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When the changes come
will winter winds still blow?
What world will we see
as quicksilver higher flows?
When this time is past
will songbirds still be heard?
Will parents still tell children
of the bees and the birds?
Will grandchildren know about
lightning bugs in the dark?
Will lovers still know what’s meant
by butterflies in their hearts?
May those gifts that we leave
for those who come hereafter
not become the close
of this book’s final chapter.
Cassandra Nov 11
we are waking up every day
with so many things on our plate.
Even if the whole day feels empty,
our minds are heavy like lead.

We are leaving early to live our life
but we are always arriving late.
We are ******* the air in
but we our lungs aren't breathing.

We are searching everywhere, we are trying all the time,
but we don't know what we are wishing to find.
We are living every day
but no one is feeling alive.

We are fantasising every night
But we aren't sleeping.
We are wanting more everyday
But we are gaining nothing.
We are talking about living life
But we are burdened by everything that's  coming
Nobody Nov 8
988
i still remember the first time i texted
988
i was in the 6th grade
crying
holding a Swiss army knife
bleeding
from my shoulders and wrists
and heart

it was 2 in the morning
i was in my room
they gave me a list of reasons of why i shouldn't
it didn't stop me from trying

one week later
i texted again
same story
then the next week
then the next
they started to recognize my number
they remembered my name
every time
i haven't texted them in a while
i wonder if they miss me
i wonder if they're happy i haven't

i kind of miss them
A **** of lightning’s searing blast
that ripped across her rib cage’s sky
had torn anew through clouds aghast
at what the storm had loosed from on high.

The brooding might of the blackened squall
kicked up the chill winds of her innerscape
and hurled down hailstones, icy *****
that pummeled the pit of her belly’s nape.

To tame this tempest, this wrecking gale,
felt too by the kaleidoscope of her spirit’s kin,
she in and exhaled breaths of kindness to regale
her kinsfolk around her with fresh air within.

Though the storm reared terrible and bleak
above these heads bowed and burdened below,
their sparks of lightning that blazed and streaked
were together tamed to a shared soft glow.

They held tight the hands of those around
who quailed in fright as thunder drums
to form a circuit bright which surrounds
and transforms dark sparks to delightful suns.
A meditation on togetherness and mutual support to get through times of crisis.
Ken Pepiton Nov 6
Few,
I know,
I understand, few living
or in legends that grew as
all things worked together,

to sort the plebs
from the patrician heirs,
do, or believe done, indeed.

Oldest deeds
to land grants
to the suppliers
of groceries
and entertainment, bread et
circuses, happy merry men making

**, **, **, and a bo''le o'***
or a jug o' cheap wine,
though to drunks not allowed
on Election Day, or on Christian Sabbaths…
under which conditions, persistant coughs,

forced the man
with a dollar wine jones,
into the local pharmaceutical corner store

for a dose of Terpin Hydrate and Codeine
signed for on Election Day, even
in Blue Law Counties.

Now, Terpin Hydrate and Codeine,
can only treat persistent coughs, in elsewhere,

so liquor stores stay open on election days,
making days after, hang over, asking
what was sup, sup
post understood,

prophesied after effectual fervent prayer,
to do right
by you

a mandate from heaven, a Cyrus, envisioned,
and presented to the horde arriving
for the circus, worship the story,
in spirit and in truth, as one believes,
one's own self authorized to lieve being

true as true can be, taken, as given
in answer, apokrinomai phonic Greek,

as first person present tense I am made
in the eye of any beholden to a tried spirit,

come to pay respects, we watched the show,
unmazing performance, unraveling the weaves,

we've all imagined praying prayers that work
miracles, witnessed, before our very verifiably
wedom minded oath bound souls dispiritings
virtuosi-like - sudden shifts in sense, presensed

we were
all in black and white, and 254 shades of gray,
and the idea's that Boolean signs enforced,
with weight of knowing > custom duty tax

for sellers of wasted time spent on old mechanics.

Mind tool collections, mostly hammers and grips,
a solid anvil and some super sharp hardies,

my legacy used to prove
real life interruptions, fires, and wars, and weather

none one experiences, none one frets or prays
to prevent, taking grace for granted, lets hope float.

Gnoshit, some old truthz remain true, bottom up,
down in the dirt is the seed of every actual need,
and forces intwined so fine, you never real ize
you felt,
fine.

Stretched, strings tuned to creation, breaking
glassonion speedborn legal reactions to reasons

used to train warminding brains, containing secret
whys called reasons,
for the hate needed
to **** with.

Survive a babble
Copy that, say curio-wise…
Whom do I owe
for my survival, so far?
Say you know, I'll say
mebbe so, if your ideal surviva-babble
possible ever, after,
alls been saids been done
and ever at all in reality
exists,
is there a place where evil is punished,
for being known
in all the common
ways we think, lies we believe,
should be taken to the forge,
to be reconformed, to the hardy hole,
needed tho, never needed knowing,
how iron sharpens iron, steel hones
the edge,
in mental wars weaponry,
phi phantasy spirals
fibbonacci saw wise
twist most simple, bending x
hex marks the spot, you see x
hale the used air, taken in nex t
the rest
of the story, shall we find an ai
to read us, or shall we read our minds
and act as if we are listening,
fretlessly to all the jazz
wrapping angstroms to pure joy

adding the idea of a slight smile
using lost peace to make some

good for nothing pure
evil, imaginary, mirror neuron firing signals
to the glands
from the guts to each
knot of knowing relaying response
to the noise - cries of havoc,

Tense butter better
be war-y
settle, that was then, this is now, roles
change minds, don't think mind's don't change

kinds of minds, even, whole categories
of minds, character traits, collected,
across a seventy-two year space,
two minutes on the Babylon
clock calendar whole truth
concept wagwanfyew duty  to reify
if I were
what we agreed, to let be we. the plural I,
weform the patterns we make, the paths
we take, the patterns we use to make sense,

swirls and x t o A pi the sign, >< whose to say?

sets change, pillars come
to seem
to hold no weight free thought
recognized mustabin wild

- remenants proving result
- recognizable mob rule following
- deme domes as above so below

So, domes do work,
tunnels work too, the problem is,
nothing to do, the Coen bros tol' you

and if truth were told, living words told you.

Mental exchange graces many breaths, deep
taken with intention, to think, commas, work

That was in the era after the atom bomb,
and before the repulsion from Dianetics, umph,
Voltaire's secret, written invitation to converse
with him, in his or any Wikipeadian tongue,
his conditions were my agility to define,
my own terms, peaceable,
for good reason
infection, will
to define my terms, wish
to have this magical mechanism
to hold this thought, and link
on that phrase,
to make a novel, a new

way
to arrive where life leads, when followed.
There has never been a press this free on the inside, public poetic pools of provacative creative vacancy where no war's reasons balance, ever...
Remember remember
To never surrender

To fear nor grim weather
Poor down in together

Remember remember
To never surrender

To hate nor the latter
Judges who matter

Remember remember
To never surrender

To mute love tender
Ever sweet surrender
A simple draft of air in the lungs
like I’ve done a billion times.
Exhale to hum a song I’ve sung
that calms with comforting rhymes.

In and out and rise and fall,
to feel my stomach be moved
and breathe through fears and all
‘til wrinkles of worry be smoothed.
A snapshot of my feelings in light of current events
Andrea Oct 17
Did you know
the girl I see
every night
every day
every second I live
is never the same?

Did you know
she walks like me
she talks like me
but it cannot be me

I have no reflection

I’ve never seen it
felt it
looked at it
touched it
nor spoken to it

So girl, yes you
You who mock me
You who ridicule me
You who see me
Did you know we are not one and the same?

Did you know
I moved on
And yet you
drifted
And became a monster?

Did you know
because
I wouldn’t have
if not for
Your lurking presence.
Taunting me
Crying for me

Did you know
Despite your shouts
Despite your fear
I cannot be you?
How can I
When you didn’t know
You were real
And I was not.
Derby Oct 7
Thirty and a few days
it's come this far
and feeling as if
already halfway there:
is this crisis?

forget all i'd loved
forget this i've cherished
c'est la vie

say less to me
and sail i might
like magellan,
erik, his son leif,

i'll leave soon
for that spice
cowper said
gives life all its flavor

oh, billy boy
you might've been onto something
but my heart's will
disagrees
with my penchant
for curious wild imagination
and dreams

and all that could have been
all swept by wind
as sand in a gale.
OmRh Sep 22
On weekends, I usually indulge in mundane pastimes in which life duties have no bearing.
Going on leisurely walks, watching films, or making acquaintances. Ah, the art of living!
On most weekdays, however, I often find myself drowning in murky and troubled waters.
Where expectations and obligations gather in a swarm, taking on sharklike features
Striking after telltale signs of surrender. Leaving trails of existential horrors in their wake.

What would it take to flee and veer off the current course? I’d then sit and ponder.
To chase after rosy-deemed dreams made entirely of garments, needles, and thread.
Confiding in parents amidst the chaos is also a proven futile effort because —
‘You’d outgrow your fleeting obsessions,’ is what they always confidently mutter.
Opening room for more doubt and despair to barge in with a loud clatter.

But I learned to hide my biting resentment underneath layers of feigned indifference.
Mastered the craft of walking in confident strides and etching on saccharine smiles.
Because what good comes from performing a Shakespearean tragedy before prying eyes?
However, when the game of play-pretend becomes taxing, and patience starts wearing thin
I seek refuge in my bedroom vicinity, where I freely entertain the blood-spattered what-if musings.
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