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Jeremy Betts Sep 15
I know one day
The other foot's gonna drop
And I'll be underneath it
In my final resting spot
Do my deeds, both good and bad
Stick with me through the rot?
Will I be chained to the scene
Or get too haunt a plot?
Will I recognize the deity
Deciding if I'm good enough or not
I wonder what happens
To every thought I've thought

©2024
There are no words left,
to matter a change
that's worth any positive
cause and effect
Unless action can be taken
to calming to nurture a yearning
condition.
My first lover king ever
from mine youth now shared.

A precious dream breathes
and lives at last if
only in poem form, in song
and in memory chip.

In imaginary form
Bittersweet a fire burning.
Endless true loving of the woman
who loves you most
in this whole world wide.
Mind to mind,
and as the music played
To summon my story.

Any hope left
by the edge of this this cliff,
is but a final blow.
My misfortune.

Be your happiness my own
Her joy, my joy.
~~~~~~~
By: Mr. And Mrs Andrews
(Honors to this famous English
vast land famed painting-portrait
of something missing on Mrs lap,
  One of many past karmic lives.
Being chosen for changing Earth
I finally understood my peril
and then other's dilemmas
A great fortune against,
and for me stolen .
Written with Karijinbba.
https://youtu.be/-HK_4xvbrEk?feature=shared
Jeremy Betts Jan 10
Carrying wounds that will not heal
A pain I will be forced to always feel
Stitched up, scabbed over
The new flesh is much paler
Sealed but not seamless
A basic healing process
That's what they tell me
Looks like a ground up mess, what does everyone else see?
The sensation is still so prominent
As if I'm back in that bathtub reliving it
The visual as clear as the day
Terrified but can't pull my gaze away
I only opened a small crease
Honed in on the crimson flow of my life embracing it's release
Two fresh exits located to my left and my right
Allowing it to forge a new path to the drain and out of sight
My past, present and future colliding
Pooling faster than it can move through the plumbing
Took forever to register my final decision
Turned out it wasn't final at all, just another negative mark on my person
No relief felt, only overwhelming regret
A permanent reminder
But how could I ever forget

©2024
Ken Pepiton May 2023
Rough? Tough. No ghucking way,
easy does it, yet today,
letters forming sounds
ssssseems less clicky, fewer
hard g and crisp t endings
subltle inertial force,
psuedo sublimnity
sorted in fact, categorized

relatively as among those named
things that seem so simple,

once the inner being lets go.
In fluid dynamical solid state real

time, lazing in the sun, rolling on in ever after now.
Sensitive to the tug, take psuedo pen and write the vision, make it work,
so what forms functions, outside the course of corrective enculturation.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2023
Synchronic simple step
be
yonder, yo, go, no
go, si, go
on and on and on
… so yust so
yust to be we once went

we split, full moiety,
each
ac-
act-
act-ion -jello-timed- lobes
blobs plasmoieted mind
parabolic, by yah,
Arching fly call it, I got it,
call his name, yah who done
did done GOT
caught
the funny parts. Read the books.
Now. At this point, cognitive native
child formed in my mortal moment
per-ifery-wasery rules
secret se- per seance
sacred made knowledge,
state of knowing entered, left

ab-rupturously, grief, lief
left easy, re lief, sigh
good
grief. We were all
we-    are Charlie Brown, forever

interrupted, as if once, however long ago,
we knew we were one thing,
then we knew we were merely

words between things you knew
and did not do.
and you know you imagined this is that.
The novel experience, this side.
Post-done and paid off.
Precautionary. Click.
Why not,
who is asking, hangs, as pregnant pause
über Þe olde excessive easing hook,

who are we, and what are we doing,
we who were to survive receiving
asked knowledge, the easy-does-it tree,
shows us the easy way, this way dis-eased.

The lie and the profundus is merely piercing.
Flatten the spikes, be atop the bed of nails.
Wait. Funda-mental, bottom mind, first
id-ego otherwise mind,
frame a being, be a
one, and not the other,
here, there, there, it's okeh, eh, ok?

E-see easing easy living, being been done,
doing all that old trees do, after all,
we wait to feel the fire beetles,
land and lay their eggs among our ash,
and swollen-cracked nuts,
fire calls them into heat, in season.
Such things we learned
from the ant people who saved us in reeds,
thatching from roofs floating, maybe,
really, lifeboats, but
think a tsunami through,
rush
incursive and excursive.
Lay down a layer of plausibility, evoke applause
clap each hand once.

Curtain.
completion, ten to go and history is made in our pages in life's book of accounted for idle words; we read a proper Proust load, right proudly.
Andrew Rueter Jun 2022
Do I want to see the forest through the trees
if that also means the hornets in between?
There's a comfort trail of nothingness
leading beyond the sun setting west
towards a dark abyss looming
my friends try to soothe me
by saying it'll be like before I was born
but at that point my life ****** even more
so the vastness of the universe
reminds me that my bullet hearse
isn't blessed or cursed
it'll just disperse
like the tears on the face of my clock
coming from the face I show not
a shocked ant on a spinning rock
with vertigo fearing it'll fall off
knowing once the spinning stops
there's a darkness block
with nothing to be bought
or sold
not even gold
can reverse getting old
so I don't want to see the forest
and I'll hide behind the trees
getting lower on my knees
praying God help me please
because I fear that final release.
newborn Apr 2022
i imagine death to be solemn but beautiful
just like Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry
the end will bring peace
comfort
not a single tragedy

i imagine death to be similar to love
perplexing
all-encompassing
something that fills your glass to the brim
but feels so right
and so effortless

i imagine death to capture all my emotions
and i am stable in every way
in Heaven
with God
free in death,
alive in death,
more alive than i can manage at the moment
death will be glorious
and patient
and quiet
and Heaven won’t be like living
it’ll be effortless
this is similar to my falling in love poem, so if you liked that or cared enough to read that, you might like this. just maybe tho. i listened to 60’s music while writing this so it kinda has a little of that flavor, ig. ‘tis a poem i thought could comfort some wary people. thank u, next

jk, stay happy, healthy, heartbroken (i just want my heart to be broken so i can write about it , don’t condemn me, teehee)
and joyful at the same time.

now i am just rambling, but i want a 20th century love and i wanna wash the dishes for my husband and i want a kiss on the cheek from him. i would be a housewife for such a brilliant man lol.

ok, officially done
don’t die or cry alone
i am always here

4/7/22
As the door closes on another England Chapter
A sterling effort far from disaster
A first major final in fifty-five years
Jubilant voices replaced by tears
But we've come along way in such a short time
Maguire and Stones a solid back-line
Pickford mature and calm between the sticks
A terrific save in penalty kicks
Shouts of "Shawberto!" From the stands
A chorus of 'Sweet Caroline' "hands touching hands"
Cries of "bring on Grealish!" Phil Foden's bleach blonde hair
Fist pumps from Southgate
The passion was there
Beating the Germans at last
Now that felt sublime
Sterling a constant menace now in his prime
But we came up short and that's what matters
Broken hearts English dreams in tatters
Yet I firmly believe this is just the beginning
So keep your heads up and keep on singing
"It's coming home it's coming home"
Cos it will one day
Even though it rains and the sky is grey
Red and white ribbons on that cup we'll see
And what a perfect sight it will be
Copyright ©️Joshua Reece Wylie 2021
S May 2021
This will be the last time that I ever write about you.
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