Better to take a pause,
think again and then decide upon next
No point in doing something in haste
No point in doing the same thing again
Time to think again, think more,
think along the same.

Think, decide and tell what needs to be done next
Time to ascertain
Time to think in present about the present moment in time.

Time to think again
Think possibly about all that’s going on in mind
Time to look upon retrospectively in the present moment of time.

It’s time to decide
Time has always remained precious
Time is spent, utilized, and consumed
It’s all about time and more about time management.

Initially it takes time to understand and realize why so much of time is being spend in getting simple things done
Later it’s realized, it’s always better to get something done only once rather than repeating it twice or even thrice.

Over a period of time it’s realized that mistakes and experience are two different things, different from each other as chalk is from cheese.

As experience is gained from the mistakes that are made, then the same experience is utilized to avoid similar mistakes again in the future.

Definitely mistakes and experience are poles apart from each other.

Over a period of time it’s learnt and recognized,
it’s always better to test your skills, abilities and strength on your own
No point in waiting for that one final moment in time when each and everything and all will be put to test

It’s always better to represent yourself on your own
Be confident about yourself
Think of your own
Better to make the best use of the present moment in time in the present only
Better to think in the present about the present moment of time only.

It’s time to think and decide all that is going on in mind
Time to think retrospectively as to all that's possible in the present moment of time.

weathered fingertips in sensual crescendo
arouse blitzing keystrokes to commove
wild Js and Zeds, Ks and Is too.
harmony of the king's three-thousand acre jungle
swallowing the stormy orange cyclical stew

and tantamount to its feral cavities
thrushes whet jagged spinal bones to split
news of the no-rhythm, sambas of new religious canter
infiltrates the **** cavernous walls

This inner ear and greater sound
knew to find sanctuary here.
Lends its awesome craft to the next
And next, and next, and next;

beautiful unboxed melodies
new unused sweet single-reeds
threading that 20s centrifuge.
Saxophone. Incantations unfolding

Aloof in its ***** it unwraps
The veil of green, a costume of black coffees
Cigarette stained curtains exhumed to greet
Thick plumes of albicant sinewy smoke
At the heap of its glorious song

Uniting the funnel of eardom to consecrate
Bliss. Intrinsic and purple
An irrational knot of Portuguese drum
Met over by African toms and rattles

A glue imbued into those unmistakable
Chakras of this spell of mourning and reversed
Names of starlight girls and their other'd selves
These are the weapons of our new key strokes.

And upon the cortex it reveals this lift anew
Where death greeted me to intervene a place
Where sound and silence meet, and new strikes
Put my hands in halves. Pear-shaped birds pecking
At the joints, and where bowl-shaped tones bring

Their impeccable limbs to atone with auburn and cerise soils
Beneath the high ridges of doom- the empowering backspace
Does not exist, only new nothingnesses and their hooves
Splashing into each step into the next, and the next, and the next,
And the next.

Alice is alive and breathing in the resin gilded air. Inside the dream canopy. Fresh ears crafting **** melodies, ripe and crimsony.

Sound will not be my weapon. Mathematics will not be my disclaimer. Open me into the politics of your bathroom monologue, until the numbness of this methodical dialtone unravels the second heart and your tongue wraps the minutes on the bridge of your heaving vowels.

Class undoes no misery. Desperate limited eyes grabbing for other desperate imitating eyes. Sand undoes the fingertips, soldering one insanity to the next.

Dear Amber Rose,

El pueblo unido jamas sera vensido.
(A city united would never be beaten)
"Half naked and I'm still not asking for it" - some crazy chick

Poem begins:
You are preaching women empowerment.
Dress how you dress make your self feel ****
Even it means wear nothing while walking in the streets.
I get the motive of your movement **** Walk I guess that's what we should be teaching our daughters.
But if you're dancing on that ***** pole now that's a different story.
Tell us how many ***** you had to **** to make it to the glory.
Hard to preach to a generation that glorifies strippers and undermines knowledge.
I am so pro women but **** like **** Walk and so on are the reason we are separated
men and women segregated.
Your biggest concern is what next party you are hosting, while these young girls are all confused about their bodies getting liposuction.
Trying to be you
Trying to be you
But why? when even Wiz Kalifa depicted you as an object and didn't glorify.
***** is power between the right pair of legs.
Tell us how many motel sheets have you gotten wet.
Such a shame our ancestors probably turning in their graves. Lauryn Hill wasn't naked and sold more then Nicki, Iggy, and Kim combined.
The real definition of a role model
Guess that's why you differ
Since you're a *** model.
To ***** licious to be a runway model.
But perfect for the *** shot I want to spray up in your mouth model.
Then go kiss your son with the same lips you rocked the mic model.
Women rights is not about a dress code.
Is so much deeper but what can be expected from a stripper.

El pueblo unido jamas sera vensido.
(A city united would never be beaten).
El pueblo unido jamas sera vensido.
(A city united would never be beaten)

Sincerely,
A concerned father

It hurts when you leave
I wish you could stay
If only just one more minute
Just one more minute
Of laying next to you
Just one more minute
Of being with you
Just one more minute
Of not feeling alone
Just one more minute
Of looking at your beauty
Just one more minute of bliss

I never wanted someone
As much as I want you
I'd give **** near anything
To be with you
I'd say anything
To have you in my arms
And I would do everything
To wake up next to you

In my next life I want a pomeranian puppy
& to stand again on the Roaches

& to be able, unlike now, to swim
& to (once more) fence on Thursdays & tap dance on Saturdays

In my next life I want to see a Hurricane
with my own eyes & write a song about it

In my next life I want to be an astronaut
remarking how in Space, there is no rain

& to read tabloid newspapers
in Orbit for the gossip & want this

In my next life I do not want
to be a poet, unless it means

unlike now, being with you
because without you, these poems mean nothing.

Two Frenchmen,
One newly retired,
One still a few years out,
In high back leather chairs
Beside an empty fire place,
Guinness & coffee & conversation
To bring closure,
And to think how to begin again....

"I'm burned out!"
Mssr. Rivere declares,
"Away with books;
Away with the horn!"
He says, and I can tell,
That he feels worn.

Is this how we come to our ends;
Spent in years and worn of halls,
Chalk and marker memories,
And the clattering of chairs....
Old opening lines, closing remarks,
Grading done and logged,
And now it's out we're turned
To walk upon the parks,
Once quicker steps now trudging
Up and down the eternal stairs?

Memories' mellowed now,
And sometimes failing;
Shall we go sadly sighing,
Or do we go out flailing?

At these crossroads,
Care-worn teachers,
Revert to old philosophy,
To faith, and to our friends...
Ancient lines to lead us
Too soon to be old men....

Must look all ways, we,
Then venture out again
To see what lies beyond
The pasts we leave behind;
Take pause this afternoon
Upon the marge
Of journeys new
We must begin.

You were always gone,
I was always wrong.
I'm happy to know now that you were just another one.
And I'm the only one of your another's that now is gone.
Next..

i've been thinking about
now
too much that i've forgotten
before's and next times also known as after's
still exist