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Bhill Apr 5
mysterious curiosity of the runaway train
it has no direction, just a need to maintain
around all the corners, up all the hills
down through the valley creating more thrills
what does one do with a runaway train
how do you stop it from achieving more gain
do you leave it running till it runs out of track
do you try to derail it with a full-on attack
it's quite the conundrum, that runaway train
decisions, decisions, are straining the brain
really not sure, what to do with this dream
I think I'll just, let it run out of steam...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 96
What to do?
We don't hear what we feel
We don't do what we need
We don't live yet in passion
We miss all our fun
Trying to gain attention
We pretend as we are the one
Forgotten that we are failing
Running around too much success
What are we, need not be proven
We are unique, uniquely designed
Let spread hope, every where in solace
Unfortunately we are forgetting we are unique and we have strength to design our lives but dragged into gaining success that we don't need.
M Mar 19
As I write this poem,
I feel pain at all.
As I type the sorrows of odds,
Internal locust is on call.

As I close my eyes
Dark past haunts me the most
As the time goes by
My heart trembles, not fall.

Tomorrow might be another day
But I will choose to stay away.
Inspired by the covid 19 social distancing
Ken Pepiton Feb 23
Five hundred years ago, I'd be burned for knowing this and saying so.
I know now, the bell must toll, and
what they say when they ring the bell.

--- that was after math, come and see...

What will be done?  Jesus's father's will, our father's will if you will,
be inclusive a bit
and lieve mine be done in harmony

include me in your cult of gnostication professionals, see

I been gambling all my life, sin
ce early on.

I aimed to have won souls in games, not of chance, but truth.
Will you, wont you, as you were wont to do, do now

lift up your voice and shout, I am a ******

Welcome to my inner burning man, in my desert, ashes blow away, yond

the edge of Kumeyaay to Yuma and Blythe, where
Quechan and Mohave wise ones say they heard,

when there were old ones, who never went to jail
for drunk and disorderly being,
after their hopes went on to being happy as could be,

-- some day Sammy, the Apache, and his brother Jonah, link

- my grandpa never been in jail, that little Hualapai kid said
- and I said my grand kids can't say that,
- though I had none, at the time.
- The grand, the better version of me, children, better adapted
- to now, by nature...

do not call the bhorn worth of a child common, we took great pains
to remain random,
you will notice, if you look real close, atom boundary field close,

order exists only in bubble-ish force fields with

geistlich actions enfolding north to south and uptodown
round and
round on an all be, wall, all be dammed, the flow is
in the foam the bubbles
are on and we can see that

as once, long ago, the winds they call Santana, no relation,

saw the making of the intaglios in Blythe.

The great rain of fire, some say eight thousand years ago,
left a layer of frothy lava rock and obsidian tears,
scattered, one layer thick,

at least as far as El Paso, I witness,
I have walked this land.

I grew to manhood. Lost my first ****** fluids in this land,

once when I was preverbal, I fell into the effluent overflow,
from the sewer system that mustabin
more primitive in 1951, or so,

say, I was three, age of my youngest grandson, Everest Pax:

my sire was attending me while gathering worms, to go fishing,
at the river, fifty hard miles away,
back in them days.

The muck was as thick as oat meal and smelled like what it was,
and I was dunked,
baptized in the dung that came from the town where I was born,
by some concurence of events I can only imagine being intentional,

but I was rescued and rushed to the home of some people
so old they had a wood burning kitchen stove,
like the one Ben Franklin sent his wife from London,
not the one he invented in Ben and Me Disneyfied American History,
common to us all.
And that is all I recall, per haps, my older sister remembers,

I called, no hassle, from my AI converged phone via Bluetooth
and Google Assist Generic Asexual Tobor Robot voice

this is the future, when the 31 flavor stories are sprouting
like horse leeches crying more, more, more

sip slowly still waters where horse leeches are proverbial bywords.
learn reasons for mysteries,

or be sorted out of the few who went with Gideon. Eh,

the actual 300, not those *** Spartans.
Gideon's 300, they were the ones, who knew the danger of drinking
still waters in a land where horse leech lips lessons were hard bought.

Got an idea what a spiritual horse leech may be,
a private interp, or two, meaninggul to you, but you must be the

teller, for your copyright invoked, ala right of first reason,

survive by making a way for your self among the heathen hordes,
of untutored proles and peons and sturdy peasant stock
of the baser sort,

slave material, minimum wage, deltas. You can despise the
egregious among them.

Scorn the ones who look up and say,
there is no peace.

Eh? Scorn me, you depressed button of cascading woke jokes, I'll
be dammed by no mud nor ice,

let there be words... now, any thing can happen.
Learn your lessons as needed,
not as anticipated and waited for the chance, to know it all at once,

and become Herr Doktor Professor of Hidden Knowledge,
you must pay, not your life, oh no,

not your heart, but I bet you will give it frreely once,
you know
all we know, behind the curtain, where

yes, that curtain was never rewoven or sewn, we never asked why not.

the veil was interrnal, oh, I see, men as tree entries in the idea of all that
can be done, once we master the potters art,

on the scale of mitochondrial batteries cocked with one ATP shot,

that, a billion billion times is this act of me touching you with words, never spoken. And now, you discover the geogrraphy

containing me is warrring with the geogaphy containing you,

psshaw. I like you. The universe is friendly and telling you is the good I do.

Peace, out.
vera Feb 4
melancholy as I may be,
the world has not halted on its axis, as I may believe
the robin still sings, bringing in the new day
the sun still ascends in the east, filling the day with its warm glow
and descends in the west, leaving a haunting chill behind
the people still dance under street lights
and roar with laughter in the glimmer of the sun
the moon still fills the world with beams of white light,
bringing in the new night
now I realize that your world still spins
but mine has halted
- goodnight sun
Lost Jan 7
I miss being skinnier
But I don’t miss:

• The stomach pain
• Playing Adderall dosage games
• Hurting myself when I fall from fainting
• Dizziness
• Sleepiness
• Achiness

And I have to tell myself
Those things were bad
Or else I remember wrong
I have to tell myself
That lightheadedness
Isn’t euphoria
Is anemia
That skipping meals
Isn’t the best way
It’s anorexia
That throwing up
Isn’t deserved
It’s bulimia
It’s been years since I starved myself and probably about a year since I last purged. I abused Adderall to suppress my appetite, and the total milligrams I would take throughout the day at one point was nearly 100. I’ve gained a lot of weight rapidly recently and am now overweight. I will learn to find balance and a healthy weight in a healthy way. I will stop being ashamed that I need food to survive, and that my body needs to be nourished to thrive, but I will also stop abusing food and bingeing when nobody is around to see me. I will give myself the gift of a happy body.
Anjela Dec 2019
Death! Oh Death!
Take me Away
Give me Pain
And make my Way
To the supposed Hell
Where there is a Gain
For the people who Love
To leave the breath.
Please comment how much you like the poem!
Sometimes they stop
Sweet talks and laughs
Those never stop
Where did we go wrong
What’s in our heads?
Have we gone just a little brain dead
Zachary G Dec 2019
A spider
A single insect
To drive my country apart
I feel nothing but the need for the flames
The blaze of banishment into the bright abyss
Oh so silent,
So peaceful is the world without you near
A dance filled with both cheer and a tear
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