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timestopper Aug 30
Is it just I who can't see this world?
It is stunning from the shock it gives.

You're blinded by the shock you heard.
Don't wait for it as long as it lives.
shyspy Aug 25
The fly lit on a propellor of
a washerwoman whirligig
watched by a whisky sour wino
wearing a scratchy candied wig
he wondered about a wing-ding
under the comeuppance of rain
we struggle that way
you and I...
like ants burdened with twigs
close the door behind you
walk back in
Maria Etre Aug 10
I read the same line twice
and surprised myself
with two endings
samara lael Jul 10
boys are taught not to hit girls
but they will cause
even more damage
emotionally.

it’s like you’re saying
that boys are punching bags
& that girls are dart boards
to fire words at
& to **** & poke.

teach our young equally.
teach them how to love,
not who not to fight.
teach them how to speak
truth & kindness,
not what not to say.

teach them to pour
sweet nurturing nectar
from their souls.

& the next time
you shame a man
for defending himself
against a woman
who attacks him,
or let a man get away
with his pride of
not harming a woman
with his hands
when you see he does it
with his tongue
or mind instead,
remind yourself
of your duty to
lead the next generation.
remind yourself of
how everyone should be
treated.
& loved.
& cared for.
& protected.

if i have children
i will teach them
that violence
is damaging
& not becoming
of a human being.

it doesn't matter
whether it's physical
or emotional,
whether they are
a boy or a girl.
it is never okay
to hurt someone.

not all bruises are purple;
not all words are audible.
lassie basher: scottish slang for a male who hits a female. i would hear this growing up as the reason for why boys couldn't defend themselves or play fight with girls as kids. it annoyed me because the reason should be because violence is wrong, not because we are female.
Music background:  
Mendelssohn Violin Concerto no.2.
Figure: two beggar sisters
Background: autumn, double rainbow, butterfly, accordion, birds, horses, cattle, and sheep
Scene: a large meadow
___
Not far from the painter’s window
two beggar
sisters sitting in a large meadow
He whistles the birds’ melody,
the distant mountain,
he sees horses and cattle lowing,
after thunderstorm, autumn day
The painter silently watches the two sisters
Has she finished playing and dropping her little accordion without noticing?
Will her sister tell the blind girl double rainbows in the darkening sky?
Wind heavily blowing at the worn-clad pair
And he sees the red haired blind girl gently hold her sister
Can you tell me of these autumn colours?
The painter sees the  double rainbow across the eastern sky
He swiftly sketches through the window
He paints his heart  sympathic love
Will the blind girl feel joyous like yellow?
Perfumes dark green,
vibrant like red enrich their hope
Where the double rainbow appears in the eastern sky
The painter paints his inner calm,
butterfly tranquil mauve.
Themed poetry writing exercise on oil Painting from Millais‘a ‘ The Blind Girl’
char May 5
grating leg bark
blinding and smooth
my hair snow is **** but

my burning pierces your pupils
i comply and i deceive
make my mind up
every night
a different hue you must shine

"you look stunning"
yet i feel like a puzzle
i slot my imperfections into the middle
so he won't see me until he tastes me

get teased
until you pick up three-hundred degrees
as YOU tease until you like who you see

why can he be anything
but i have to recalibrate
before i can celebrate

i will never reach my final form
Ken Pepiton Mar 14
Benine benine be nine seven

crap. Betcha two more more mores for
one more chance at that

Aha! We imagined…

… mean pause if then else ifthen else to the tenth,
take it
don't missit, these thinks happen

rare, raw and dripping re

ish itch tar Ishtar and two snakes

while, recall, Moses, lawgiver and guide,
trumping Lycurgis's lawgiver only,

Moses had one for every eye to see or die
and one for every other heel to stomp.

Old Arizona Cowboy Preacher Proverb
Some times… ya'hafta…stomp yer own (goes unsaid)
[dam'd] snakes.
[ever bodies gottem by the plenty]

One of the Robin Clan of whitemanlan
Theodds, down the Hasayampa
Odd fellows, I remember there was a lodge…

… also means, when no point persists in being made despite the el-elucidation,
light's prime directive clarifying

the principal paring of time to the tenth and
you dear reader, if temporary times are

familiar, to you. Like, family,
a truncated simile metaphor word compact,

like jot family, familiar, family spirit,

house gods and goblins and lit-t'le ***-p'le in blue triangular hats,

… selah … be still … listen … listen

no threats of madness, nor vengeance or conviction
no act-use-ations fraying threads

neither curse nor cuse nor demn 'r'here,
life-central,
pretend you can practice real is ation

as you read. Dear reader, you are magi,
you know words hold powers, yours
for the reaaching beyond,

trust me, errors are far fewer than you have been led to believe.
Entire cultures set spelled-out prophecies swirling
into imagined infinity
withnaryaperiodjotortittle with no discernible weakening

of the original thread of thought that has us taking
these chances with madness

Philosopher Poet Sophist Cabalist Prospering-liarist

Hawthorne's Man in Black works for Sam Harris's God's
Master Baiter

--- not off track, side-tracked, to let two-way traffic happen---
---flowing systems, despite inevitable turmoil swirling
---this way and that--- cloud shape oaks framed in
twisting, tugging, pulling-pushing, lifting-dropping,

rocking-rolling, the old man is snoring
clapping and clanging waking the dead

oh, wait. not yet. wink. Swallow the bait.

see these threads, these delicate xylem tunnels,
cellulose cathedrals, when you see re-al close,
and, watch this, oak-speed,
California Black Oak speed and deegree of strain
zingle point
a branch maywillshallcanbe tugging a reaching out
rootical radial fractaling famous form

seen in silhouette
California Black Oaks are the Cumulus Nimbi of trees,
in my tiny bubble
five hundred drys gone by pushing cool away so
there ain't
no mo' mo'nin' dew

Woe, blues is fo' some oth ah time. You see.
We make peace here.

This is is our family farm or fact-or-knoting
Knott's Berry Farm being the birthplace of Boysenberries
has always seemed prophetic to me,

here's why, no wu wu, jus'thefax. done d'done done, now

Henry Boysen.
A chapter. AND nada. Same with Paul Lomasny, as
portrayed by Sal Mineo, in The Longest Day.

Despite the scars he had to show, I haven't found his
cred fact checkible, these days

that means
conspiracy, though spiracy sans con is also rumored

probable, should there be another

anti matter bubble develop in the biome blowing bubbles
from gmos bonding

with swallowed double bubble
and in'n'out doubledoubles

in the guts of children returning from a day with
a de-programmed boomer

relativity plays a roll. Snake eyes. Wanna bet?
2019.1-9
This coincides with a rock concert with snakes in Dallas... collective sub sistent concience science, I believe.
OpenWorldView Jan 30
O
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      Y                                            R
          ­   O                                    T
                        U ­                   S
                                     A
                            R              N
                  ­E                              D
          M                     ­                 M
    E                                         ­    E
    S                                        B
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            W              C
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    I                                    K
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Our hearts are meshworks.
You and me becoming one.
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