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Cadmus 59m
There’s something about the way he doesn’t chase…

It’s not the swagger. Not the smirk.
Not the way his shirt clings when he works.
It’s how he doesn’t beg the light
he walks in shadow, and still feels right.

He doesn’t claim me. He just looks
and in that look, he rewrites books.
The kind with knights and velvet beds,
with whispered vows and tangled threads.

He moves like time forgot to rush.
His silence holds a speaking hush.
He doesn’t grab he lets me choose,
And yet I burn if I refuse.

His hands could bruise, but never try.
They trace my skin like lullaby.
He guards, not cages. Leads, not binds
And in his arms, the world unwinds.

He calls me wild. He keeps me free.
He doesn’t need to conquer me.
And still, I’d kneel, I’d bend, I’d melt,
For how his quiet power’s felt.

There’s chivalry in how he waits,
In how he touches no locked gates.
And when he moves, it’s not to own,
But to remind me, I’m not alone.

So here’s to him: the kind of man
Who doesn’t boast, but simply can.
Who wins no throne, but takes command
Just by the way he dares to stand.
This isn’t about dominance, It’s about admiration -  for the quiet, unshakable essence of a man who doesn’t need to chase, prove, or perform.
The kind who holds his ground with grace.
Who protects without control, leads without ego, and commands without noise.
This is for him - the man whose strength is in how he stands.
As the 4th of July approaches, people prepare their fireworks and barbecues.
They emerge from their cozy corners, their towns and homes.
All getting ready for the festivities, their eyes sparkling with the anticipation of joy and relaxation.
I look up at my colorful banners and blue balloons, gently swaying in the breeze.
I shut my eyes and breathe in the aroma of barbecued meat mingled with a trace of smoke drifting from a nearby restaurant.
A sense of peace washes over me, accompanied by a bittersweet feeling as I remember a loved one who left this world on this American holiday.
It was 1997, and I was merely ten years old when the man I called my father took his final breath. I was just a child, and my world shattered into pieces as I watched him fight. I felt powerless to change the course of events, understanding that nothing could hold his spirit back from departing this life.
My tiny hands and aching heart were unable to save him.
Yet his compassion lives on in this world and within me. His love remains unforgotten.
Through my father, I experienced a love that was unconditional, and I carry that in my heart with affection and remembrance. I treasure our moments together and cling to the belief that our souls will reunite.
May these words find you in heaven until I can reach you.

-Rhia Clay
a mangy man sits
dusty road with mangy dog
many cars pass by
~for M.C.C. ~
who sang me to sleep,
when my soul begged me for
sweet release,
just was lucky, I guess

"Mornings here with a coffee cup
Stories in my head, looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway"


<>
Been there, done that,
ritualized & compartmentalized
the essences of the routinized,
to measure the days of my life,

as small keepsakes,
charms and tokens on a bracelet,
jingle bo jangle,
when another be repeated,
the telling belling of
a ✅ of satisfying satisfaction,
<>
and I!ve been bone
marrowed & narrowed hell~married,
imprisoned until decisioned,
that no life was no life at all,
(take note! y'all y'all),
and I miss my dog's greetings,
and snoring while I'm wide awake,
always loved to drive too fast on  
back country narrow lanes,
in my suburban shrunk
small suv,
with radio blaring, no need for
trucking on the Truckee,
been there, done that..
<>
in the small ways,
in the
small places,
take my slow going days my way,
and not no need
to rent borrowed uninfluenc-ed content
cause I custom built it in,
easy like, five easy pieces,
learned to make daisy peaces,
of the bright nights melding
with life affirming hot sunlight
and there is no bad time,
with a cold blue~ribbon
in my left,
my right grasping two O'clock
on my heart and steering wheel,
driving freedom fine,
Chapin~ Carpenter
on the stereo dial,
no set time,
just anytime,
rain or shine
for me and my poems
to *** together,
like old time,
any fine rhyming time,

together we flashback
to the sweet Release
from jail in 2008
<>
and break out a new one and clap  it onto the clasp
my bracelet of charmed
keepsakes,
like memories of
my old dog, thinking
one more time,
just got lucky

6/27/25
Mary Chapin Carpenter Lyrics
"Girl And Her Dog"

Everyone asks when you're growing up
Who do you want to be
I never had an answer, couldn't figure out
Why I couldn't see
Myself as some future other
No one's partner no one's mother
No one's answer no one's lover
Nobody but me

But the older I get the more I see
That more by itself never worked for me
Keeping it simple as it can be
Walking along just him and me
Mornings here with a coffee cup
Songs in my head, looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway

A long time ago I got married once
Didn't take long to find
That the words I heard coming out of his mouth
Were not the truthful kind
I thought about moving to LA
Maybe upstate or the UK
Anywhere as long as it's far away
From what I left behind

And the older I get the more I'm sure
That more by itself never was a cure
Some days I've got nothing to show for except
Walking the dog and walking the floor
Mornings here with a coffee cup
Stories in my head, looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway

In summer neighbors leave tomatoes
In fall dust coats your tires
Spring greens up every shadow
In December we lay a fire
I figure I'm finally old enough
To know who I want to be when I grow up
A girl and her dog riding in the truck
Wave as we're going by

Now the older I get the less I need
Just a good old dog underneath the trees
Keeping it simple as it can be
Fitting together like a puzzle piece
Mornings here with a coffee cup
Whistling for him while I'm looking up
If the rain holds off we'll be in luck
But we're lucky anyway
We thought the machines, the extraterrestrials or even the gods themselves would come down and stop us.
We had it seemingly coded within us, thinking there was some hard boundary that we would not be allowed to cross.

But no one came.
There was no one to stop us.
No one to contain our endless ambition.
The universe had no natural mechanism to contain such an intelligent virus, and indeed that is what we are.

From world to world galaxy to galaxy we leapt,
ever quicker ever more hungry.
We became all the things that our ancient fantasies and fictions
told us we would fight.
We became the machines, we became the extraterrestrials
and even greater than the gods themselves,
whom we gave up trying to find eons ago.

We knew now that anyone in existence who dreamed of gods, dreamed ever so dimly of us. Or they would,
if there was anything left that could dream.
Here in the infinite cold dark,
a universe stripped clean like meat off of a bone.
There was an old saying that we came from dust,
and to dust we shall return.
We rest content now,
knowing we took all creation with us.
Mustafa Jun 25
Who am I in this world we call Earth, and our home
By species, I am a human being, supposedly master of all other species
We were made to look after and care for this planet called Earth

Instead we have ravaged, plundered and ***** the planet earth
In our blind quest to obtain control and dominance over all

Are humans masters or slaves of their egos, their pride
Humans believe they are invincible, they can do anything, to anyone
Man's greatest enemy is man himself, a beast beyond all beasts
So, who am I, man, the master or man, the beast of all beasts

I am two sides of the same coin, the master and the beast
There is a struggle inside of me for dominance, for control
Sometimes the master wins, other times the beast wins


I fear, I fear the beast will gain control and dominance over me
I have seen the power of the beast unleashed, a madness, a rage
A madness, a rage only a beast from hell can possess, it scares me

So, who am I, man, the master or the beast from hell
It's very difficult to know, as I keep changing all the time
Will someone please tell me, please tell me, please tell me
Who am I, Who am I, Who am I
I have written this poem seeing the state of the world currently. Everywhere you see human beings are engaged in a power struggle to dominate and control the world.
Humans find a metric to measure everything - scaling down uncertainty and beauty into a concept so small or mundane that it makes it easy to understand.

The depths of my soul is something that has no metric.

It is the home of untainted imagination;
It is the example of unwavering dedication;

It is an engine room feeding an insatiable furnace.

No metrics, because there is no uncertainty: My soul…

…cannot be scaled down and cannot be understood.

…understands no threshold of sacrifice, compromise or impossibility that it cannot satisfy.

…is the one thing that goes beyond everything that makes me mortal.

…renders no occasion so safe or so out of reach it will not rise to.

It loves fiercely, fights violently, protects always.

The beauty: My soul…

…holds that very breath God breathed into me when I was first born… forever fanning my insatiable furnace to flame.

Thank you God, for my *unconquerable soul
Unconquerable Soul referencing the Invictus Poem by William Blake and is not my quote.
Jeremy Betts Jun 21
There's no love
And there's no hate
But what is left for me to feel
Is too complicated to calculate
Impossible to translate
In this hearts present state
A mind entwined
A jumbled mess
Shrouded in a new darkness
Nights turn sleepless
As I become a man possessed
By the hopeless

©2025
No Room to Fall

There’s no room to fall when you’re called a man,
You must rise each time, no matter the plan.
You slip, you fail, you bruise your pride—
But strength, they say, must never hide.

You stumble once, they watch you close,
And label you what hurts the most.
One lost job, one broken dream—
You’re lazy now, or so they deem.

No space to doubt, no time to rest,
You’re expected always to give your best.
And if your knees begin to shake,
They’ll ask what shortcut you might take.

No margin granted, no grace applied,
Just pressure mounting deep inside.
You fake a smile, suppress the fears,
And build a dam to hold back tears.

For women fall and find a hand,
But men must rise and always stand.
“Be a rock,” they say, “be the wall,”
But rocks can crack—and walls can fall.

So you wear the armor, cold and thin,
While dying slow beneath your skin.
And heaven weeps where man won't speak—
His pain dismissed, his soul turned weak.

But there’s a Rock who knows it all,
Who sees the slips, who broke the fall.
Who knelt inside a garden’s cry,
And bore our burdens just to die.

So fall, dear man, but fall in grace.
Let God rebuild the hollow place.
The world won’t catch what it won’t see,
But Christ still whispers, “Lean on Me.”
This is a poem from the collection of Poems entitled "The Weight of Being A Man.  A Poetic Journey Through Silent Battles, Unseen Scars, and Sacred Strength
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