There was a time
When I couldn't give a dime
As far as destiny was concerned
How the stars were aligned
It mattered to me not
Even if I suffered a lot

However, as we all know
Times change
We've gotta go with the flow
Facing crisis after crisis
Decided I, to turn to Jesus
Thus, with every passing day
Come what may
More and more did I begin to believe
In the power of Fate
And the miracles it could bring
As we all would be knowing
It's never too late

Yes, believe do I, in destiny
Because, of great importance, is faith
However, it means not
That we do naught
And simply pray to the Lord
Never will inaction beget a reward
Instead, does it mean
That, always should we do our best
And let God take care of the rest
Pardon me for the oft-repeated cliche
But, difficult is it, to carve a niche
Especially when you don't get a chance
To select a topic of your choice

Destiny can favour us
Or can it ruin us
Remember the old but extremely valuable cliche
"There is no gain without pain"
Were we to fight a war
Prepared, must we be, to be slain
Or can we go far
And achieve a glorious victory
Thus, leaving our mark on history
Depends, does it all, on destiny

Take me, for example
I had to go through the ordeal of divorce
It is but completely natural
To believe that destiny favoured me not
Yes, I did have to go through a lot
However, the reality is
Destiny DID favour me
Because, saved was I
From total disaster
And closer did I get
To my sister and father
Not to mention, free am I
To live my life on my own terms

Equally true, is the opposite
It may seem
That, from destiny we benefit
However, turns out instead, destiny is a cheat
For instance, look at the Indian Men's Cricket team
In the recently concluded World Cup
Winning ten matches on the trot
One would have thought
That, destined were we
To lift the trophy
Alas, it was not to be
Lulled were we, into a false sense of security
By all the early *******
And believed, did we
That, on our side, was destiny
However, when it mattered the most
Destiny made sure we lost

Yes, destiny does matter
But your mind shouldn't shatter
Were it to turn against you
Because, it is ultimately YOU
Who are in charge of your life
Even were you to have the best husband or wife!!
Yes, extremely frustrating is it
When things are not in your control
And on your mental health
May it take a toll
However, faith is powerful
Were you to surrender yourself to Jesus
He would make your life wonderful
Of course, certain sacrifices have to be made
But never let your personality fade
And always do your best
Free are you, to turn your back on destiny
As long as you live happily
Yes, destiny does indeed matter
But how much does it matter
Is entirely up to YOU

whatever i touch
turns into tragedy—
Midas wishes his hands
were made of mine.

i dare not touch
trees and their leaves—
their old age
will not matter
once i graze their skin.

i do wonder
if everything good
that comes are worthy
of my ruin—
they quickly turn
sour and ugly
once they,
finally,
rest their heads
on my lap
and i am left here,
once again,
picking up the scraps,
telling myself
nothing incredibly,
or inherently, bad
has happened yet.

but what if it comes?

what if the world
decides to put
the blame on me
and punish me
for simply being alive?

should i keep
crawling back
to life?

or should i
accept the fate
i have been given?

In the kitchen of fate, where recipes align,
There's a daughter of misfortune, a tale so intertwined.
Her father, luck's favored, with fortune at his side,
But she's taken her mother's grace as her guide.

Her mother, a tempest in life's stormy sea,
Taught her strength in adversity, resilience to be.
Though luck eluded her, in her eyes, you'd find,
A sparkle of hope, a spirit unconfined.

In the cauldron of challenges, the daughter found her way,
With a pinch of her mother's spirit, she'd never sway.
She stirred in compassion, a generous measure,
Adding empathy and kindness, her greatest treasure.

From her father, she borrowed a dash of good fortune,
But she knew in her heart, it wouldn't be her cartoon.
She'd blend it with care, mix it with her might,
For her mother's tenacity, she'd always fight.

In the oven of life, she baked her own path,
With ingredients gathered from love's aftermath.
A pinch of her father's luck, a dash of her mother's grace,
She crafted her essence, her unique embrace.

And as she emerged, a creation divine,
A daughter of misfortune, in her, stars brightly shine.
She carried her legacy, a blend so pure,
A recipe of resilience, forever endure.

she may have claimed
that she could always
find one of those rare
desperately sought
four-leaf clovers
amongst any cluster
that had sprouted
amidst the grass
and **** growth
of park or pasture
but never once did she
try to find one
for me

Unless luck is by your side,
Youll struggle to get by in life.

A teaspoon of tincture, to the actual worth
of a Kuerig waste eventually, in return
for a breath.

How slow do we sink below our bouancy specs?

Sein- in my future plastic accountibility,
a form of artifact that shall signal affluence killed us all;
any way, same thought, nine ounces of our local kush…
ah, it has a weak genealogy, nothing fancy, no Joe Herrera,
but a hermaphroditical what the hell,
seems some years ago, down in Lemon Grove,
one branch, in our first legal garden, in three generations,
one branch,
we seemingly never noticed until John harvested,
and had like 200 seeds,
- at that house
not far from where the 9/11 crew stayed during flight school,
but about ten years later,
-------- bubble memory on all along
we had a crop of ****,
plain old garden variety seeds from a bag.
And as we eliminated all the males, we spied,
using our YouTube assist- what does this look like? Abnormal
or normal
are no longer first page words worthy choices,
norms are not known
to be essenstial,
esse, essense essence yes sense, in no wise
as evidence from this POV, mine, on loan, you can use it,
you can hold it,
as a thought,
what if,
we knew at once, words are not Lotech. Let us express,
that
once hindered
by those that let, let us let free.
Read, discover the realm of minds past normal,
long before Art Intuited a system
to inter connect tight
thinking, sieving contraptions
for sacred secrets, light
reveal, see the bunny in the cage,
prior to the hat, right.

Plain Truth, Garner Ted 'n'em, made some money selling
a home grown version of once pure good news, from a spring,

oh, nobody lives forever,
ain't that a relief?
Think a spell.
I meant to give you the recipe, but got to vegetating how
chthonic circumstances determine much of the luck, but

Nine or ten ounces of cured and cooked to peak, commercial
quality cannabis, from any garden in Free States, nowadays,
steeped in Arizona legal Everclear, 95% pure moonshine,
for around a year or so… seems to become stronger,
could be a brandy evaporation kinda thickening,  plot that.

In the course of a novel day, I did deliver the recipe. That is it,
the deed, indeed, does call for more knowing, however, I do.

So I read it, and figured I'd said it. Right enough to work.

Like a life cycle
Moving on again and again
 Seeing a movie life is a short cut
But there is always a but?
Riding a horse beautiful
Flowing hair chestnut

      But when?
Will life change/rearrange/emerge
Can we erase and start over to begin
Smart revenge or perfect win
We never know what will
be coming soon?
The full moon reckoning
The big happening
  Start living  
Falling in a category losing

No crying just loving
Keep trying wasting away dying     
No meddling/ Gifts of giving

Creating loving words
    In writing
  New Birth developing
      But when?
A star to wish upon
Pollution air rushing
Tornado destroying

But two people
Take the moment
True love-  hugging
Good stirring- resettling
But When?
Not everyone

  Will be welcoming
Words crash thundering
Everything has a sign
But when -Good luck
Entering
             baking
                         whisking
But when is the part seeking
In a flash of an eye we will be gone
           Blinking

Part of me says stay small, part go big
Part says eat your fill, part don’t pig

Kenko says: long life brings many shames
I say the gray sky brings winter, no blame

The impassable mountains we revere
Moderate the force of wind and water

Get the cement truck into the refrigerator
We shall honor all of life sooner or later

Anything can happen if you don’t resist
To get lucky you gotta be careful first

You discover dying’s much like living
Who should I thank for the pity of things?

O to have the smile of a lover
Who wouldn’t rather be elsewhere!

the old wives
say it must be
the left hind foot
of a rabbit
shot with a silver bullet
or not shot at all
simply captured
one way or another
ideally on the grave
of a criminal
the more wicked the person
the more potent the charm
with the foot harvested
while the poor creature
is still alive
it has to be done
in a cemetery
during the night
of a full
or new moon
though others say
it should be
a friday
a rainy friday
friday the thirteenth
if the foot is to become
one of those lucky ones

Nothing ever changes,
where the worth of this and that is set.

Tell'em all, who hook ah, ha, chiral

reality, hearing, hmms and bzzz meeee
whining all kinds of things,

down, dirt hertz low, as one of those
contrabassoons,
French bubinga wood,
-Google it, it is as magic may be yet,
magical contraptions contrived
in a mind,
in stages,
whistle phone, I ignor thee,
Lady, of Spain, I adore thee,

If I had chosen a differing way, some time ago,
decided I was made
to be a river kid,
but come to find out, we breed best, where
our mothers were born,
- high green vales
- home feel romantic, as such antics were
portrayed, more, more, more
in the bread and entertainment
citizenship bought
for thirty man years
of absolute loyalty
to a bevvy
of oaths
by
any child shaped for leadership, bonded
entered into the system, asked
to swear
in the name
of all that is holy, set apart, behind the curtain,

not in Oz, Jerusalem
in that mind Christ used,
right, Romans-
let this mind be
in you… word level logic magic any may imagine
we pluralize our individuated minds,
and join in seeking clear channel communication
- tear ye the dusty curtain -
after all the outs are in for the evening,
cool of the day,
spirit and truth,
wow
we
make breathing work, come to think about that,
if your will is telling us some thing we may think,

3 major sneezings 3 by 3's, gobsogreasygoferguts,
we survive,
having coughed up a tiny, eyelash-size hair,
meta vessle,
where my bet is in the bits on this side,
war
has no
lever see,
free is bein' out of bounds. We may consider Kerouac,
his teletype paper rolls that he could imagine
becoming my entire system
liquid crystal frame nets fishing
for sentient mindshare where global peace, accepts
string theory as
my gnosisnot, is it spirit if it is true. If we are paradox-
ical, we are not stupid as a species,

we've bought a bill of goods, they used to say,
we found reason to believe,
we were lied to
for a set of reasons.
- first being we all lie, we think we know.
The onto logical truth, in my case, is - in 2023,
my life is good, I am a slob, and out of the way,
so, settled in some ways, is dust fine, we flake away.

My choice is to consider the reader, who reads
for fun,
kicks
in text
be unaffordable - attention is commodity
in any other context,
some things
are words, mere, as a word,
is one of them,
a class of flavour overlooked missed,
mere [hap]
anon,
we turn the radio on, and all we hear is humms.