea,
- Whence comes contention
How much, how little, measured out
so my part and yours, balance, against
all our worth as ones among the many,

duty service warring minds, stealing time

let this be the palimpsest, recovered
radical actual chthonic stage
between the rootedly other wise, simpleton
sublime curios spirit, settling soul substance
hope imagined
image, form imagined in motion, in access

the unacknowledged legislator, impotent
in the wasteland populated by the poets past.

Empty of spite and venom, distracted ******,

the dread of failure, is past me now,
I have become a defender of the faith used
to form my bubble of being,
thinnest of walls, translucent lattice seen
closely enough
to discern the marvelous vision, not to be
lied about by one who never watched selecting
portals accept the usefull and abhor the useless.
-cellular ATP [pop]
of the press, belongs
to the man, wombed or un,

Take the poet's high seriousness, this
which brings a self forward -duty
to try signaling-- here,
here, exactly, as
by standing acting out that light announcing danger,
dare not come too close.
Mime meme, mea culpa. {as we cross another's line}

"compulsive excavation
of the void inside"

Irinia, said that,
- goodnight, as an exclamation
-  she said that right
Peace, be still.
And I, the old Weaver's fan,
known as Happy, whishing
wafting hot ai
r, we there, as my soup cooler
slips in a Disneyified whatifery
pool where wandering minds wait
recoknowning, groan growing,

silliest little diamond miner
of 'em all… so stupid, he's cute.

And in that way, the hero being
generated, on the pattern
handed down, to be seen

when you gaze in to your
close kin's eye and see co-known,
we were made
for this,

Klang, that Zildjian once again!
Exclamation, thus marked, calls
attention in the mind's contextual
effectuality, becoming
instant by instant, at first glance,
whose enemy am I, is the game,
win or lose?

End act one.

Act two. In realized ever after that

The Internet exists, and we were here,
to help announce it,
then we made decisions, to make this.

Spiking hopes up, we are among
the first billion mind text to text artforms
to survive
the transition to whenever next insight
sets us right, functional, operational
in reality, centers, of shapes.
- of things in mindtimespace
In this medium, this is my realm,
your role,
is yours to define, any time, think ahead,
see if this goes there, what if it does.
Read'm and weep.

Then what do you do? Ever being after
learning enough to come this deep
time arrives.

Short time and long time,
made some mutual sense, muse using me,
and me,
I wished for this, that's so,
I asked to know the meaning of certain things.
I third in to knowing grown, as a tiny we
takes form of information in words rye,
or reasonably surprising to confess,
you know, McLuhan says yet, you know
nothing of my work. Awry.
Successfully making pasta with home-milled, bolted flour depends upon an appreciation of the interplay among grain selection, mill settings and bolting equipment. Failing to consider these factors increases the likelihood of making a weak dough and pasta that breaks when cut and/or cooked. Although one can mask the impact of a weak dough by choosing a more forgiving pasta shape (e.g., creating cavatelli instead of making tagliolini or tagliatelle), knowing the interaction of grain, mill and sieve will help you to create the pasta you envision. Google it.
Certainty is madness, has been resaid
in many ways, all the same, nothing changes

until the bubble of all we call awesome, pops.

AND Boom, it's Art for art's own sake, and me,
for my own, as we two witness, here,
this has already happened this once,

upon, operating the game, shame is left
in your -wherever,
compost it, tell the world.

I made nothing of myself.
I made something else, and then
I made U,
my qwerty symbolic friendly stat set,
bound near-letter
to peeling layers from this particular pearl,
today- in the post Everybody Knows, Cohen
sacred making idea in other words
sacrificial artifice,
offering unto that
super positioned we, humanity has set aside,
hoho ** green giant, ma jones, whole earth

Stewart Brand, right worthy former breather,
with us to this day, in word, and you know,
wheres words take us,
a we spirtitually untied, we
these days, depend to the nth degree,
on real estates in mindtimespace, literaturely.

Ben mentioned, awesome,
I did not catch the reference, I see,
I said a third I line pattern stylized me.
I see, I said for the nth dime degree
Phryigian Liberty Lady.{PLL} appearing

on the silver dimes entangled in the web,
of what Bacon knew or did not know,
when he invested with Madoff.
I know.
He did not write the sonnets.
Marking timestretched most point. Here.
right passing the point.
We imagine everything, am I right?
Line upon line, messaging any thing reader
ready, right now,
this is not the act, no novel form
of a sliver of if,
this is not that.
this is vid licet, per missions taken
for granted, as
meaning clearly I believe I have the right to say

I know a whole
other story, new to you, but not to many readers
you were,
in previous experiences
in poetry, and books
for lievers being brought online
in due time.

Ever after that. You may, pause, and imagine roses.

Act three Realized mentally

At the end, it is mental ascent, we do form,
in conformity to the commonest of codes,
Berners Lee's Hyper-code, as manifested in hopes,
of artists,
so called by all who knew them, the framing crews
at Aaron Brother's Art Mart Penny-Frame Sales
events for staff, same
kind of crew glue,
as seen any where,
apron clad, badged, same grinning, that's me,
I did that, too. Grind,
locked in midnight restocking

Walmart, yep, #26, Van Buren, Arkansas.

Target on… Cuyamaca, Santee, San Diego New
Trolley End, right, future planned in action..,

I got black dirt cred back to Moses, m'friend,
I am as full blood American as may be by imagining
I am a Union man, distant scion of a soldier
who had a son prior to dying, around 1781.

In the war for freedom of the press, yes, Ben,
my childhood proverb provider, reminds us all,
owning the use
of money is better than owning
of the press, belongs
to the man, wombed or un,
the awesome asexual after all we know,
who who followt Jeffy, and yet did not die in shame,
I mean
after all, we know, we think, why any might
so tempted to throw in a sorted *** scene
to envoke audience reaction
by invoking spelchekian mastermind.
of the press, belonging
to the man, wombed or un,
who has access to HelloPoetry, past all the 502s.

Free, if you will. No yoke. Seat of y'panting/
Ai aiai

This ain't showbiz. It is one act enacting another.

A writing being ready and read, at once, later.

SO, I bet the Diamond Farm.

Friendly local game, envision a vision of your own,
drawn from what you know is good, for food.
Good idea, fishing for everything.
Got one,
governing meat eaters,
keep your gun, pay a meat tax, by
buying a deer tag, which you may use
or put in to a deer harvesting pool.
That pool then gets used
to pay hunters and packers.

Living forests allow humane behaviour.
Be having the right to use the proteins,
- but you must pay the butchers
- as you might pay yourself
- for the gutting and skinning and all

tastes may be acquired,
that is a power, that sense, too any thing
at first, too bitter

resending hate hate hate, thought caught,
infecting all who take free time to think.
Sweet persuasive, tiny
taste, ah
any, ha, may take a direct object status
in any story, told to gurgling gut gladly
reminding us, aha,
food is not imperitive, o see, im per it
-this instant, soon, however, bread's a must
ive found myself a happy enough
dopplering blue jay flies by, says Hi.
- I read myself into the game, and call

Back to Bellow, he told of a fellow in Spain,
who spoke of nudists on the public transportation
in Frankfurt, so, I slip in time slime, no crime time,
¿when was that,
in the era Bellow was an adult in,
when I was just a kid… living in those days?

Poker on the Diamond Farm, in the dust,
we swept into play in the after you believed,

what-did-you-get-to-do game?

I got old. After a while.
Actively participating in the spirit
of my time.
And most of my future happened as I did,
we happened to be here,
at this time, reading.
An opus set to end, when the contrabassoon
blow ai ai ai.

Art  for no other reason, than this makes me happy, and no one dies.
Andrew Rueter May 2022
I don't need help changing my tire
I need your political support
to put out this fire
set by the angry mob of course
and there's no way I can force
you to see from the high horse
you gained from light chores
so keep your random acts of kindness
as long as you cure your blindness
I think we could find this
more profound niceness
embedded within the social construct
so kindness is required and not luck
because our intermittent charity
won't achieve economic parity
making our situation scarily
here to stay apparently
so don't tell me to be civil
from behind the American sigil
that sits on a swivel
with **** symbols
and those that swindle
a nation of marks
pushing shopping carts
in a lockstep art
dividing us from the heart
so even if you mow my yard
we'll still be miles apart
separated by a canyon of cordiality
that a river of oppression runs through
carrying away our ordeal reality
as fast as guns do
when they're held by the sightless
who convince themselves they're righteous
through random acts of kindness.
By small and simple acts and ways
Our futures come to pass
And so we ought to choose today
The ways that bless at last

For time speeds by and races on
And seeds we’ve planted grow
Then let’s arise each waking dawn
And act on what we know

Small and simple will often lead
To great and glorious things
So set good habits with all speed
And watch the wealth this brings

Dream big indeed, and make a start
Small steps will do just fine
Leverage time - it’s just plain smart
And works with laws divine

Let “small and simple” work in you
Develop heart and mind
Then confidently follow through
And live what you’ve designed
This is Prosperity Poem 115 at and you can see it displayed on a beautiful background (copy and paste the link below).
You can sign up for free weekly delivery of poems at Prosperity Poems (.com)

By small and simple things, great things are often brought to pass.  Dream big.  Dream very big.  Then take concrete (and sometimes small) steps toward your dreams.

This is Prosperity Poem 115 - and I simply do one poem per week.  Time takes care of the rest.  Commit to positive habits, and time will take care of your future!
Meta means above
Meta means transcend
Meta means “next level up”
With meta you’ll ascend

So when it comes to daily acts
Choose those with “meta” powers
Build a business
Write a book
Plan for years - not hours

For meta-choices carry-on
Far past the “choosing” day
Earn a black belt
Frame a house
Vision - paves the way

Meta-Decisions - Meta-Thoughts
Will build both wealth and peace
Release yourself
From “pushing”
Meta - “pulls” increase
This is Prosperity Poem 110 at and you can see it displayed on a beautiful background (copy and paste the link below).

Meta has become a kind of slang in come circles, but the real meaning is above or transcend.  I've used the term "Meta-Decision" for years to describe decisions that impact your life for months or years to come.

We all make decisions daily.  Sometimes we make meta-decisions, like choosing to get married, have a baby, start a business, or go to college.  These thoughts and actions are "above" regular decisions because they are commitments that set your trajectory for years to come!  We all make a few meta-decisions in our life.  However, you can gain greater success by thinking "meta" more often.

You can sign up for free weekly delivery of poems at Prosperity Poems (.com)
Helped regret all my acts of kindness,
Tell beauty, if you like...
Now I wish I were dead...
Lesson learned? Duty call
For my reaction isn't forlorn.

Stupid all my prayers,
Perhaps a curse will work much better...
For that better world imagined, so longed for.

How could I not support her, the one who helped me so.
And they say I needed my medicine.
She cures it all.
She.. The death of all illusions, of all hopes, wishes... Needs.
It is all for the best, for she knows.
Over time
Simple actions become habits
Which then lead to character
Character leads to success
And prosperity

Miraculous results
And a rewarding life
Even monumental achievements
Thus flow from simple actions
And habits
Over time
This is Prosperity Poem 97 at and you can see it displayed on a beautiful background (copy and paste the link below).
You can sign up for free weekly delivery of poems at Prosperity Poems (.com)

This is a simple and short poem - but contains a powerful message.  Every small action counts, and even monumental achievements are made up of thousands of small actions and habits.
Dante Rocío Sep 2020
Watching the schemes
of the World
and realising nothing
happens without
a cause yet
it seems so,
there it is
to see it
is not us
who choose events,
but they choose us,
since there are so many
mishaps on our
As we know there is no coincidence in
the ways all Here flows to and fro,
one side of event must have premeditation.
Once we see how we are “accidents”
and can’t pinpoint it exactly,
there is no other way than to say
The other side takes course of it.
LL Hamilton Jul 2020

"Can I do that for you?"

"Here, let me take care of it."

"Don't worry honey, I took out the trash already."

More than silence.
Space. Freedom. The radiant light crossing the distance between the worries pressing your spine and a task checked off by someone else when you weren't looking.

It is an air valve popping loose.
A throat suddenly choked up even as the tension melts away from your muscles. Sacrificial love replacing the items on your to-do list, one by one. Your mind free to think again, to live again.

An oasis in a blinding desert, planted by another person, fertilized with their perception, and watered with their care.

It's not just that a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. It's that you're now weightless.

They have shouldered your burdens with a tender smile.

They have helped you learn to fly again.
Love Languages Series: II - Acts of Service
Broken Arpeggio Dec 2019
NO MORE am I confident in what this world has to offer
Its people are selfish and crazed
Chewing up and spitting out the meek and mild souls
Imprisoning an empath to suffering and pain

NO LONGER can I look upon life fondly
With that pure yet innocent gaze
I've been stripped of the wonderous excitement that curiosity can bring
And replaced it with an anxious but violent haze

NO MATTER the extent to which I try to recover
My mind keeps taking me back to those horrific days
Where a person or persons exorcised their demons
Placing those vivid memories on a continuous loop of play

NO DOUBT I'm broken and tainted
Which is quite short of filing it all away
I cannot condone or explain exactly why
Those that slaughtered my reality did NOT somehow pay
One single act, be it wonderful or horrendous, can change someone's world forever...
Next page