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“What happens now?” she said, as they gazed upon the ocean atop a cliff of no return and it seemed the options limited.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” replied the sky with its hue of deep blue and wispy clouds floating about aimlessly.

“This must be a lesson,” she acknowledged, and began to ponder the varied circumstances surrounding her worry.

“Indeed,” whispered the pine tree weathered by the storms it had soldiered throughout the decades of standing tall.

“It is a lesson in patience!” shouted the ant, with voice barely heard yet tireless duties no doubt indispensable to the surroundings.

“I see you,” murmured the girl as the wind cradled her shoulders like a mother’s hug and guided forward on.
©2024
Berry Blue Jun 26
You plant thoughts as leaves gently wander,
Passions pulse through pathways, profound and precise,
In the purity of petals, where phronesis lies.

You, the paragon of patience, a perennial sage,
With palms that nurture petals, planting wisdom on each page.
Under the pergola of pondering, you prune with care.

From the garden of the mind, in a perpetual maze,
Paving pathways of purpose,
In the garden, pure thoughts are found

BB
Jamesb Jun 21
So you have bombed the dam
And released your rage
Upon the valley below,
Sought to sweep away
That which irks,
Destroy me and us,
Move on triumphant
From all that was,
Just as you have before,

Yet there is a flaw in your
Rank intent to wipe clean
The slate and me remove
From your life
And the one we shared,
Because in amongst the
Eddies of the valley flooded
By your rage,
I am still here standing

With arms outstretched

Waiting on your return
Man May 16
Should I be rendered deaf and blind again,
For it would be too late.
I came, I saw, I conquered;
Of the grapes of wrath,
I fermented victory.
Jeremy Betts Jun 7
Feeling like half the man I used to be
I look to the sky desperately
Noticing something I don't usually see
The moon keeping the sun company
But the visual hit a little differently
Like I unknowingly unlocked some mystic mystery
Probably due to the particular mindset I'm in currently
But looking back at me was a half moon in all it's majesty
And I thought about it's cycle, it's personal journey
From full to empty then back again for all of eternity
Then my thoughts drift back to me,
Back to that feeling of illegitimacy
And this new found possibility
Based on the moon cycle imagery
Could it be something I could copy?
I guess I'll have to wait and see
But a sliver of hope, like the sliver of a crescent moon, may be all I need...maybe
Maybe I too could be whole again if I just move forward patiently

©2024
Ken Pepiton Jun 2
----------- SYTF E
War stories, secret fifty years,
then Trumps team added enough
for the names on the payroll to die.

Here we go again,
let's visit 1892 Nietzsche,
let's recollect the opera of it all,

We had characters, and complexes,
all from these sprachen mit Zararthustra,
unglaublichkeit
kein weg, wir wissen, es tut mir leid.
- we are barred from war study.
Dulles Brothers,
Wick trimmer John,
***** war to fix the judges.
So, intention to twist a human hair.
- in my judgement, its allowed
Frizzy splitting, dry broken ends,
caught there in the web,
seen fly's eyes close,
that proves you,
your code,
at attention, present in the scene,
we know the drill,

or so we have been led to believe.
Taught, trained, gently fed a fear,
of being selectable by the art intuit init

running on sense if
ever was a muse
used to tell time
to seem sequential,
after the hallelujah, in the ritual mass,
- peace on earth- heard under stars

message to the many from the few,
though the many be accused of shame
from ignorance evinced in use of tools,

IT as a calling is new, AI invented it,
MyTechPeople used it, the idea that
other people sell their know how, using

code, to identify the attention deficit
disorder undermined by primordial
old time rights of record rising on yes,

as the one word answer./
Used at instants, invisible at freeway speeds.
There are these moments, mental events, haps, indeed,
that's pretty near what I here is pertnear pertinent to mind conformation.
I loved you
as a thief
loves his secrets

buried you deep
where surface-level
lies
could hide you

I
wanted you
needed you
lost you
wanted you more
wanted you deeper
felt you
wanted you sorely
needy
I craved you
felt your lips
down my back
'tween my legs
on my soul
breathing into me
your spirit
your charm
your wit
your laughter

I'll never forget
your voice
the soothing grace
of how you felt
beneath me
in our dreams
in our living nightmare
of being alone
wanting
lying
falling asleep
in the arms of the ghosts
we've made
of each other...
I wrote this, thinking of someone who I am unsure whether I drove her off, let her go, or missed her coming toward me.

It hurts, thinking of the possibilities.
By how this poem came ready to speak its truth, I know she was special.
I just don't know if she was real...
Ken Pepiton Apr 30
No investment.
No skin off my nose.
- went back to Fool's day
- and then back to all in, free

No loss in time's eternity,
ended in the awesome knowing.

All trials in the ready past, ordo,

Seclorum Sanctorum Ordo, aside

ordinarily free visitor alien status,
-not allowed, they say, my status
holding no sway,
as a free spirit, they
no say, in the way things work here,
-crosswind to all good fortune

now was set to be long
before me, or thee,
verily
very mankindish, we may make do
imaginable causal agencies,
amen-emo-pet insurance
points in prepositioned order,
as we meander after looking out
past the creation of the sun,

some say, and may know, but we,
the common sensors on the planet,
amused and amusing others as well,

we are finishing a projected imagination,
the rites of spring, proposed as worthy
of our Fantasia evolution from Fool's Day,
through several saints days and processions,

all about the passions,
all appointed anointed salves
slick as any Bucky ball solutions
to the smooth, slave mind fear, hell,

set the captives free, break every yoke,
find the shibboleths and laugh at those,

not the accents ya'll'll use to abuse,
the speaker who stumbles …
tongue tied
while quoting Cretan poets.
This begins the next the last chapter
in a novel effort exerting
cohesion to seasonal changes on a long now clock.
i watched her extinguish
one of the candles
with dainty fingertips
while i hastily blew
the other one out
with a puff of cheeks
trying to be helpful
but getting it wrong
seeing what i had done
she scalded me playfully
deep down meaning it
telling how a candle
should never be put out
in that way

for blowing it out risks
expelling the positivity
all of the happiness
that its burning
had built up for those
who first lit that wick
bathing in the glow
of its healing light
that flickering flame
that keeps our shadows
dancing together
arm in arm
even if we simply
remain wrapped up
sat side by side

i don't believe
her theory necessarily
but i am left wondering
of all the candles
i have ever blown out
birthday celebrations
cosy evenings in
candle-lit meals
if what she says is true
i can't help but think
about those moments
of happiness and joy
that i have wasted
simply blown away
with a vacant breath
and an unwitting mind
David Hilburn Apr 22
Was sexier fun
Asleep, when thumbs excite...
The reason we wait on home
Is a secret in the wind, might?

Patient couth, with curves
Have asked us to walk by
And say hello to what worths
Seldom in love, a taste of pretty why?

Soap
And the honor, of a glaring
With the times, and a little hope
Hot on staring heels, we find caring

To be a magnificent kiss
Dragons with needy eyes first
A whole moment, alone in a world is...?
A wish to become better, before worst...

Do children know these things?
Do adults share what wisdom saw?
Do canny austerity, save any being?
Do a safer show of sensitivity, begin at home?
Feeding the first one home, when you never left, when only thoughts will do
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