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Ken Pepiton Jul 22
there is a gleam, across the valley, a reflection,
I am sure,
a man made surface shiny,
I am sure,
no natural gleam of mica or diamond
blinks and flashes
as if
signaling to me, see, see me, reflect the sun,
seeming so
a sign
a significance I must grant synchronisity,
or ,
thought, what might
this shining thing be?

It is far from me and anchored, I see,
flash,
then flashy flashflash, light of sun,
fractaled -tole painted -fatal tell
light strokes on the future seen as this again,
once
more, the curiosity, was ist das?

A little mirror insisting, see, there see,
there is the sun,
topping the hill behind you, where you are
blind,
where I lack the power to signal a flash back,
for I sit watching,
in the morning shade,
yellow birds and blue, doing what birds do,
orioles and scrub jays,

magpie eyes in me, see that gleam again,
and laugh, I know,
what that is
signaling to me, see, see me, reflect the sun,
seeming so
a sign
of the times, for my report,

- Watch man, what of the morning?

I see a happy birthday balloon,
hung on a wire,

by a wind with a knot function,
naturally anchoring
webs, and threads, and strings and mylar shreds,
dancing from power lines
feeding juice to the drip system
in George's vineyard.
_ all day, all night... but --- lets take a hike, and pick up litter a little, as we make our way.
Ramón Delgado- The most feared name in all Mexico.

One summer’s night in 1866 while fleeing from the Mexican Army, Ramón Delgado, infamous hired gun, and murderer, clung to his black steed whose convulsing frame showed evidence of violent exertion. Ramón whipped and spurred his mount until white froth oozed from the animal’s mouth and nostrils. Appearing as shadow across the low ridge, Ramón and steed outran the echoes created by the beating hoofs upon the rocks.

There was a time, ten years earlier, when Ramón, a tall handsome dark brown eyed, square-jawed man with black raven hair, and full Manchu mustache, held the rank of captain in the Mexican army. One day, upon returning home, he found his wife and two sons murdered by the hands of well-known local bandits. Fredrico, neighbor and friend, witnessed the murders and informed the mournful Ramon. Ramón unleashed a ruthless revenge, sought out the bandits, killing them one by one. In doing so, Ramón became hunted by the very army he had served. Some would say he had right for revenge; others thought the killings made Ramón lose his mind.

In a short distance, below the ridge, a small town lay asleep, except for the cantina. The cantina lured Ramón to an abrupt stop. He dismounted, quickly scanned the area, and then went inside. Six caballeros sat playing poker as Juan Hernandez played flamenco while his beautiful wife Maria, clapping hands and stomping feet graced the small dance floor.

Carlos Alvarado, the short black bearded bar tender, gazed at Ramón in mortal terror. Carlos, as did everyone else in the cantina, knew right away, who entered.
Ramón stepped to the bar grinning wryly. “Whisky and leave the bottle,” he growled.

Carlos, shaking, reached for the whisky bottle behind him on the shelf, nearly dropping the shot glass as he turned and sat it on the bar. Slowly backing away from the bar, Carlos offered, his voice weak, “For you Senor Delgado. No charge.”

Ramon laughed, grabbed the bottle of whisky and shot glass, and then, approached the card game. When he got to the table, one of the caballeros stood and offered Ramón a chair.

“Take my chair Senor Delgado.” The man backed away, turned, and left the cantina hurriedly.
Ramon sat in the chair, took a shot of whisky each time he looked at each of the five remaining men, and then slammed his glass to the table. “Let’s play,” he yelled.

One hour later, an empty whisky bottle is all that remained on the table. The very lucky Ramón scooped all the winnings in his pockets and then waved his revolvers above his head. Laughing deliriously, he stumbled toward the table where the senorita still danced. He began shooting close to her feet until she stumbled and fell to the floor.

Ramon placed his revolvers in the holster, turned and walked back to the bar. “Another bottle for the road,” he demanded.

Carlos looked past Ramón and moved quickly to the end of the bar. The complete silence in the cantina compared to a tomb.

Ramón sensed piercing eyes fixed to the back of his neck.
“Who is this who wants death?” Ramón uttered as he turned to face Juan.

Ramón saw Juan staring at him with deep-set dark eyes, remaining steady and full of revenge. Ramón did not see the steady hands that drew the pistols and fired the bullets of death.

A life, short, poignant, and haunted, ended by a single bullet. Ramón’s life pulse lay mangled on the floor. His disorder of demons lay nameless in shrouded form. At least now, they could no longer haunt the shadows of his mind.
His soul lay helpless in obscurity without an escape route.
As Ramón’s lungs choked in silence, his new loneliness befriended darkness and his soul
Ken Pepiton Mar 20
It's been another good day,
good thinkers thinkin' my way, asking if I knew
what was the next word
from the beginning,

and I confess,
to knowing,
it depends,
hangs dangling from a done right axiom,
intentional aim at nothing,
then divide by zero…

this is that, life line upon line, here,
a little there,
there
there is a better, a least, the minimum flex,
and next is after never was,
and once morer never seems

impossible to grasp, almost as futile as
holding the wind
I walked in on,
in a metaphor of reasoning, where war is dumb.
Dumb dumb dumb, did you ever
do you
ever,
for an instance feel this way, and wonder what if
others felt
this way,
in stead, eh, steady, slow, instead of I know, go

--- later they say waddayagnosis came upon 'em
--- swallowed all their holy stories in one

boom. like thunder, loud, like mountain,
Krakatoa, yes, but death to the dinos LOUD

listen,
this is silence, the noise, hearing nothing while
knowing, knowing, knowing
in the bubble I breathe are all the noise-sounds-humms
squeeks,
whistles, caws that sound like laughing,
hawks screaming I can see you, to something,
you flash glance think
you, that hawk has seen me here, in years past,
this season of multiple thaws,
multiple springs,
rivulets cross our path as we read our way into evermore,

the valley just beyond, like
right next door,
special place… can you hear me, feel me… I have
no right might to say I know, but you know,

that is the trick. Theory of mind, I know you wonder if
I ever knew… the first rung
step up,

once more the alien lure, come and see…
go with the flow my teachers always said, but never did, as I look back
Doing cushiony cushy jobs. Sharing best practices. Dreaming of finding a decent travel agency. Having dreams of mushroom clouds rising above dumpsters. Showing the V sign with both legs upwards. Leaving office feet first. Staying in office feet first. Letting things slide to hell, while remaining unseen through the thin veneer of incompetence.
In a distant future not so long ago, it was a dark winter morning as the sun shined brightly in the sky. A man sat on a park bench as he stood among the chaos of people surrounding him. He peeked at his watch staring it like a wall facing a statue. He seemed to have all the time in the world yet he was running out the clock. Far away a bird shrieked a soft cry of joy. The moment his ears caught the sound, gently in a flash his mind came out from imprisoned memories that roamed freely in his subconscious. Is it too late? Am I doing it too soon? He simultaneously battled with the truce he reached with his choices separately.

On the other side of the city within the same vicinity she laid on her bed as she sipped her coffee on the couch. Tears had made a futile escape as they triumphantly ran down her cheeks. A soft breeze charged from the window bringing in green autumn leaves. The room had dim lighting from a single bulb that shined brightly on the ceiling. It gave an ambiance of calamitous exuberance. There she was; coffee cup in hand staring at the painting on the wall rich with myriad of vibrant colors as dark as the heart of a pitch-black night. It seems like the right path?  Isn’t it the wrong way? She separately battled with the truce she made with her choices simultaneously.
JKirin Dec 2020
Crushing lightning you strike; aim – to ****.
All the air is charged with your presence.
Flashing eyes in the rain, deathly chill –
You’re a roar in the sky, a menace.
about a lightning god
Prabhu Iyer Nov 2020
Nowhere to go, no place to reach, no
path to take, nobody to please; No
journey to make, no pilgrims to seek;

At clearing in the wood and all of a sudden:
nothing to discover, nothing to unlearn; No
secret to uncover and no night to unveil;

Nameless junction where all paths meet,
and all of a sudden we know
the truth, was there all along: with us, it is us

season of renewal, when the leaves
drop baring the soul of the woods,
the night casts her cloak and the skies wink

Nowhere to go, no place to reach, no
path to take, nobody to please; No
journey to make, no pilgrims to seek;
Maja Sep 2020
.
See that flash of light,
white, hot rage
.
Hear the roaring thunder,
the rattle of a cage
.
Feel the wind
blow up a storm
.
Then know the sun,
embrace so warm
.
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