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Ken Pepiton Sep 7
Aristotle at my fingertips,
not locked in soliloquies I may perform,
but heard from an Oxford don I have
in my pocket,
as I lean into each lesson and trudge
up and down my morning
constitutional,
where the firebreak meets
chaparral alive with cottontail
this morning, when I almost said, "it's too hot."

C'mon, walk a mile with me… like
on the road to Emmaus, but Christ, no;
this character,
a soldier in me, about to salt out, bids me,
walk a mile, "not two, one
does the trick."
The thought comes
as a dare from the Ralston Purina guy,
and I stepped onto my trail.
I dare think Aristotle's thoughts after Plato's,
thinking
I could have known this when I was younger,
but not to this degree,

if I had not dropped out, and never knew,
by rote,
to pass a test, that
"All men by nature desire to know."
This is
Curiosity, right? I suspect it is a gift.

The joy we find in sensation, proof
offered the gainsayer,
I say again, that which is good for nothing
never
never
naturally exists, so
what tool forms an eye to notice that…

see, through the window
of my poetic-pathetic e-thoughtic soul
a feathery
family of phoebe birds, flits by,
if that is the proper name
{Tufted-Titmouse, my AI replies},
tails reflecting a smokey blue hue,
they swoop and flutter past;
I see
in a non-imaged flashpast pattern
from a time in the summer of 1969…

Disneyfied trails
from Cinderella's dressing room
scene, not seen, but reminded of seeing,
the pattern, in this phantomind dance,
being witnessed now, as
this old soldier once saw it
performed by bluer birds than these…

Time skipper
shifts to another bubble intersecting mine
and

I hear a worried neighbor fret about the fire.
I almost say,
"One of the benefits of being
backedup to the cloud,

nothing to lose."

But I remember, she collects purses and shoes.
Ah, I share an edge dwellers accent if I talk about tech to myself. I suspect I always have sounded like Little Luke McCoy, and now I hear Walter Brennan.
ConnectHook Mar 25
Got to sleep in a old holler log
With my rifle, my pipe and my dog.
As you city-folk know,
She's a hard row to ***;
Dang Corona done slaughtered ma hog.
Hey there y’all.
Jest thought I would tell you what I been up to during this old LOCKDOWN by the dang federals and globalists and teknocrats. Due to Satan, China, and George Soros inflicting this scourge upon our beloved nation, I done had to stay hunkered down in muh cabin with muh fambly. CHINESE  Chest Cold all it is, and I don’t care what the One World Guvermint says, I AINT EATIN’ no BATS. **** ****** Chinese need JESUS I’ll tell you that. Now whar wuz I? Oh yeah:

We pretty much been prayin’ non-stop to the Lord, readin’ our Bibles and listenin’ to daddy Donald on the short-wave television. He shore is smart and we thank God Almighty for him AND his wife what’s-her-name. (She’s real pretty—for a Yuropean that is  . . .) And lucky for us he come up with a good plan to help us all overcome this great tribulation of the Last Days, amen. Presidint Trump is going to take that old W.H.O. down a peg or two. And all them thankless adversaries runnin’ their jaws a-complainin’ all day long kin go figger.  Anyway, we sit around a lot . . . muh wife bakes some cornpone . . . we fry a little bacon any old time. Muh kids play and squabble and ask to borry muh tablet (y’all know how it is) but I cain’t say it’s been easy. I have touched a drop (well perhaps a half jug) of corn likker, and although I am shamed to say, I have done beat muh dear wife somewhat (but never in front of the little ones and only when she sassed me).

Well, the good news from all these trials and tribulations is:
National Poetry Writing Month is comin’ along real SOON in April! You might not have thunk a ol’ deeplorable hillbilly like me would appreciate POETRY now would you? I hope the president can *** everthang on track for all of us soon and we kin all *** back to writin’ POEMS in the springtime.

And after the summer gits over we can drag our ol’ knuckles over to the votin’ station and cast our ballots, yes siree.

So that’s how it been here in Hickry Holler tryin’ (as the city slickers and federal agents like to call it) SOCIALLY DISTANCEing our pore selfs from everthang. I hope you folks is doin’ rightly and see you soon Lord willing.
Mark Sep 2019
I lived my life full of hope
Whiskey, Coke and green dope
Tablets with faces, just in case
But never acted out of place

A simple plan, with time on my side
An olive grove vineyard
Which crept on by, for a while
Yellow butterfly just landed
Then vanished without a trace
But never acted out of place

A sad brown eyed foreigner sipping inside
Along with a black tanned stranger
Who magically appeared from behind
A tongue tied drinker, tried to whisper
But she couldn’t quite seem to talk
But never acted out of place

I lived my life full of hope
Whiskey, Coke and green dope
But never acted out of place.
Mark Oct 2019
Life just happens without knowing what will be happening  
So don't blame New York, It's just one of those days
You have to try something new or they might forget your gaze
You did nothing wrong, it's me, not you, but thanks for listening

I'm trying while you're gazing
I'm trying, trying, trying while your fantasising  
Don't try too hard, just trying to get above
Just add a smile to my dial and pile on the love

I'm more than just a gangsta, I'm a true hip-hop pop star by far
A symbol of peace, for the new world order, all locked away in a 1960s jar
Smack! Crack! ***! Snap! Crackle! Pop! Just painted art on the wall
If you take yourself too serious, your Humpty Dumpty will fall

I'm trying while you're gazing
I'm trying, trying, trying while your fantasising  
Don't know how I'm gonna stop
I need an escape or I'm going to flop

What's ya daddy's crib producing nowadays in the hood
I'm the only true black kid in the whole **** neighbourhood  
There's stray cats arriving from all over the place
All are getting together to form an almighty human race

I'm trying while you're gazing
I'm trying, trying, trying while your fantasising  
Don't try too hard, just trying to get above
Just add a smile to my dial and pile on the love

I'm just a guy from the ghetto, I used to be full of fear
Try living in a cage and spreading all of your love over here
How much pepper, how much salt, goes into a fine nancy salad
It so crucial for the final outcome of your life's fancy moving ballad

I'm trying while you're gazing
I'm trying, trying, trying while your fantasising  
Don't know how I'm gonna stop
I need an escape or I'm going to flop.
Mark Oct 2019
You can have it all, if you don't need nothing
Keep the good vibes rolling, if it helps with one's loving
It's like a whole EDM festival, coming from your mouth
Not like those turntable dudes, down in the deep south
I thought DJs had had their freestyle spinning last days
Like Catholic church priests and their unholy ******* ways

Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never,  friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal

They say, ‘I'm the new messiah’.Thanks, but, I don't even try
Thanks to so few, excluding the ones, who waved me on by
I'm sort of creating, a brand new hype and buzz
Full of pure clarity, with a dash of man-made fuzz
When the beat stops, from its fast-talking pace
We all like to flop and drop that ******* bass

Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal

A shout out, to all my southern conquistadors and homeward bound homie’s
Ignore all the Los Angeles doomsayers and Hollywood snapchat phoney's
Elevator doors always be jammin' and then coming to a closure
We all like a moment, of shy mouth miming, with very little exposure
From a worldwide hit or an Aussie Whispering Jack golden classic
From the sound of a crackling frisbee, made from nothing,
but pure black plastic

Licking soda-pops over a long hot summer holiday
Kissing a girl named, Katy Perry, the very next day
Licking it all up, before she shows her b-SiDE
Then screams to three, to come on back inside
Like snatching the America's Cup, with Ben Lexcen’s winning keel
While somewhere amongst the hills of Hollywood’s La La Land
Whole plates of food, just going to waste, inside, never never, friggin Disneyland
While a starving homie, maybe, just ate his very last meal.
Mark Oct 2019
Jammin’ along to riffs by, Sister Tharpe and Robert Johnson,
You could only tell the difference, if a spotlight shone upon each one.
For one was going to heaven, the other, all the way to hell.
But, while they picked at their guitars the mobs would still yell.
They’d do a solo on a lead guitar, unheard of in those days;
Then be totally racistised once stepping out on the pavement.
No mention in the papers, because of the editor’s clan, da-far-right KKKs.
But, outrage and riots ensued, callin’ da end to all dat black enslavement.

Just sit back, take it easy and let those blues fill your shoes.
Let her just make y’all a little bit confused.
Ask her before or after, were you just abused?
Either way, if your spirit was amused, she’ll be excused.

Been scooting across mid town and even to easy beat street.
Tripping lights out and seen both colored folks, along the way.
Gettin’ some to enter my mobile studio, I call ‘Da Jam in da Van’!
Because, it’s not for just any ole cotton pickin’ southern bred fan.
So, come inside, switch it on, then ******* off my feet.
I’ll sign you on the spot, if you purr like a cool cat or a certain sort of stray.

Just sit back, take it easy and let those blues fill your shoes.
Let her just make y’all a little bit confused.
Ask her before or after, were you just abused?
Either way, if your spirit was amused, she’ll be excused.

The here and now, is where the blues are fully infused.
Not from era’s gone past or from some distant future.
You can’t find it in a library, you can’t teach her;
You won’t see it in a theory, you won’t solve her;
You shan’t catch it in a harness, you shan’t trap her.
Once gotten, never forgotten, you’ll never ever, lose her.

Just sit back, take it easy and let those blues fill your shoes.
Let her just make y’all a little bit confused.
Ask her before or after, were you just abused?
Either way, if your spirit was amused, she’ll be excused.
Mark Oct 2019
Take the color out, from even the darkest of cotton blues.          
Then you’d enjoy it, without any innate bias or clues.          
From the railroad vagrant, without any degree;          
To purring cool cats, with a PhD.        
Hell! Go back to where you were born, your inner roots.    
All da way back, when you’d let dirt, get on those anti-racist boots.          
We listened when it pricked our ear, then the color of blue was swept away.
Then, just black and white, made us jive to the music, on that very special day.
Just a start of a poem or song lyrics. Any help or advice on this write, would be greatly appreciated.
Mark Oct 2019
Workin’ as a young one, during da cotton pickin’ days.
Tuning my ears into, da older siblings gospel ways.
Smokin’ a whole lotta dope, got me to here.
Drinking from early mornings on, got me to there.
Playing some slow guitar chords, gave me the blues.
Sleeping at night, always awakening, to more bad news.

This is my blues.
Purely undiluted.
Then distilled on down.
To its true purity.

I got a kind hearted women, no imitation
Who will not let me be, until one dies
As she pulled up to the cotton plantation
I looked at her, straight in the eyes
Spoke to her, with her full attention
I’m outta here, anything else, I forgot to mention?

This is my blues.
Purely undiluted.
Then distilled on down.
To its true purity.

Isn’t it at all, a bit sort of creepy.
Returning home, to da back swamps of Mississippi
The last song I had ever written.
Would be the death of me, once bitten
Now ain’t that a bit haunting.
I should’ve just read, the dire warning.

This is my blues.
Purely undiluted.
Then distilled on down.
To its true purity.
Mark Oct 2019
I walk ‘n’ talk like a citizen, but feel like an American Alien.
I’m Canadian born, brought up by a Philadelphian.

Falling asleep at 3 AM, rising after noon
Instant fame and riches, happening way to soon.

Always being told to keep my head down;
On the road from town to town.
Pleasing the crowds, appeasing my manager.

Sometimes I think, I’m just riding shotgun.
If I ever broke my melody making,
crab claw pickin’ fingers
I’d be out on the street,
              ^^^
like all my other,
              ^^^
unfortunate *******.
Thx H, for this and that.
Mark Oct 2019
Born with prejudice, throw it all about  
By extracting color within the blues  
You’d all still enjoy it, no doubt  
Without any clues, you got nothin’ to lose  
The colors of blue, were made to be taken out  
Now listen again, with newborn ears  
Remember, you’d let dirt, get in and about  
Baby face baby face without any fears.  
  
Tired of racism, going on and about    
By liberating, we strike new tunes  
You’d all still enjoy it, no doubt  
Without any clues, you got nothin’ to lose  
The colors of blue, were made to be taken out  
Now listen again, with newborn ears  
Remember, you’d let dirt, get in and about  
Baby face baby face without any fears.  
 
All of society, from near to far about  
To all city slickers, outback folks or hippie communes  
You’d all still enjoy it, no doubt  
Without any clues, you got nothin’ to lose  
The colors of blue, were made to be taken out  
Now listen again, with newborn ears  
Remember, you’d let dirt, get in and about  
Baby face baby face without any fears.
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