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Eight legged beauty
Spinning your web architect
Stare in amazement
Haiku
Spiders are so industrious
Gabbro 5d
You showed me paths
In my house, I didn't know existed
And now there's no space

That feels complete without you-
r touch. Every house will feel
Off kilter, every bedroom will feel

Too cramped, too empty.
Every garden path too jagged
And every living room too dead

Peace is to harmonize with your environment
And there's no harmony like you
Wind sings through spaces you create

And comfort flows like water.
So please put your artists gaze upon me
And make paths for us in this room.

Paths that lead from me to you.
For T,  My Architect
MetaVerse May 6
.

min     mal
         i
pr          sm

Andy Denson Mar 20
sator
i am still here—
the eternal spark, the constant presence
amidst the whirlwind of thoughts and dreams.
i manifest success, forging my destiny
brick by brick with every cosmic “yes.”

arepo
in the mirror of raw ego and honest reflection,
i transmute every reeking flaw into fragrant power.
from the ashes of past mistakes
i sculpt myself—a masterpiece of perseverance,
refined like the best soaps, emerging renewed.

tenet
i hold fast to my celestial blueprint,
a generator with a capricorn flame,
a leo moon roaring for its rightful spotlight,
each heartbeat an invocation of divine order,
each breath a promise to the stars.

opera
in the theater of creation, i am both director and actor—
my life a symphony of passion and precision.
with every action, every well-earned victory,
i spin the wheel of destiny,
turning obstacles into stepping stones
that lead to realms of boundless light.

rotas
and as the cosmic cycle revolves,
i embrace the sator square’s eternal secret:
what is sown in the heart returns in glory.
i manifest success with every radiant step,
every choice a spiral that brings me closer
to the infinite horizon of my dreams.

i stand as a living constellation,
an alchemist of fate and fervor,
a poet of the universe—
and in this sacred square,
i claim my success,
now and forever.
sator
arepo
tenet
opera
rotas
Andy Denson Mar 20
I am the sum of stars and design,
A Generator in cosmic flow—
Waiting, always waiting to respond
To the universe’s subtle “yes.”

Capricorn sun burns in my chest,
A furnace of duty and ambition,
Forging dreams with meticulous might—
Every moment a brick in my empire of light.

Virgo rising, quiet and precise,
Crafts my path with order and care,
Each detail a whisper of destiny,
A careful dance on the edge of chaos.

My Leo Moon roars with inner fire,
A constant call for warmth and applause—
In every gaze, a longing for the spotlight,
Yet I remain the calm at the storm’s eye.

Venus in Sagittarius sends me on wild quests,
Where freedom and passion entwine in laughter,
Love is an adventure, an open road—
A journey where every scar tells a story.

Mars in Capricorn drives my relentless pace,
A warrior armed with discipline and resolve,
Turning obstacles into stepping stones,
Each challenge a testament to my truth.

Jupiter in Virgo blesses my work,
Not with random luck, but with earned grace—
Every detail polished in the crucible of effort,
Every success a quiet, triumphant sigh.

In my Human Design, the Sacral speaks
With an unwavering gut feeling—
A truth too visceral to be denied,
Guiding me with its pulsating rhythm.

Profile 4/6 whispers of connection and evolution,
From youthful sparks to the wisdom of the crown—
Each phase a masterpiece of becoming,
Each step a stride toward cosmic perfection.

I dwell in my own sacred cave,
Where the tactile world meets inner space,
Grounded in the touch of life’s raw beauty,
While dreams take flight on wings of stardust.

I, Andy Denson—a living constellation,
A mosaic of charts and celestial codes,
Every line a verse, every placement a chorus,
In the symphony of an endless cosmic poem.

And as I breathe in the infinite night,
I stand, a masterpiece of celestial blueprint,
Inviting the world to witness my evolution,
One stellar, deliberate, radiant step at a time.
This poem is my cosmic diary—a fusion of my Human Design and Astrology that reveals the intricate dance of destiny and free will. Each line is a reflection of the energies that shape me as a Generator with a Capricorn Sun, a Leo Moon that craves its spotlight, and countless planetary voices guiding every step. I invite you to explore your own celestial blueprint and celebrate the art of living intentionally. In the vast universe, every soul shines uniquely—may this piece inspire you to discover your own star-strewn path.
In fog or flood,
it has to look like news
and not wear down too soon,
not be abandoned at the shipyard;
hunt-and-peck it to death,
it remains invisible, so readable
that it does nothing to draw
attention to itself,
leaving only the content
in its lapidary wake.
uv Jan 30
Conspire to inspire,
Inspire to admire,
Admire to aspire,
Aspire to set fire
To your demons
That conspire.
To be an inspiration, one must first strive, work hard, and embody goodness, reaching a place where others can look up to them. But true elevation comes when the inspiration shifts inward—recognizing the vastness of the world and admiring the greatness beyond the self. In this space of admiration, we realize that the greatest challenge and victory lie in overcoming our own demons. Through self-reflection and continuous betterment, we find the strength to inspire once more.
Jeremy Betts Jan 23
I sit here,
Like a beetle on it's back
In a crack of it's own design
Crafted it's own demise
Frantically flailing
Panicking mainly
Legs going every witch way,
Becoming to heavy
To reach out for help
No voice to call out for help
Though it tries
Not knowing it's already dead
Hope is the first thing that dies
Moments from the cruel hand dealt
By life itself
Exposing itself
As deaths right hand man
Still we fall for the bluff
And the universe doesn't listen to
"Enough is enough"
If you don't like it
Tough

©2025
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2024
~ for spygrandson ~

with deep affection


https://hellopoetry.com/spysgrandson/


<>

I am en~titled
by him,
commissioned by his exacting wording
of this poem’s titular naming,
all my previous attempts are failures,
over designed, too artistic
for his modest self~reckoning &
bearded demeanor,
they demanded
denial with
request for
simplicity of an unflowery
reckoning,
a clean shave,
so to speak…



a potholder of simple design,
a modest picture self-drawn,
but his stories are
sorties tall,
he draws you in, worthy draftsman sketches
of words, tales short, poems complete,
tales so sweet, of characters uniquely complete,
and you think,
can they not be fictional?

and you know they’re no such thing,
ok, maybe,
some taller and a few perhaps dreamed,
the big characters of those
giants of simple men,
whose deeds were not mythical,
ok, almost mythical…

but truth of the humans of the hammered and nailed tough skin,
who built homesteads in the
plain, in mountains, by rivers that snaked,
unmapped,
except on their hearts and feet

the humans,
that made up
the raw & naked bond holders of
these United States:
bonded by character to the soil and
its curvaceous dancing topography
from
& of the center of our country,
but with eyes keen enough
to stretch from
coast to coast,
to see to shining seas

yes, true,
the grandson be he
to/of an almost mythical man,
and so took thus
his penned name,
the grandfather, a real person
of whom stories are yet told,
for no one can be sure
that & of what deeds
this spy did,
on hostile, unfamiliar,
continents,
but the photographic proofs,
I have seen…

His blood thickened by many infusions,
a cross cultural experiment,
happily not unique,
just **** rare

but enough of this;
read him,
let his
tongue take you to
the unfamiliar,
a literary Ansel Adams,
who never saw the plain(s) men & women,
unworthy of being forgotten but
forever being
celebrated


ask him for a potpourri of his short stories
of war, the bonds that men forge in combat,
tween the dead that still live on and
the living,
who have unreadable dead spots within,
they carry their dying glances,
their dying wishes,
and who are honored by him
in his continuing recollections

with walking stick in hand,
even if going outside
to “just” measure the snowy depths,
he leave markers and trailers,
for us to recall how to weep,
from love and pain,
from following generations of his
beautiful blonde
children who are poster models for
the traditional all american imagery,
but thriving within,
with  his
wanderlust, his mixed fiery visions,
and acting, singing out dramas
befitting their inherited
visions…

<>
here
I cease,
here
I weep,
at the impoverished words
scrivened in haste,
through tears of pleasure
intended to give honor
to this man,
who cedes me the pleasure of his existence,
and enhances my world
when he asks me,
unwittingly commissions!
a poem,
about
the human character,
who see himself unusually!
“as a potholder with a simple design”
and as usual,

I fail miserable…
maybe,
nick the outer edge of a bullseye target,
because the important words that he deserves,
I have not yet mentioned:

honor, loving kindness and friend.

perhaps he is correct,
but doesn’t grasp
that without simple men like him
to hold the *** upright and firm,
we all would be lesser or
even lost.


maybe,
now I am one
with
done
Nat Lipstadt my poetry is there. It just took a year to get my password reset to me. This should be the link:

Nat Lipstadt my poetry is there. It just took a year to get my password reset to me. This should be the link:
https://hellopoetry.com/spysgrandson/


sat 8/24/2024
5:20pm

written in a one fell swoop,,
hat in hand,
bowing low to reflect my deep respect,
listen to my grandchildren fuss, fight, whine and
laugh,
for that is the mixture of our
own individual humanity
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Unlike a nation’s fiat
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Choose a USER centric money
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You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery103UserCentricMoney.html
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