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annh Jun 2020
Stick girl embering,
Lollipop meandering,
Molten toffee trail.

'We discovered that one of the strongest links among us was questions about the morality
of what we do: when do
you press the shutter release
and when do you cease
being a photographer?'
- Greg Marinovich, The Bang-Bang Club: Snapshots from a Hidden War
Vexren4000 Mar 2019
From on high,
Some retribution did shine,
Upon the flower wilting,
Blessing it with rain.
Upon the stray dog wandering,
A Benevolent creatures shows mercy.
Retribution shines rarely,
Yet when it does,
It makes it seem as if
A god could exist.

©BAS
Meandering Mind Sep 2018
the rivers of my memories
and those of my dreams
rivers real
and rivers imagined

meander through beautiful landscapes
like they're slowly chasing something
or someone

like they keep forgetting what they're after
but remember often enough
to keep heading in the same general direction


such is the life of a river
and such is the life of all
headed for some destination

it may meander
it may slow and quicken
and change direction and course
and split and rejoin
and grow and shrink

but all the while
it's headed for its end
the destination

which to break it down
linguistically
is the "destined" place


and thus
the rivers
like our lives
are ruled by fate
Silverflame Jan 2018
meandering thoughts
a central, vicious star writes
whilst watching the skulls
AD Mullin Jan 2018
The end of the holiday's are near and it's time for me to get back to work. I've been writing and reading and thinking and meditating for years. Preparing the temple, so to speak. My stories are public and private goods and the presentation and profits of these stories must be landed in a good and truthful way ~ I've spent much time and energy on how to do this in a way where I can maintain certain intensities and integrity. Intensity for distillation of truth and integrity for power and resonance.

Stories are just stories but it is the ***** when someone else co-opts your creation and paves over the nuances and complexities of that which you had overtly placed your personal power, thought, and energy into.

You might be reading this and all you are seeing is: *******, *******, *******, *******.  All ******* for as far as the eye can see. Fair enough, I've been thinking the same for years but just when I thought I was out, the ******* keeps pulling me back in, lol. As far as I can see though, **** is the distillation of truth and I hope that I can spin this yarn into a web that you will see the ******* structure that holds up the ******* truth and maybe we can try and digest that and compost it and churn through it then grow a mushroom on top of it and eat it and try and find the spiritual truth of what our ******* structure lies upon. This particular idea is not just some floaty meandering abstraction, it is a truth I saw on the land: Longview, Alberta. This truth was emodied in the ghost I slept in, nearby in Indian Graves Campground that night.

The land speaks if we let it; if we have prepared our temples, maybe the land speaks truth.

You feel me. If you don't then that's ok. It isn't your time and maybe never will be for this iteration of instinct that I am presenting. My rhymes aren't meant to resonate with everyone all the time. I'm not writing pablum or soul food. Feed your own soul in your own way. That's between you and Mr. Potter and the Chairman. Our truths are our truths and they are absolute (*******).

The reason that I know I am prepared to write this story now is because I have done the work. I have found my inner compass and tested it time and again. While in process and flow, the landscaping shifted and my truth's fell away and the absolute revealed itself one star at a time and isn't it ironic how in tune our bards are with the ... wait for it ... *******.

So where am I going to land this access point to the White Buffalo medication? I am not. The medicine already flows and always has, I just woke up and took what I was prescribed. A dude in shorts once told me: abide!
Bitcoin me, I am ready to fill up this empty vessel of a wallet
girl diffused Oct 2017
how does everything feel so whole
& yet so empty?
how do you fill everything
with a gaze, fleeting
how do you question everything
with a quirked brow, a pursed lip?

how do you fill everything
with a surety in an outstretched
hand, should i place mine
in your palm, should i answer your
questions with a small smile?

fill your sadness into my vessel,
take your pain into my bones?
let it settle like it's nestled
in a home of enamel and dried blood?

how do you repair a fractured heart?
with whispered promises
against the nape? with late-night
proclamations and ramblings,
locked secrets from deep within
the corridors of our minds

should we reside in head-space
or pulsing heart? should we etch
a title into skin and teeth or leave
them unmarked? i wonder...
i wonder ...
I dug this up from the archives of "Ye Olde Facebook." Been a few days, might as well share something. I wasn't sure of it then and I'm not sure of it now. I'm also not sure of the headspace I was in prior to composing this piece. Ah well, leave your comments as always and enjoy.

xoxo
Amitav Radiance Feb 2015
Lost in the wanderings
Through the ancient paths
Covered in anonymity
Long before they saw light
Many civilizations perished
Unaware wanderings
Lead the heart to unknown territories
Lost in the midst of nowhere
But have found an existence
Uncanny feelings awaken
A realization of the lost soul
Finally, it has found
Crowd of humanity could not spare
From the least known places
The soul has found a treasure trove
Wandering through meanderings
Directed the lost traveler
To a place of wonder and clarity
Herein lies the truth
Immerse yourself in silence
To celebrate the new realization
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