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La la Joconde, the joke as one may yoke
two or three re calling

details in mystery more than mere

completion intentional sfumata mere pure

clear as if nothing seen through reflective lead

subtility shown few, seen through granite reflecting
eastern wall of my tower, thought grand, a cave

operationally… stage left
your right, redirecting light, from my west,

tricks perceived as light a little brighter, turn
a detail, eyes made to speak irrelevancy,

observe a casus artis sui, as done, indeed,

as we may imagine natural reflection no brows

at the edge of Earthian evidence of ductility,

so subtle perceive the effect reason perceived…

we believe we are seen, face to face,
gentle smile entertained, flickering scintillating,

slight smile we are told, see this from 2025,
online PDF
better on your phone than in the Louvre
imagine Leonardo, with wifi

while tracing nerves, pursing the kiss,
shaping how we say smile, slightly

and we find the makings
of an ever imaginable
clear plain vision
slight smile,

providing word frame soft smooth transistion

low spatial frequencies,
imagine that, elusion, sfumata soft
allusive, recessive expression, towb ra' beheld.

The Mona Lisa keeps her smile, ah

lead us critical seer of details where the works

work their magic,
as we imagine the measure
of man, male model mundus mind holder
Earthian two tree vascular neural node
fruiting through root or branch,
while using fire
to pop seeds

Imagine meeting Da Vinci yesterday,
getting to know, his quirks,
and something

of life five hundred years ago.
Having some old smith ties,

compounding confounded springs
from old cars
in trigger assemblies
on the east side
of the Kush.

Verily true being man,
here we be, there be time,
here we think, there we may imagine

thinking, mere will
to be kept
for my art sake, or something,

try the spirits, feel the dense purity,

find the peasant story, find

the first hearth told naming day story,
the first hearty wake attended after all,

tie to the old religions casus belli got lost,
loosed and blown past nnnand gates,

goodness, Mr. Feynman, I can fix a flat.

That was the summer of '44…

at Alamogordo, south of trees planted
for several seasons in the 1980s,
at Ruidoso,
on Mescalero land, many trees
paid directly

to the Holy Alamo Church

where Andy Riddle died,
and sense you would not know him,
I ask you to trust me, he was saintly.

A celibate spiritual ******, was he,

a classically trained scion of some
airline fortune, Braniff adds some flair

this cult had heirs of Vanderbilt
and obscure Four Square base support,

with tendrils in Orange County Birchers.

Wild, wonder if what if, look at us now…  
as true believers, grown old,
to be reviewed
on Global TV
by members
surviving a lie,
a religious cult,
with credible ties
to Ronald Reagan,

and the take down
of Pandora's Box,
as the Domino Theory, has religion init,

decoding dementia devine design,
what if wonder if works best, then what


first we get the idea, we all see it done,
magnificent math positioning dominos,

true cause and effect demonstrations,
of promethean planning, fore thought,

functional failures readjusted, think
a gain, see, we learned what never works,

by trying a thousand times, ok, no hell,

no heaven not matching one that works here,

on earth, as if this were where forever occurs,,,

to us. Readers of time signs as we stay busy dying.
Trumps performance. the pretty in pinks the fraction of attention, once
word was whatsoever two or more agreed to call true, at once, is thought,
so true, so touching, so seriously addressing the smallness of Earth,
and how much attention is spent living, day to day,
some days hard, some not so hard, time to waste reading Isaacson/
Maria Feb 20
A glass of wine, a rainy evening…
The window’s wide open, the candles blink.
The wind is trying to put them out.
Silence fills her. No need to think.

She feels good, and no need to hurry.
Tears of heaven delight the ear.
She has no friends. She has no girlfriends.
And only her cat is always near.

She is contented with her aloneness.
There’s no fluster or moping at all.
She’s pleased with herself and she is honest
With her own conscience and with her soul.

She doesn’t want any loving thrills,
No worrying, no passions, no needless doubts.
All is got over. Nothing remains.
Enough as it were so many fouls.

The wine is drunk. The evening is chilly.
The window’s wide open. The candles went out.
She calmly goes to pure bedroom.
No need to hurry. And all is out.
in the silence of my room… I
dance the loudest,
pray the longest
cry the ugliest,
laugh the modest,
dream the youngest,
stare at empty walls for promise,
break down the strongest,
overthink within a guilty conscience,
play out my scenarios worthy of their flowers
planting fields of doubt for all my anxieties
to have a fruitful harvest

in the silence of my room… I
am truly at my honest.
Cyril Jan 2
How unfortunate it is
that words will be just words
if not sent to a lover.

If I spend my days
stringing verses together,
and weave them into threads,
would it be long enough
to travel the earth,
and arrive where you are?

Would you hear my sighs
in these tangled mess,
and think that these verses
are fruits of restlessness?

These fragments of truth,
imperfect and raw
are all that remain.
These clumsy lines,
void of pride,
and stripped of ego.
You're lucky to be clueless.
dead poet Dec 2024
i look at you -
long and hard;
strike one off
the tally card -
of false promises,
and dubious words;
i peck your bud,
and fly like a bird.

i draw the line,
and watch it fade:
every second
you and i are away -
from each others grips,
coming down the trips -
i wonder if there was
another way.

smoke rings rising
up the clock -
show me the times
i forgot to lock:
my impulse for a high;
i’m not sure why -
i was expecting a key
at the bottom of the rock.
Amina Dec 2024
What should I do for the rest of the year:
mentioning your name to the fullest
then retreat
no letting bygones be bygones
for a while. fifteen days.
Living the memory
You.
I'm still honest thief
Time.
I adore YOU
(Untold)
I would say saved by the Bell
You would say I'm always ready
showyoulove Nov 2024
The art of humility is to take the bad with the good
It is being able to see ourselves as only Jesus could
It is accepting us for who we are: darkness and light
It is through embracing both the day and the night
It may not always be what we want, but it's what we need
And in embracing the cross that we find ourselves freed
Our view of life is often narrow and clouded
We see things too close and things are shrouded
From our view. We must step back to see clearly
But finding the truth can cost us quite dearly
For when we see as God sees us
When we take in the bigger picture
We see with the eyes of Jesus
In the lens of the living scripture.
When we are honest about ourselves
And we know that he loves us and always will
We feel the depth of that Amazing Grace
And what we see changes everything
Amen
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