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Zywa Jan 21
There's so much to do,

without knowing if my life --

is worth what it costs.
"Aphorismen. Gedanken und Meinungen" ("Aphorisms. Thoughts and Opinions", 1895, Emanuel Wertheimer), quoted in the novel "Buitenstaanders" ("Outsiders", 1983, Renate Dorrestein), § 1 - "Das Leben ist selten das wert, was es kostet" ("Life is rarely worth what it costs" / "La vie vaut rarement ce qu'elle coûte")

Collection "Rasping ants"
Zywa Dec 2023
A storm is rising,

my peace is disturbed, I have --

to get on with life.
Poem "Le Cimetière marin" ("The Cemetery By the Sea", 1922, Paul Valéry), last verse
(Le vent se lève!. . . Il faut tenter de vivre!)

Collection "On the fly"
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
Nothing set in stone can stand the test of time.

In the mode mankind has long called
talking to the maker,
listening for knowing, while

hoping merciful repair instruction
for the quest ion
to twist right
-indeed, I hand ground, with a tool,
toy like coffee grinder that gives fixin's
for a stout cup of robust character,

I bought it, for ten dollars,
had the beans,
bought the grinder, to give me a ritual,
something to spend two minutes doing,
each time I don't use a kuerig dealybob,
adding upper *** to my brewtime pacing
for blood pressure, while electric fire
fills my habitual yellow mug with umph.

Last week of October, all the girls
from the garden are hanging in the shade,
mellowing and emitting
nasal acknowledgment that something's
in the air, in the at most fearful zone's

made light of in the culture that
commercialized hallowing effects,
calling all and sundry come, think this
paradigm of time and chance and fate.
On or near
the third Tuesday after the last
Friday the thirteenth, in memory
of the fallen DeMolay and
of the Templars Money Power,
became sacred ***** to the victors,
in what must have been secret,
for some
Secret treasures all carry curses.
Heart hordes hold plentyscarychits.

Horror film fans, value the genre,
at some certainly not shallow depth
toward center mass, media you, reader
dear to any writer drawn by forces
caffine and cannabis contrive to link,
I think,
and think,
and listen, and learn, and
learn, and live and learn, once more,
learn, and live on learning, wind
thinking lines and times cross threads,
tighten right, down from up, stuck,

dead center, the first tie in reader,
the most self centered individual ever,
once, we all get such a once, it's you,
reading a line riding a reason used
to hang the authors of confusion,
using old lies used to make slaves
of those whose houses, the boss said,
were made by the heathen for the chosen.

The riches of the wicked are laid up
for the just, is it not written, is it not so?

Fibers, strands, not long drawn out
end to end DNA strands crammed in you,
{but as a thought experiment, that distance
will leave the first timer incredulous, fine
point, credulousness, would you believe…}
meandering is rain twisting its way
to experience the sea and all it holds
in water memory that foam back along shores.
Seafoam and twigs,
and tiny sticky things. No,
Pondscumfoam at a puddle's edge
before the first snows.
Did you know…
Some Katscina have long plaited hairs
twisted from cotton,
patented seed, registered weevil free,
Pima cotton fiber, long desert strands.

Daily grind, think twice, cut once…
made the difference, indeed done
not thought about in theories of good
uses knowledge can be made of good
smoke and strong coffee with character.

AND the biggest indexed library in the universe.
{far as I can tell}
Kenophonia, eh, imposter syndrome?
First guess, you got me.
I see my name, wow, tough tag.
Then I met a cat named Cuitláhuac.
Tough tag for a kid in Spanish class.
Euphluxing idyotom automaton'/
You phony us, joy us riddle make you think
you know, kennen Sie, Ich bin ein fake.

Nein, es ist vieleicht Xenophobia, other people's eh,
opposing right lane reasonings as old as dominion.

Tech, teach us patience to learn with, or prove us
know it alls, therefore machines, not minds at all:
My own, for the use, under usus fructus rules,
Ai summarizes thus:
Kenophobia is an irrational fear
of empty spaces or voids.
It is the opposite of claustrophobia,
where the person is afraid
of tight spaces such as
elevators or crowded rooms,
auditoriums or malls.
In Kenophobia,
the person is terrified
of open fields or spaces that they generally expect
to be filled with mountains or people.
The word Kenophobia is derived
from Greek ‘kenos’
meaning ‘blank’
and phobos
meaning deep fear or aversion.

{aha, there's literature on the subject}
The fear can be passed on
from parents who have lived
in a house full
of stuff that fills the emptiness
of the home.
Filling voids gives the phobic personality the feeling
that they are placing boundaries
around themselves.
- {okeh, thank the whole idea tech is.}

Be honest, you never saw it said just so. Kenophobia,
pity such folk.

Have ye sent yer imps pulse to test my resolution,
have my effectually silent prayers been rebuffed?

Blown off, sent swirling with the motes dancing
in sunbeams peaking through a tough old live oak,
rattling its gnosis psuedonumos

Any morning, thus far, can start with
trickling falling sunlight.

It takes nearly half a day, in late fall,
for direct sunshine to dapple
the great granite wave my home rides, silly child poet, wishing words
will or would,
or could
or should make the universe
altar its course and force all things
to work together for me, the prayer,

me, the selfish
center of my experience
in your universe, all of which
is none of my handiwork, none at all.

Filling the emptiness some there
then I laugh, and think I lost count
so there was one…

Guess with me, a number,
between… no,
analyze, guess with me that rooted
science e-use, per se, must be ancient, deep wisdom
old as governing forces conceived by mankind,
magi sage staged conversations to teach,
public discourse
in my time allows me to be the seeker
guaranteed the prize, to be the bringer back
of the substance used to build the bridge,
between the you and the me, generally,
Logos used in dialog.

God and mind determined to seem designed,
as in the Goldilocks lesson fed children of empire.

The northern clime survivors, thought themselves
the only people brought to the full duty of man,
the only set apart and given heros in story,
the grand saga of all we must each become.

Story born heros, from the child gifted language,
strings of sounds tied to things with threaded intuition,
same same, red and sweet, yellow and sweet,
red and black, step back, black and yellow, watch
and learn, smoking out the honey
from an old rotted tree,

following how many trails, at once,
parallel par-all-el yes, oddly, so far
On track, or in rut. All at once, each system
self esteeming umphumph push

Upto par, are we, 2023 and beyond, the flat tire
on the current axial age, fixing to imagine a scene,
in a community of broken children,
led by two twisted adult children of mean, maybe selfish,
adults who disputed the legitimacy of ligous gnosis knots.
The scene we share, we can imagine meaning
Religize legality, tie me to my tree.

Ancestor worth, how come you think somethings, you know.
Yeh, how come…
Say, old sprite, if I listen, do I learn? Why,
yes, I'd say I do imagine so. Well, good sport
then, shan't we push past worthless me, and be this
other thing we become, when two or more agree, as
touching any thing in all thingdom, and, yes, it's guaranteed.

Life is not a strange woman,
wisdom does not demean the experience, adulting
brings, with no real maps to meaning in your case,
you arrived in that old fashioned tabula rosa state,
knowing nada,
zip, nothing, infantile in totality, until
art of you
meness, ah, I, me, mine, this that, the other, mad
dissatisfaction, rage, comfort, ah, golden excrement of gods.
Teocuitlatl , not only Cecelia, but God, shat.

Golden silence.

Of course, you could feel it, if you knew, personally,
post adulting & shared nurturing of offspring exposure,
then watching as each of those offspring bring forth adultable
blossoms on the branch where all my heretic relatives hung.

As and so, like anything, timed, sequentially, unhomogenized,
the cream is taken to make butter, using the shaking up
of globs of coagulating milk fat, imagine making that,
butter, with salt,
once, learning that, who knew that first?

how butter is made,
how cows are made to give milk gently taken,
why we have hands that can do this thing,
and cows don't,
I don't know, ' never asked, likely some story teller
made this whole thing up, we being but words by now.
One reader fills the cast, gives the aroma of the experience, learning a new
rumor of peace where now there was war for ignorance and money sake.
At 2.41pm on Tuesday July 28 2020,
Tom Dirkx wrote: { in another place}
Some people say it was Malinche’s revenge
and his real name was Cuautlimoc (Cuautli = Eagle).
She just substituted Cuahte (= ****)
when she translated for Cortes.
She was held as a slave by the Aztex
and hated them so this was her ‘revenge’.
Kenophonia is vain babbling, 1tim6:20
Josephine Wild Oct 2023
I'm not going to find my fantasy, because it's not real.

What's real is believing that I'm loved by my friends.

What's real is my determination.

What's real is my connectivity.

What's real is my compassion.

What's real is my love for life.

What's real is my good heart.

What's real is my endurance.

What's real is my creativity.

What's real is my empathy.

What's real is my strength.

What's real is my free will.

What's real is my courage.

What's real is my passion.

What's real is my reason.

What's real is my beauty.

What's real is my talent.

What's real is my effort.

What's real is my truth.

What's real is my joy.

What's real is me.
To know what's real.
Malia Aug 2023
The shadows
Creep up.

I should be sleeping.
The comforter is not comforting
At all.

𝘛𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱
But the harder I try the more that my mind

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥…
This one was pretty old! I liked it but it was still kinda meh so I added ~pizazz~

It’s really interesting to see how I have progressed as a writer since 2019
she waited
discreetly checked the time
continued to wait
patiently and impatiently
flashing a smile
at what felt like
appropriate moments
a stunted laugh
or an "oh"
"really" or "yeah"
if she felt
she'd been wordlessly
quiet for too long
hours had been lost
to the smallest of talk
the bane of
real conversation
of truly meeting a person
all that effort
of getting ready
the makeup
meticulously applied
the hair
styled and restyled
the outfit
chosen then doubted
then changed
to be put on again
all of that
for this
Andy Chunn May 2023
One more time and out the door
I could not ever ask for more

I think we knew it was a crime
But we just had so little time

I heard a crash and then a shout
And soon we labored soaked in doubt

The rope was tight but now went slack
And so there was no turning back

And now our fervor turned to fear
As running guards were coming near

We thought that we could make a run
But now we know we’re really done

So freedom is a fleeting fire
Escape is an enticing liar

Now time is added to our stay
It’s time to plan another day
Mark Wanless Apr 2023
love is just moments
one by one each at a time
with conscious effort
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