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Ken Pepiton Sep 4
Breathing easy, without a care, con-
science filling emptiness in me, auto-pilot,
in and out of wonder why and how.
Bard arrogance, pretending,
it all may be, let us see.

The rule is beauty is truth,
- a temptation,
- a eh, a canadian dare,
- prove all things out and about as
- this being that in a preceptous sense.
according to a cultural rule, we use,
truth is beauty,
and that is plenty to know,
not useful, but plenty
well known…
emplanted in my psyche plot
when I was less than fully functional.

No sweat. Em space, letters let us
see beauty in the symmeasury,
perfect curves and ratio.
Line after line, then
line upon line, then story
to story to now, from ever so long
long before thoughts were fit to spells,
common to all speakers of sacred songs.

Enter the grid of Em, between the lines.

Right,
it's out there
to be brought in
by the eye
of the being holding beauty
as a measure for a portion,
I am asking, as in prayer,
may I have more?
-------- there was an art in forming type

I may destroy it,
I am sorry to say so,
but you know, once we take,
giving seems worthless,
how can I give beauty back
that I took in from there,
see
right there?

Aldus, Theobaldo, is this a spirit
you pondered with, a musement bit
of ifery, in tune to older reasons
easier to use, as we learn
new means of making
knowledge reach beyond the grave,
and back to us in books,
set beautifully in emphatic type styled
perfectly, at the touch of a key

see, set as aesthetic-pleasant, as I wish
this is my magic letter forming
word
rush, through salt marsh, to briny deep

now I lay down my type, perfection of old
rural pens poking angled pits in drying clay,
here is proof of beauty sung,
measure worth of what I learned
in years of seasons spent in trial
resetting of the worth to cost ration,
coin of exchange, goods for service,
clearing rats from the Rathaus,
pressing poets into political
religatory bonds
at exorbitant interest paid in
occurrencys, specie, value
holding letters,
formed as words holding knows, ready
to know,
read and see, we learned to use the mind
reading signs in numbers, sames in shapes and
colors and sounds,
rhythms reoccurring some patterns form,
we agree, see
north, and east,
south, and west, after many seasons,
winters all become one winter,
summers become one summer,
harvest and planting all become one, over all
this is life,
We live we
learn, we leave the knowing showing,
I was here, and when I was
here, others were with me, we went on
according to the story with the center to
where all winds meet,
where all water flows up from into
this beauty
we be
holding as breaths, each as beautiful, or more
so than all that came before, and went.
-----------------

My grand daughter is a bright spot calling,
in passing, as would the shadow
of the jay harvesting the hillside out side
my window.
- I smile a treasure smile

Struck by Brynn Aulyn's fashion sense,
since holey jeans were forboten
in my gramma's haus.
- a lucidated old man am I -
- ever learning there is beauty
-----------------------
Hoping to form a gem of immense
value,
the old bard, stutters,
takes back a step,
looks you over, eye to eye, to make
the circuit, as we
know, left eye, right brain take the order
bend it to the shape
seeming something
you could see - and so it is, you see.

These unnumbered lines are indexed,
linked and crosslinked to all the info
ever, up to now, your time,
when electricity is still the tool to keep
things forming letters in your mental
word process, listening,
far in the future, faceward flow
of all we think to ask to know,
what lies can make a mirror,

¿ stop me in my tracks? Do I know?
Do you imagine, we may know?

Does your reality hide truth?
Why, I wondered too loud, why
I heard only being
caused by quests set to type, adventure

tragic remembrance warning
comic awareness insisting, sense is essential.

ESSE, HEY, capslock, s'cool type reading
we can learn
to think a thought a second time differ
ing in time, up a line, down a line
right to left to right, this is
a twist to things we do
inside, brainwise, neuro-resurgical, burp
of reco
gnosis, tricky gnosis para site graph point.
Stitch
in time. Torn jeans, signify nothing more
than NY Times Digest from yesterday.

--- and my Saturday continues on to yours, soon
enough, let's make peace, since sense is now science.

One time, in my life, at the middle school mark in time we called Junior High,
grade six
through eight,
the formative years, Televised Profusely,
since Our Miss Brooks, I think,
back to when I first pretended to know
the guy that became
John Rambo's boss.

Bite me in my own buts, but, but
I did
read First Blood, before, the movie
made the idea a cultural meme,
meaning one thing to men
of a certain, certified-archetype mold,
hot lead poured to military purpose,
in the imaginary battles boys can
set in array
on vast plains
of rag rugs, in front of hearth, in home
of grandpa, telling
of a friend
who must remember stories alone…

-hot lead type pouring from my gnosis
I I ai don't wish to say this… so
we make a mental meta

using toy soldiers cast in ready state
standing at attention, bayonets fixed.

What comes next, child, may you
never know.
So. that book closes.
Saturday with kids in celebration of no school, and all the world at play. And me waxing pleasantly poetic and feeling no pain from yesterday or year or whatever before. Time is so swift from now.
Raven Feels Apr 23
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, pen ink cries too:(


fines that cant be identified on the near

or the writes put on paper they die they cry

got my reasons for the sacred peasants and held daemons

nurtured weapons earned upon various treasons

came surrendered on your questioned gazes

that i fond a sweet spot on my unsolved mazes

unhealthy for the mind

my ears brought up to a permanent blind

you descend my pride

to fault on knees loose

cut on shortage of scenarios to choose

amazement on the major dominance captive of my shoes

leading calls to a song never told never sold


                                                                                     --------ravenfeels
Ekansh Kedia Apr 2020
I tread beneath this limitless sky;
this limitless sky of which I also am above.
I soar high till my wings melt,
keep falling;
falling till I run out of breath.
But I am worry-free;
worry-free because I know I'll land on a fluffy bed.
What just happened?
What. The. Heck.
Falling, until I run out of breath.
Alex Gifford Feb 2020
Truth will always win
though the arrogant seem tall.
The man who says there is no cliff
will be the first to fall.
- Jul 2019
Im the pinnacle of arrogance before success.
Kiara Hoxie Jan 2019
Under your gaze I was lovely
Like the bright sun rising over the gray clouds
You filled the sky with shining stars above me
You promised me there was no doubts

But now your arrogant boasting crushes me
I become so insignificant and small
Like a blade of grass flattened by a falling tree
Now I don't recognize you at all

The insults and jabs are plenty
Though you search for those old stars
But my night sky is black and empty
As is my shrinking heart
b Sep 2018
i am nothing if
not just my mistakes,
with bones.

i will wear a cheap suit
to your dinner party
and hit on your wife
by accident.

sorry.
im just so tired of pretending
id rather just be.
Confident
Sad.
Arrogant.
Alone.

when you are those things
you just are.
and when you want to be
youre just toxic.

i am green.
with poison and absence
of anything someone would call
normal life experience.  
i cant tell *** from tequila
but i will drink them both
if offered.

i thought i found
heaven on the queensway,
it was really just a cable boy,
who wants to make music.
a sleeveless
snook that
shook the
world from
its bar
did then
retort him
as ye
professor traveled
in place
of Trump
where his
Cadillac in
the news
would cordon
worry on
his brow.
Donald on the stump
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