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we are just here
no other being really knows or cares
and the being here
is still all that matters
it is really all only for this one
all for and coming from
beautiful dream world
the mother
she is fighting back for herself
and the meek which shall inherit
we are true
we are the ones
Contemplation is like fishing.
Often my reason fails me
and I cast out into the waters
hoping I can catch that vital energy
feel its power, its resistance, its strength
that is elusive
but I know is there
and those moments of connection
with that mysterious force
give me energy.
I am alive
so I keep castings into the ocean
knowing the elan is there,
the verve that takes me from my mind
to dance, to move, to swerve
in that moment of now.

Author’s Note: I bow in gratitude to Brian McLaren and Barbara A. Holmes for their wisdom that inspired this poem and kneel in awe and thanksgiving to all the fish I have caught over the years, for the excitement and nourishment – the life they gave me.
If you are identified strongly
you are living the programming
not living
but just existing in someone else's dream
Freedom is from everything -
including identity.
Why must we use so many words?
The programming is over loaded.
Overwhelmed with it's own faulty code.
Addicted and dying from it's own infectious vaccines.

Who can stop the insanity and be still?
No one knows the extent of the damage.
Why repair outdated toilets?
Demolish and replace.
I'm over stating the obvious
choice is change for
more than positives.
It's just here and now Truth.
In a body or no.
So What Is the difference. The difference
is just you. Or whatever you think
you are as apart from the whole of the rest.
You people persons are the stupidity we all fear
and only you hate. Everything
is madness and nothing feels sane.
The world Is ... what it's always been.
what is
i can't see any sort of life past now,
it's blurry
and i don't know
what that's telling me.
you're gone again,
and this time so am i.
julius Sep 2
threading my fingers through your pink hair
warm silence rises out of open mouths
rose skin and water lilies float above water
Stands the beauty of time
Brilliance of its presence, forever felt in the now

Stands the ageing time
Mirroring its presence in the youthful now

Is the presence of time
Patiently, I wait for it to pass for now
So can it for me to utilise it wise
Ken Pepiton Aug 20
Take a tiny taste of the future,
from a keep it rural POV.

As my Gerry-rigged life, extends
as in, what soldiers did
to try to stay alive, after spare parts were pastense,
a nod to Northern Euro knackraft of olden days.

If you have the knack 'ritused to makin' broke bits
function in a state of _
unspeakable, but you'd best believe,
it makes the lights turn on,
is a gift, a knacker's gift, truth t'tell,
and put an apple on the crown of your own
first born

test the legendary ai-mmm through handlelesss
axes, was that not the tale told to children
comprehend the arrow flying on a line,
hunter children,
aware of the fish story aspect of tinker
told tales of olden times damnations.
-- {now, calculate the curve}
Aye, and our old ways work, we make you think
double minded, eh, like two cpus in 86040 days,
two clocks, eh, first, lizard level from
now to any cloud connected when,

take in a Saturday mattinee,
see it again on Sunday and wonder at the change
A POV, who you were, you are no more,
rich or poor,
this is the theatre of the mind, and mere words
rule the plain truth, smooth,
deep soft belly breath
breathed to smooth-as-silk, down to the amber
touch me now, why doncha try, we might
make matters matter more or less
a while, gentle touch,
peace passing understood rules of engagement

Transcaucusus, carriers of this old tale, Pontic
Greeks, ah, so

the book of life is not a story,
you are. And you do end up reading it.

Moses eyes, you imagined that right,
clear as any Hubbard riddle ever entered in the fray.

Old things pass away, all things are new,
on earth as it is in heaven, when some certain
begin to believe the wisdom under the idea,
public declaration across all time, then to now,
our father, passengers of earth, travailing
groaning to manifest, the will of all
truth be done truth's way,
on earth, as it is in ever after we begin
telling the truth to us
regarding the home of the free,
our shared lies that allow non-profit CEOS
Abu Dhabi level luxury,
and reward the tellers of war as fullfillment tales.

Clash of the fathers, with mothers doing nothing
I trow not, but too far, me, too, I've come

to entangle carnalmind value for cannonfodder
or breedsow worthiness,
with life,
and that,
more abundant. On the battlefielllld, after all
the only emnity is the carnal mind, on God's side.
The middle of a long timespace occurence
Norman Crane Aug 18
accepting nothing
think without disconcerting
the unity of—
Steve Page Aug 1
Past and Future stabled together – both present, tethered, and unstable.

Kindred ghosts pushed-pulled by a hopeful anxiety,
agitated by the yet unknown morning, eager to be

free.  And once freed, breaking fast, bolt-bursting, in competition
– in unison,

leaving Present to peer from the darkness
– who will win after all?
past, present and future are uncomfortable stable-mates
Rachel Rae Jul 20
Tangled twisted heart,
Tumbled down the road,
Like a scrappy skein of yarn

Knew to ride the gutter's trails,
To weave past boots that stomped and sneered,
Huddle in the cold, hide during hail

Stolen away its many days with the trash and weeds,
By rough desert winds, past red dust clouds,
Snagged and snipped on spindly trees

And with a thud, it hit at once, the ground,
When, with its last exhale, the wind withdrew
That I, left between terracotta clay rocks and budding anthill mounds,
At last looked up and saw, a sky so exceptionally blue
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