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Black Lips Oct 8
What has the world come to
The people in charge are cowards
I'm also a coward
But a more open minded coward
Fix the system
We're living in the mud
Ken Pepiton Oct 3
oh, now listen, to that blues man, singin' prayer
singin' words in ways we never
hoid woids sung thisaway, since Grandma on th Bayou,
introduced
me, to Mr. Jake,
Now mister jake, he was old country, old school

He settle a passle of flybit cows with a croon,
aimed right at the moon,
top o' his lungs, knowin'

I am the only voice I hear, my prayers
never bounce,
they soak down

may you arrive, said Mr. Jake
where you wisht you were, when we

learned of life in Louisiana from an old Siclilian
fisher man cook, who knew of
Tavasco Inlet, to Bayou Bleu,
the real
you can feel black mud from the top of
the river, carried all this way,
to squish between my toes,

so I never fo'got toejam spreader was a
occupying principle behind any
search for pearls
once fed to pigs.
Mr. Jake taught me to think these muddy
thoughts
with my toes, wigglin',
feel a nibblin'
set
hook, what do you know?
A thought while wondering if prayer is more the unwritten poetry blowing on breezes that sometimes feel like care-touch, figertip to cheek
Merope Angel Sep 14
I hope that when our love dies
From you no longer willing to try
I hope that it dies slow

I hope it dies so slow

Like a plant
Checking out.
Left in shock
From new soil.

You won’t know
Right away

But you will see
The signs of decay



I think, baby
You are so beautiful
You are so good to me

I nod off
Intrepid sleeping
Sheepish intermingling
Waiting on my being
To give me some energy

The consciousness is lost
And so are you gone with it

Where I have forgot
Your sweet love
Like man-made syrup

The chemicals burn my tongue
The sweetness turns me off
The kindness
Puckers my mouth

I’m addicted
But I don’t know how.
One day they  called each other
One day they dreamt to fly there
And wipe every fault they gain

The faults are burden over hearts
As the heavy loads over birds wings
Can they fly over clouds?

One was consisted of two parts
Soul and body , that is two things
Soul is created from light parts
It demands good things
Its home is the heavens
Under the throne of the God

The body was created of the mud
It demands and gets down to the land
It asks to get every desire or want
Even it leads to do the faults
It  leads to bad and to the underworld

The day now is coming
The souls are answering the calling
At the ancient to pilgrimages the holy home
They circled around the Kaaba with happy
As the planets  are doing around the sun
They also pray one God

They feel with great funny
The body are running in compete
Who will introduce its faith and confident?

The tears are overflowing to wipe faults
The hearts are moving số rapid with acts
The tongues are singing the deathless songs,”
We respond you our God times and times”

They are walking between two hills
Asking for mercy getting from up
Searching for forgiveness that is the demand

They moved to mount
Asking their God for accept their trip
Not return them with being refused
They demands peace and the heavens reward

Then they introduce the guidance
Showing they will sacrifice for getting the world
Happy and has purple and green action

They throw the devil at the feasts days
Every day to confident the holy deals
That the dismiss the devil and will not follow him
The men and women shaved and cut their hair

In order, to show they will begin
A new born and clear their brain
From bad thoughts these máy gain
Bad faults, they travelled to wipe and drain
It from their body as the fallen rain  

They return homes in white and clear
As they were born in white and green
the muslims go there to show their faith and honest and wipe thier faults and asking forgiveness
Aazaad Jul 23
The sun burns and so do I
What use in complaining is there?
Leaves turn to dust
Stone will become mud
And all
things must
eventually
end.
Sarah Apr 12
A rainy wedding day
Music so loud
Beautiful bride dressed in white
And I, a mere child
Playing in the mud
Staining my new shiny tux
Among the children
Among dances and laughs
Colorful clothes and happy faces
Cars with ribbons all around
What wouldn’t I give
To return
To a rainy wedding day fifty years ago
To hug my parents who’s long been gone
And be a child with a mud stained shoe
To return, only for a day
To the place I once called home
And now is no more.
Story: my mother's uncle returned to visit us after nearly 40 years of being abroad, he left at 18 years old to escape the former regimen, and all he had with him were his memories, so little of them, one of which was someone's wedding were it was raining and he and other children, including my father at the time, played in the mud.
It's strange how the simple things we do could become one of our greatest memories.
Mud
You're blocked;
you're bugged;
your eyes stay screaming
but I can't hear a thing.

Wash through me like knees through mud
not yet caked over by the heat of the
sun; like you're looking for something
you dropped and it may soon be entombed.

Look at me as you would a tree
caked in mud.
          Name me by my leaves, or
                    my sinewy limbs.

You're soft;
you're coarse;
the lines that puzzle your face
make frowning silly, and small.

          Name me Steinway like the
               piano. Or Pecan, like the
                    tree.

Find me forward, trudging through mud.

I can see solid ground but my branches
can't reach to touch the grass or its flowers
or to smell the rotten-ripe crushed leaves of
the pecan trees.

Stick me where I'm stuck,
save the mud. Give my leaves
some snow, some lightness,
cold. Give me color. Paint me
in storm clouds.
Written while listening to Deafheaven's Sunbather.
A cloud of gray mud over me.
My thoughts like birds were flying.
I sit alone upon my drawn umbrella.
Reactive rain was covering my head.

Drops of the rain like heavy rocks.
Identically burden of my thoughts.
It’s Fall with crash against my mind.
Upon my delicate and little coat.

I sit alone beneath my colorful umbrella.
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