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Stuff is in our blood, a stain on us
Slugging around, these sad star sore guts
Stuff is a stuffy word that’s embarrassing to utter when someone asks you, “What are you doing today... this Summer?”
...
Stuff is what saves us - but stuff bumps and slumps around waiting for its bus
Dress-stressing in its own looks/love - knowing and not -
A stopped migraine, stuff is euphoria sensed through architecture, a sunk shot.
You learn to be the butcher... Sleep with soul hooks...
Dance in the kitchen. Stoop in the shower.
Stake it out, stronger, wiser, these flow-wilters - over-studiers...
Old young bears, hard and soft stuffed in neat beds, hawk hearts bated...
For when we grab us, hug us, twist us, throw us
up-out. Reinstate us...
Ellen Joyce Jun 2013
A petal haired army saluting the call of the skies
- it made my heart go to her
until I hope her into being
and I look into her eyes -

eyes that shimmer with every shade of springtime
with frolicking lambs and trumpeting daffodils
with the glint of her chocolate stained Sunday dress,
dancing and whirling with the matriarch blues of six generations
to know our dance, but to write her own song -

a song composed of notes she will fashion for herself in
flower petal perfume and dirt and birthday cake tummy ache
and she can write them in gummy bears or wiggly worms
in any way she might choose, on bill boards or in locked diaries
but it will be beautiful beyond words because its her way -

her way - choosing to skim cliff edges over mama's apron strings,
tearing frills on tree branches and turning back her watch to arrive home late
and you can bet when she dreams him in her sleep she won't be feeling that pea.
But so long as she takes her dreams to heart and cuddles them to life
and knows that she is perfectly imperfectly beautiful and remembers that -

that life is lived as much on cliff edges as it is in your own home
that dress tears and stains speak joy every bit as much as a photograph
that mama's apron strings stretch far and wide,
and that though the shades of seasons change, she must sing her song
and dance.
2013
Rebecca Aug 11
The poet is an architect
he constructs sentences.

The poet is a cook
he mixes words.

The poet is a philosopher
he reflects on what he writes.

The poet is a student
he learns words.

But above all.

The poet has no definition
he defines himself.
Samuel E Jul 20
They told me to listen
because they’d already learned
enough from books to know

as they burned my soul
in their book burning glow.
Choices made in ignorance follow us the rest of our lives. It doesn’t matter to others what we knew at the time. Many see people as 2 dimensional on their own 2 dimensional way of thinking. A person can only be their experience and memories, and you should forgive them for that. It usually isn’t their fault.
eliana Jul 19
It's only through mistakes we make
We learn where we went wrong.
It's only when we're far from home
We realize where we belong.

It's only when we close our eyes
Our dreams seem clear and bright.
It's only in our darkest hours
We truly see the light.

It's only when we lose our way
We pray to the stars above.
It's only through times of grief
We learn the true meaning of love.

It's only when all hope seems lost
And our weary journey seems so far,
When all the world's against you,
We learn how strong we really are.

All things are sent to try us.
We must strive and give our best.
I believe God is watching over us,
And he guides us in our que​st.
Like a teacher, I believe God sets us many tests in life to prove how strong we really are. We wonder where he is when times are tough, but as we know, a teacher always stays quiet during a test.
Arcassin B Apr 26
Creating Energy,
Is what I be on, I don't think you can replicate this,
Slow minds in this world, you might as well become
a waitress,
Or a bartender , its crazy how energy loss is like
handing out liquor,
But who cares , go figure,
They say "you should take scientology",
No thanks , not in my discography,
Sway me unapologetically telling you to get
the hell away from me...

New poem titled "Teach Us Freestyle" (Full Poem In Link)


©abpoetry2025.
https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2025/04/teach-us-freestyle.html?spref=tw
Ken Pepiton Apr 16
Ai say, receiving via bluetooth,
oh, say, this must be our sign, soon...

On some curve of life function rectifiers,
we have believers who make reasons
for all individual inflamed,
proud local flesh
or agreement clusters
of our kind.

Should you have decided
this is the day,
I heard,
at your I level you hear
this is the day.

Your part, your role, react in part

We have been called.
Out from the shadows mellow,
no dramatics, satisfaction granted,
taken, rest and recuperate, hate later…

listen, this, in its word flow,
is part of time words exist in,
after being read once, right made,

this dabar is said
to use the pen
of a ready writer, eh what better effort,
effectually adapting
to our instant constant

in prayer, believe is a verb,
on your side.

We believe
we know how faith must
function using our faculties
for sensing needs, which are keyed
to homeostasis, relative balance
of the chemistry and mechanics
of life
in motion.

We can do this with no hate at all, wisdom
fruits entreated with in bubbles of war,
for some certainly ****** reasons,
we can infect your wished real,
reasons to beg for bread, real,
humility costs that gnosis,
and so do many religious
ties to late spring around here.
Amen, an intro on a 137 page conversation, a monk I know compiled/
I looked within and found a spark,
A quiet flame against the dark,
No need for praise or grand applause
I am enough, just as I was.

The mirror once a place I feared,
Now shows a soul that's grown and cleared,
Each scar, a story, brave and true,
A map of all that I’ve been through.

I speak with kindness to my name,
No longer bound by guilt or shame.
In every breath, I start anew
A promise made, to just be you.

So here I stand, both soft and strong,
Not needing crowds to sing my song.
The journey taught what time can't steal
To trust myself, to love, to heal.
Haven't always loved myself. It was a hard journey to find a way to. It took a large amount of pain- both my own and what I've caused. I knew I had to grow or I'd never learn to properly love anyone- including myself.
To those I have hurt, I truly am sorry. That man has died, I buried him and burned the shovel.
Nobody lives in negative infinity,
Life is not linear,
We live, grow, and learn,
In parabolas.

One U shaped graph,
That goes down,
But comes back up,
Even when you hit the A.O.S.
Open your mind and inspiration will come.
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