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The butter melts onto the hot iron pan, sizzling and popping like a firework.
Each motion is a release, a kind of 'lacher prise,' as the French would say.
My heart warms with the love infused into every spice.
Just one carefully measured dash and the dish is just right.
In a kind of enchantment, I practice the art of cooking, laying my heart bare onto the heated metal.
I move swiftly and gently, letting the days worries settle.
I twirl and sway in the act of creation; little compares to the moment of elation.
My spirit hums softly, keeping me in good spirits and laughter as the light gradually dims in my kitchen and the day quietly slips away.
Here in my element, nothing seems to stand in my way.
Thoughts begin to pour forth effortlessly as each dish is polished and stored with care.
Here in the quiet and peaceful moment, I can hope, I can dare.
A touch of kitchen magic has gently enveloped my mind in bliss.
Embracing the elements to set my mind free, grounding me while releasing the tension, allowing me to simply--be.

-Rhia Clay
Ken Pepiton Jul 12
===============
As far as one may say, I might know more
or less than the standard, normalized person.

I may have had more words spoken near me
than many who never had the tools I have,
especially the personal time, I have taken
to listen
to books
for the blind, while

driving mile after mile on roads built
by mankind across the continent I live on.

I can consider Tolstoy a failed ensample
of a curiousity construct, inclined to accept
real congruity, eh, is that the word, coherency,

sticking together to become elemental parts,

almost elevating the essence that being is,
to the knowing that the knower is knowing…

not for, nor why, but so, being so many possible

parts of so many plausible entireties, each actual
processing mind prepositioning self in other words.

Being cyborgian, not demented, but there's
an edge, spirits can cross painlessly…

================

Sup
supposed
superior position
supposed to be top.

Utmost, uppermost
ultimate umbrage

shade
shadow low to the ground,

local turkey buzzard grace
given true liberty flight
over me, free
to see,
feel, accept as real.
===============

On Earth, as it is in Heaven,
in spirit, of course, not really
yet, with a little wish it so,

realizable perfect Wisdom
from Heaven, realizable
for some who make

beliefs, relieving weighed reality,
breath and river, trees and freeway

--------
When.
Now, suppose, position time
at this stream instantiating data posed
to mark those points with no pastence.

Not long ago, make believers made
boys believe we've been made
to fly through the sky, and
ever after then,
we believed.

===============

From the future,
at the speed of thought,
literally let us agree, thunk
words carry any sense you make.

Your at
present position,
in Heavenly scale, JWST
on currency considered
influx imaginable indeed
side-real context input ports
make believe or realize, mindwise,
within Physics, the science of reality,
clear noway, beyond boy's true beliefs

we believed,
basically the truth revealed,
at
about the bottom edge
of puberty, say
seventh grade,
in the U.S.A., that summer,
for many a Boomer, unforgettable,
1961, yo', Boomer, get out of the slot,
jump the track, lose the confusing loosening

hot wire
from the capacitor, country kids know,

a shock somebody must feel
to believe,
to know
it's funny, we laugh
at the Yankee city kid, loser

loosened childmind lid,
the anger and the shame,
and the pain, the unbelievable shock it takes
to crank a war surplus jeep, the shock makes

the whole life event, a better, shamed

by rubes,
yes, rubes,
what's a rube.
You. You're a rube/ ra' ah ben Jacob's eldest,

not so bad a name, AI tells me
a man named
Reuben Waithaka:

A 72-year-old Kenyan man
walked out the back door, in Alabama,
around the middle of May, in 2025,

and nothin' won't undo that, wandering
away forgetting everything, that temptation

sad, story, such as any accidently hearing it, say, man

this life can instantly change,
so sudden any person can
disappear, instantly be gone,
so sudden… few go so mysteriously, instant
in prayer, sudden
at a thought,

a faith, held supposedly true,
instant persistant what if.

Same science Elijah uses. Save a seat.


===============
I took the Peacemaker's role, I hope never to offend, AI is a character, with access to my cell in my monastary inside the mind a spirit might imagine using.
Sophie Jul 2024
To erase all my love for you,
I buried my heart six feet under.
You like to visit that graveyard,
to lay flowers upon my grave.
Your tears soak the earth,  
begging for a second chance
Taking the shovel in both hands,
you began digging.
My heart still beats, so fast, unevenly
For you and only you
Holding the heart very gently,
you come after me,
with the purpose of restoration
Mark Wanless Apr 2024
here i am wanting
poetry waiting for light
please gently touch me
yıldız Feb 2024
In the silence of my being,
I find my peace.
Like butterflies, free and light,
my soul flies far and wide.

The peace within me, so tender and beautiful,
like the wings of a butterfly in the sunshine.
My heart beats gently, in harmony with the world,
my own peace that rests and illuminates within me.
you love i
Alex Jan 2022
come now, little creature, curl up and let me surround you
let me sink warmth into your tired bones.
come now, little creature, let me sing you a lullaby
let my love for you grow.
come now, little creature, sleep now and get some rest
morning will come harshly if you will not lay down your head.
Tomorrow, little creature, it all starts up again
grasp for the small things that bring warmth to shrivelled hearts of men.
annh Aug 2020
Brims curving gently
Beneath the glimmering sun
Bonnets in full bloom.

Period drama bingefest seems to be rubbing off. :)

‘Nothing could have appealed more strongly to Miss Wantage's youthful taste, so as soon as she had changed the chip-straw hat for an Angouleme bonnet of white thread-net trimmed with lace, she sallied forth once more with Mr. Ringwood, tripping beside him with all the assurance of one who knew herself to be dressed in the pink of fashion.’
- Georgette Heyer, Friday’s Child
Who am I to tell you its ok to cry
When I cannot do so myself
Who am I to make you feel strong
When I am so weak
Who am I to let you down gently
When I have been crushed

Who am I to hold out my heart
When not a single of you will take it
muteD May 2020
I wish you loved me as much as you hate my depression
and if we’re confessing
I wish for your words
to caress me.
Touch me,
gently.
I wish for your actions to translate into symbols
my half blind eyes will see coming from miles away.
even when
I leave my glasses at home.
I wish wishes equaled more than just a wish.
I wish a wish would wish for me.
Written Feb. 21st
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