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Erwinism Oct 10
Must have seen you in a field,
the trampled grass your bed,
your eyes fixed on the sky,
and the sky hanging on blooming fire
and leaves of ashes eloping with autumn–tainted summer.
You didn’t stir,
if not for the fence time drove into the paper soil in between us the song of chaos will probably sing it’s ominous song in my ears.
Not an inch, did you move.

Your thoughts might have been that of your mama, on her porch steps for the hundreds of dinner that waited cold for you that year.
Your papa must have passed a ball to a glove without a hand to hold it up.
Your dear Anna must have been trembling as her heart skipped a beat reading letters written open-endedly.
The hills around you stood mortally wounded, weeping for their trees, still you slept in between those pages while your home collected dust on the shelves that so few of us care to visit.

Still your eyes were fixed on the sky. Unmoved by clouds. Unperturbed by dying sunshine. Shards and shrapnel of ideas burrowing deeper. I knew your lips wanted to part and utter wilting words,perhaps the heaviest word to bear—goodbye.

War has always been indifferent to life.
Drab Oct 2
.

My life is an open book.
Except when it’s shut.
Or burned.
Or ignored.
You know, the older ones..
#NOT
Immortality Sep 26
In corners, they quietly rest,
ink fading like lost memories,
stories linger in silence,
awaiting the warmth of hands,
to remember what was once felt.
Wish I could travel time back in those moments......
Alex Braun Sep 20
i am going insane over a love that cannot exist.
a love made not of soulmates
but a bond, a tether, a string
forged and formed by two creatures taken to understanding. to knowing.

knowing when one is wearing a mask for others.
knowing what the littlest twitches of muscles mean.
knowing where one is even in sleep.
knowing someone beneath what they project to the world.
knowing how to steady the world for one whom it blurs.

knowing and desiring to know.
hearing and keeping hold.
this love drives me mad
the soul of my heart aches for such a profound connection
yet the written words of other authors must suffice.
i read and read and i feel like my heart is being dragged out of my chest
Ashley Er Sep 15
Each book is
A portal to another
World,where dragons
Take flight and heroes
Fight.lost in tales,we
Drift away,to a realm we
Wish we could stay.
In each page,new tales
Unfold.From ancient lands
To dystopian worlds.
A whisper calls from
Realms afar,opening the minds
Own doors.And when the
final page draws near,
A wish appears so bright
and clear.To turn the
pages fresh and new
And dive once more
into the light.
to read anew
with open eyes and feel
the thrill of each surprise.
Though stories end,
the wish remains,
To start again,
unbound by chains,
To feel the joy, the rush,
the excitement
As if I’m reading for the
very first time.
Abi Winder Sep 4
life will offer smaller moments.

bite sized pieces of joy
meant for those who struggle to find the bigger ones.

like a piece of chocolate
our grandmothers
swear they will not give us
but surely will.

a person
at just the right time.

a book
that says just the right thing.

a song  
with the perfect melody.

or a film
with the right amount of humanity.

it’s the smaller things
that life gives us.

the smaller things
are the ones we must cling to.
Ken Pepiton Aug 30
re reading readily past and present read
read real as a word for what we do
so steadily balancing known on known,
thinking some things at the same instance,
we knew the will to tell, and knew as well
the will to listen, to learn while thinking,

to me
this means that

losing my breath, reaching your reason,
tuning our times to the musical mathematics

all matter is dust, all thought is spirit,
all memory has a price prepaid, the flaw
we may imagine,
maya, Kabir suggests to Rumi, and I ask
might justice mean what Karma does?

The nameless suggester, be it muse, or
some detail in a day so long ago it seems

forever, onward, outward, inward fretting,
lack of knowledge, sublime serpentine bending,

folding, creasing, not snapping in rigged tension,
compliantly bending the knee, image-visualize,
meandering streams of everything,
realize our link to thinking marked taboo.

Discover why secrets are so typical of life,
in bubbles where our sapien relatives live.

All men, wombed or un, catch phrase, me
included, learn in sequence, literally faster
whosoever
than at any time in ever before, we know more,
truth, conscious use of useful knowings shared,

to our advantage, supposing us capable of leading,
while braying mindlessly like a
sotted piper, blues on a fancy Hohner, here we go

asking reception signaling the surfing analogy,
lift us as might those children we see ourselves, once,
imagine turning at the first star on the left, using
Peter Pan, then Peter Principle, from Canada,
Laurence J. Peter, appears in color,
dressed in polyester 70's gear,
as would have looked cool on TV
while McLuhan was doing his thing.

Fit the mind into the hard problem,
let it seem the spiritual force, why

imagine satisfaction while satisfied?
What a man hath, why doth he hope for?

As when Lobsters stack for social duty,
forming hierarchies, certainly,

Delphic precepts urge recalling 1, 2,  3,

know how empty you are, know how small
your little lamp, asking measure mete,

nothing spilled remains thine own, surplus
is for general consumption, evolution taxes

the comprehension of the universal conversation,

we find old rules used to form governable clusters
of us, tabula rosa versions of each of us,
mirroring imaginable completed visions,

like Google Earth, eh,
imagine, we live there, and where we see from
is this imagined plateau in nowhere, really, just
imagine, spell binding,

how newly known is all we know, each time,
the economy collapses and we are left wondering,

was the pile wrong at the bottom, first test of load
bearing Lobster pride for being most useful, calling all

come climb on my back and become the memory,
of original reasons used to do truly childish things.

Roof high stilts was one we succeeded at,
having seen it done, doing it was nothing,
couple of old two by fours, common
artifacts in growing towns out west… nailgun
misfires come to the magnet rescued
from the uncoiled motor
on the old concrete mixer. Grandpa had hammers.

Life with electricity, safe bet, you never had no choice
but to live in a world without power… industrial strength,

but the stacking order adaptations from King of the Hill,
does evolve a kind of specific survival set of reasons,
make do, make things change, to become ladders,
and then stilts, to walk along the Al Can Highway
waving at the tourists on their way to Vegas,
as society evolved around us, hiding wrecking yards,

all the weights in the bag, when balance is primary,
all the weights prove their worth, be it true to fair.

We can think we know less than we must to finish,
but that is maya talking, the cloud of unknowable's
tyrannical kind of order,
attempting to dam the flow…

first king reason, ready to speak up and say, I know.
I know, yes, just
what you mean by too much,
too much
water in your cistern, let it flow down gutters
intelligently placed to slow erosion,
leaving
first pure, mere thought bought by breathing
consistently for seventy five years, attended to
by books that my grandma read as a child,

and my grandchildren read this summer.

Presently passing on the purpose of first and last.
Godin's Practice, a lesson, learned or spurned, whose to judge...
daily musing using magic tools unthinkable except in books, since ever ago,
a good book is one you enjoyed experiencing in your youthful mind.
I recommended Stranger in a Strange Land, got a fair response.
Gauri Aug 29
Oh to drown in the scent of books
And to vividly imagine details in every corner and crook
The musky smell and creaky wooden floor
The cobwebs on bookshelves and the sliding doors
Fingers grazing the hard bookcase
Dust on my fingers from the rims I trace
Echoed footsteps through the room
The letters and dried flowers and the ***** broom
The attic window and ascending stairs
Feather quills on sill and decor pairs
Texts and symbols drafted on vellum pages
As my mind drifted to the little cages
The cages that bore Canary too yellow
That with me gazed at the colors and along grew mellow
D Aug 29
our story ended before it began
so i turn to books
carrying our memories along
i flip the pages
word by word
line by line
eagerly searching for answers
for a way, a solution
anything i'm desperate!

i engulf myself in the characters
a depiction of you and i
you and i
if we were honest
you and i
if we tried and didn't hide
you and i
brought back alive

and when its all over
i am lost again
lonely innocent desperate
waiting...

Oh, how foolish of me

maybe one day
we'll meet again

Oh, how i dread that day

wishing it'll come sooner
until then I'll hold a place
for you in my heart

cos it's you and i

forever in my mind.
MetaVerse Aug 26
Antique
paper
& ink
& glue,
a fragrance
I drink
in through
my nose,
fragrant
like a dead rose.
I fan my face,
& fall into
an antique book aroma coma.
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