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My Dear Poet Feb 2022
Sunlight, moonlight
Come with their own greeting
Sun says, “good morning”
Moon replies, “good evening”.

Clockwork shift change
Little conversation on the horizon
Clocking in, clocking out
Leaving and arriving
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
LORD said, These have no master:
let them return every man to his house in peace.

From <https://biblehub.com/kjvs/1_kings/22.htm>

There came a time,
when none found peace,
on any channel there is war, and old tropes
from when aldous
huxley was running suggestions past ivy lee and freud's
nephew, new-thinking, yes, resonant, isn't it
eddy bernays, yes, the sizzle sell. And,
get to the yeses, all the promises
are yeses

lovely, lovely, lovely,
how easily we seem to live on TV, if it gets too gritty,
-oh fool me, once, hahaha
it has, it has gotten too, many grinding high friction,
on backsides warmed with old time religion,
-woodshed discussions were never discussed
nor was curiosity praised,
for asking if the grown ups knew what Miss Kitty's
girls did, down at the Long Branch, in Dodge City,
when it was wet,
and streets were muddy,
and had wooden side walks…. on the radio
Gunsmoke
Spurs into the saloon,
why sure, some fool's would.
But once.
You know, wanting to make the sound
of Marshall Dillon, coming through

old cobwebbed swing doors, as accurate as any
on black & white TV, the sound
of his spurs
on the boards,
made my grandma laugh.

We came exploring under the oath
of eternal hostility

and if need be, opposing force, prepositioned
in every way, upto 150,

and upto as well, if upto is not a valid preposition,
it is a position, I can conserve.
I take it all the time,
breathing upto and no more, no matter,
I can't explode, inhalation ceases
and I can't explode in rage,
by ceasing to exhale or ****.
-so
As to the power of oath it is seeming universal,
in the era of 5G unlimited plans, and shared
subscriptions,
publishers clearing house, trained sales force,
the biggest ever, at its height,
I was in that class, bright futures,
1962 Eighth graders in rural America sold more
magazine subscriptions than you may imagine,
as preparation for a future,
when sales is the only gig in town, and
nobody
is making any thing worth the pitch to patch the leaks,
it’s the same old story,
slowing down, settling for less, and saying that's enough,

but fully expecting too much on the backswing,
as we follow through, the amatuer guile, eh, act innocent

be one of miss kitty's girls, like on tv, but at Disneyland,
did they play the role, or
never know the whole, link to now from when,

the west was wild, big white men with guns,
came to tame it,
open many long branches… before Prohibition

Fifty more years, every body forget but AI, remembers,
Black Elk danced.

Backtalk to my professorial betters, ah
behave myself,
don't act like
ol' Johnny Apache, mockin' Annie Oakley wannabe
in Purple Santa Fe fringed leather jacket,
accented by rare Wuhan Pangolin
boots, belt, and saddle bag purse,
and a Caspel Twid straw hat, like Cher wore in People.

heh, hey Annie,
getcher gun, shoot me, I ain't good, I ain't dead,
or some such he said,
and he passed me his jug of Mogen David,
I took a pull,
just as no ****, a sheriffs deputy who had not
been shot, when he shoulda been,
in that Jamaica guy's song,
- Johnny's brother Jonah,  joined us in jail
- he was pretty bad shape, that night
- pukin' blood, and retchin'
the deputy at night was also oughta be dead, kinda man,
Johnny let me know later, that night in jail in 1970,
Cottonwood Arizona, I know,
I have told this story, too many times to make sense,

I also know Fred Douglas wrote his whole story
and published it, five times, as it rolled out….
over the years…
-thing reconnect, you gotta know the knots

so if I have the time and inclination,
and I happen to find a common sense, a mean measure,
- so much and no more,
- full of all thought about that and I agree

where all the rain that ever fell on me, at that time
once fell on someone you love, too, at the same time,
same rain,
some time, one time, I thought of that and thought of you,
because you read this line. And you thought so, too,
you said to yourself, life makes no sense,

if you feel you need to row your boat, or tote your weight,
this is an hour at the end of a happy life,

where cares were cast to mull over, wondering,
how did we get from then to now,
without being
normalized?
Mentally backtalking Victor Davis Hansen, as an old first earth day hippy, one year after Vietnam.
George Krokos Jan 2022
As the sun goes down
and day is all but over
a new world begins
___
Written in 2020
vera Jan 2022
I have left my soul unfed
I stare at 1's and 0's all alone
I live within my phone.

I have no words but empty ones.
I speak the same script as everyone.

Who sees me?
If I don't speak.
Who loves me?
If I am not here.

Everything is fine.
Is what I say all the time.

When cliff sides erode
it is nature changing, becoming new.
What will happen as I lose myself, bit by bit.
What is hiding behind my soul?
LC Jan 2022
today, you may be a closed tulip. but as the minutes roll by, you will slowly blossom. the wind will kiss your petals, and the rain will startle you. the sun will warm you up, and the bees will seek you as a resting place. through it all, you will stretch your leaves toward the sky, and your seeds will sprout. you will brighten days, and you will continue the circle of life.
Happy 2022! This is a reminder for all of us going into the new year. We can survive and thrive :)
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2021
The day on a high
reaches the peak
over the pyramid.
Shrouded in twilight
now tucked in light
pushes the envelope.
The whole panache of stars
came out in the pitch dark.
The North Star is on the way
oh do me a favour
I will tell you why.

Veil the angle of dawn
in the black shades of the night.
There are dark caves
even inside the pyramid
scientists, trained eyes
yet to tread on that way.

Put on it only an instance of your kohl
the daylight is already a burnt mole.
Light in the wrap in the night
your muslin veiled silken moonlight
is enough to find the tuberose’s earth.

If the tucked away sun crops up
once again over the morning’s rose petals.
Again it will dive deep into the angle
after an angle in the black hole of the night.
A far cry from the glowing firefly
eyeing blindfolded behind the moon
perfectly beyond every looking star.
Until the master arts in silk black finds the true pencil
not in visualising but catching the views of the sunrise
through the lens of the rose pollens’ kohl-eyes.
Shofi Ahmed Dec 2021
A human jumps over the other side of the wall
the pi was on the way, abyss of decimal ocean
kept expanding deep and wide but the formula
was handy on her hand she could nail it down.
Perfectly squares the circle, the ocean in a drop
and peeps up over the irrational chasm for good
scaling at the highest high Fathima moons!
.
Deduces straw by straw the maestros' dream ascension
potion-polished taking Ma pauses in liminal crescendo
between past and future, here and hereafter, circle duo.
Limning out chiaroscuro in light and shadow
oh, nothing is like it in plain sight or the world in toto!

Raw Fathima moves on the shadow nature follows
clustering atoms ever spin in the space in between the two
impossible to fathom, couldn't do in Makkah and Medina,
remained untouched, uncharted while there she was living
in encrypted fashion wholly secured yet full functioning! 
The intelligent design, blueprint is in her elements
and the breakthrough exponent is in her eyes
she is the original can show the way.

Truly the only one feminine zoom passes the irrational pi,
the most complex chasm yet mathematically goldmine.
Beyond the mass eyes and their painting canvases
in the daylight that get lost though at the twilight but us
are victorious; since a human being bears the moonlight!

The night at the twilight may take the sun into its veil,
as a little mole into its star-vanishing fathomless trails.
The rainbows are already shaded into Fathima’s black hair
bolder than the dark matter that has the cosmos
glinting off it’s edge, the story goes on for the mass
‘Paint in bold black before the sunrise’ Fathima matters.
Tanay Dec 2021
It is a rainy day
I walk
It washes away my fear,
I feel I am letting go.
It is a rainy day
I feel my worries
Wash away from my face,
My wrinkles are being erased.
It is a rainy day
I know
Healing takes time,
But time heals the deepest wounds.
It is a rainy day,
It is dark
But I feel a spark of light
In my heart.
It is a rainy day
And I know
How hard it has been to let go.
Now I heal
As the rain washes my wounds away.
I heal as the rain pours down on me.
Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2021.
All Rights Reserved
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