on the margin
the paraphernalia
employed to obtain
the sweated inspirations
to tell these lies randomized
stories, factuelle (feminine)
pestle and mortar martyrs,
crushed together, drink in
her form, the S curves
of her shape, my fav
place, on a long list
of favs,

and she says;

hey poetry man!

which renders my
100 or so
senses,
that radiate,
congregate,
infantuate
rendering moi
delightfully attentive,
and I think:

Solitude:

Be All well and good,
wells and veins awaiting
for spelunking & mining for the
nexus of the
next line, but when she summons me,
with a cherished honorific I am
sundered by words deep felt,
and the next line forgotten,
disappeared and
for multiples,of poems,
that
die
heart busted broke

when she call poet, come,
it is like living in a gearbox
Stuck in Fifth,
that message of multiplex pixels,
so engaging and so many container conceptual structures,
those poetic burst and bust out,,
gnawing to be released free,
***** solitude, it’s her
attitude that gives
more than I can
handle…

and the poems are about the conjoining
of
the mutuality of our:

soliciting solitude attitude

It's all what we make it
It's all up to how we deal
You can just give up
Or you can put your **** in gear
Face it fearlessly
Tear through it
Ride that ***** like a bull
Grab those horns
Rise above
Let yourself see your success
See yourself succeed
Now that's how to deal
©Jennifer L DeLong. 🦏2/19/23

Soon the sun will be out of sight,
As it falls to the west, we begin our night,
Then, the street lights will shine so bright,
Later as everyone starts yawning, they say good night.
We just lived through, another day,
Never knowing, how many more, may come our way.
There is no rhyme or reason,
We each have a different length, to our personal season.
In this life no one, forever stays,
We each have an unknown time, place, and way,
Our reservations have been made.
Think positive, learn, teach, help others, every day.
No need to complain about things,
You have no power to advise or change,
Many times, in this life, we will have to rearrange,
Be thankful for this life’s short stay,
In the morning, the sun will rise, in the eastern sky,
Shining bright, to light our way, another day.

                              The original: Tom Maxwell © 3/15/22 AD

Dear God,

I am the ideal of what a man look like that brings protection, connection, while sometimes respected.
I carry open flaws that are continuously worked on daily.
A good 5-figure man , half way to 6-figures, that has his own everything.
My attitude’s attitude is in check,
the power I hold is self-controlled,
never to go on a rampage.
When one sees my character, it defines what a “man” is or can be.
An example of code ethics which give gifts and sacrifices time as if it’s my duty to live for others rather than myself.

And yet, I am not the man she wants.
Not the 60% rich men who lives in a 6-figure + size house, bank account, traveling anytime as one so do please.  
Not the 60% rich men who she thinks she deserves when she has absolutely nothing to bring to the table but only her temporary looks aging through time because she claims, “she is the table”.
The 60% rich men who is an illusion because in reality, social media & society continues to trick and cloud women minds under a false promise that there’s a huge amount of rich men, when in fact only 1% are. Yet, that 1% could care less.

March 13, 2013