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Ken Pepiton Jun 18
wondering at wonderful things, wonder
being my word,
meaning something to me as sure as
meaning anything to you, or them, the others,

those, there, beyond us, makers of stars
from matter in time, using power
by any name, called to make ready
a place for me.

Centered self-centering, spinning energy and
nought into creamy nougat
sweet and salty

but, E itself, power filled hosts of forces,

ha, some men trust in horses, now measurements,
horsepower, taken in from out,
observe the fact, fine act, great quest
made- p-ting snowball earth phase,

preparation of this place,
for us, not us alone, but us involved,
folded into the batter before the baking.

Co-ignition.
Sudden, at scale,
Massive, at scale as well. Immaterially.

Light first. Nay,
think, others thought this through

I flatter myself that I have discovered---

waste O2.

-- in the span of mind time, autotrophic
timespace where does e come from

phototroph
chemotroph

whence comes stuff, heterotrophs

chemoautotrophs, absolutely
in-credible, how does any mind wonder?

-----------

Stamp my little boy foot and swear,
I shall prove death has no sting.

I shall think
of our sun, source
of life
in our bubble
of being.

It is imagined, by professional learners of such,
that the inter-stellar medium
holds cloud like structures,
in my day we called them nebulae, today
we may surmise, I suppose, promise
together surreal, point to miser's misery,

Midas, Phrygian king, washed clean of his curse.
Baptism at work, in the story of reasons for war.

Was the death to be immediate, or must we wait.
What knowledge bred this means, these letters,
letting us learn the memories,

first stories of broken curses that were first wishes.
We wish we were as wealth, as bling,
the thing, the will to be loved for my own good,
the beast that lay beside the door, waiting,

allusive link to ancient knowledge, used knowns,
knowns used to build the nations whose weapons

must be fed.

And not by bread alone, by my leave,
I learned, the story used to make money
the core reason for war's use of pride,
to make glorious loyalty honorable,
by the time the military mind
matures to use the values,
those to hope for glory,
those minimize truth,
key freedoms known
held under loyal lock down.

Sense.
Common sense, some is not
evenly spread across the gap.

You may never have heard a search,
with helicopters, the after silence,

then, the peace, pure re-
lief as well, laugh let out, you know,
we are invisible,

so we dance where we touch.
Friction ridges caress our valleys,
with swirly rippling Erotes, giggling.

Tuning to a single line of reason,
reasoning I know nothing, as I ought,
I thought, per
haps, gathered happenings, overtime
thinking why in full Kerrigan angst at WHY!
Dunning-Krueger.
Rhetorical quest punctuation, bang. Pre-
tend to pay attention, at the exclamation,
"For crying out loud, don't you know
ANYTHING?"
Rhetorical all caps loudness, registers, in
tentional, attended to,
appropriately,
ignored, as the current opinion
forms followers,
swirls of fast and slow linking interstellar medium

in our wake, as we take life in passing so near,
one mind
one time, see I knew it was me and not you,
who pulled the loose thread to open the sack,
and spill the beans.

Now it's Tuesday,
on time and wisdom, I was thinking,

the noble question B. Franklin proposed

as the noblest in the world:
What good can I do in it?

What good to know do I know?

Well, well, as an interjection, cast
in the word use we are making sense
from
for an instant, now and then,

Yes,
this idea that we exist as related
by lines that link us as fibers in yarn,

conscious use of science, learning
the winding of the bobbin,
and the rhythm of the treadle,

the perfect pinch and firm gentle tug

catch a whisp of wool pulled from distaff
to spindle

and singing all the while, to the muse

---------------
A thread spinner, not a weaver
of novel patterned knots and crosses,
novel, none the less, some olden
but, well, twisted fiber strands,
formed with certain genetic magic
from soil and water and time… I am.
Sure to leave my moment seeming so.

To leave my being so, to let me be,
not the bearer of tales, but the twister.

Some times, well, once, I imagined
spinning ghost turds into threads,

-- the bogus science, bovine male excre-
mental mind boggled constipastory explo-

it. Done, punish me or pay me, I care less.

------------
Not the only version of this knack,
have I,
I've not the rhyming step step slide version,
nor the read out loud oral interpretation version,

permitting
*per- (5)

Proto-Indo-European root meaning
"to traffic in, to sell,"
an extended sense
from root *per- (1) "forward, through"
via the notion
of "to hand over" or "distribute."

It forms all or part of:
appraise;
appreciate; depreciate;
interpret;
praise;
precious; price; & *******
by way of
pornē "*******,"
originally "bought, purchased"
from traffickers in abandoned words,

idled by devious psychsyncing punishing
similar spinning propensities in fluid pre thread
mind windings, ready to retell, as if we all think

we understand the Goldilocks paradox.

Pull your version of the moral in the story,
who do you think Goldilocks symbolized,

deep in the thinking of your child mind?
What color are you, while you imagine
three bears? How forgiving are you
to your invaders?

High Jack,
have you any wool,
we spun the lord's and madam's

and found none for the widow's
children down the lane?

Are ye daft, Poet, mad as lead'll
make ye? Have ye taken to spacing
unkerned letters and lines with old

lead type weights to use gravity assist,

cam, see, loop de loop, and spin and spin,

threads to weave cover,
threads to weave rough leggings,
slow, so slow would be the learning

without notions popping up from nowhere,
as that man called the fool on the hill,
continues to redeem idled words,
and silently sing perhaps praise.

Worthship, measure of effort to enjoy,
get it.

It is the economy,
take joy as yours where you make it.
Peace, too.
---------
and thus not really any of my busy-ness
that I am to mind as my own, strictly
speaking translatable speils as wisdom,

Sophos, herself. per se,
they say she is the spirit in the works,
omakes ur will to make something from our
selves, our advantage as language users,
with letters translated chchchanges
into all understood
by using
simple child morals used
during emperical propagation.

To know wisdom and instruction;
to perceive the words
of understanding;

To receive the instruction
of wisdom, justice, and judgment, and equity;

To give subtilty
to the simple,
to the young man knowledge and discretion.

--- await the call, simple kind of man, listen
did you never read the rules for ready writer
status among the unemployable gifted sifters
of dust amidst the wonders of life in haps past

dare I hook a poem here,
after that very likely the, bluebird of happiness,
flew by me singing, twice, today, per haps

you stumbled into my realm,
I blew my mind in 69, and I am without guile,
no need, no greedy habit crying feed
feed feed the need to grow the talent, eh, weight
and see, fact check me, how heavy
was a talent in pure money
at the moment, back when
the metaphor this fits in as a piece,

was used to test the discerning disciple,

was it Diego? Si, yo crero per
haps, the meaning of things, and the matter
with words, is perceptual, per is a polimental,

many ways perhaps evolve comprehension,
little senses we have in common, luck factors,
time and place chances we be the readers ready

to bring justice and equity
to the beguiled and nonguiled,
while converting the guilty to con-
scientious objection to past proofs re-
proving the efficiency of meandering mind
streams
fluid fiber memory imagined in the Eighties,
here,
my old haunts, hang around,
we meet Suzi Creamcheese, she say, Uready,

we say, may be,
and so it is, with wisdom, James,
and so it is, indeed, first peaceable,
gentle, easy to treat kindly, no warring
spirit meetings of the convinced required,

wisdom works at a word taken for granted,
idling at stop signs where you looked both ways
and listened, as a child, and you escaped death,

time and again, what nearly killed you, did not,
and your life has not been dull, but worth it,
did it, with a happy ever, after all's said and done,

but, that won't happen here today.
Old war reasons asked the mystery to seem too easy to believe...sso I volunteered to lead the search for the old way men made haps gentle enough to ride.
Heike Borgard Jun 18
In the night, so calm and clear,
lies a land mystic and dear,
glowing lamps, tender, slight,
softly sway in amber light.

Fairyland awakes by night,
in the silence lies the might,
stars are twinkling, water gleams,
lake rests still in moonlight's beams.

Every tree stands proud and tall,
guarding over ancient hall,
faeries dance in hideaway,
soft music plays for them to sway.

And the wind it carries songs,
from fairyland, where they belong,
whispers them to dreamers too,
giving night its peaceful hue.

Fairyland awakes by night,
in the silence lies the might,
stars are twinkling, water gleams,
lake rests still in moonlight's beams.
© Heike Borgard 2024
(inspired from a picture I draw with copilot)
Traveler Jun 15
No matter a poet’s personal views
we are all symbiotic
with the eternal muse..

Just when you think you have it all figured out
a new pattern distorts the mystery..
All a poet can possibly do
is try to be on the right side of history.

We hold to our truths
as cogs in a divine façade.
In a matrix that’s much too copious
to possibly know it all.

Emotional states distort our perceptions.
Love and hate
the eternal *******..

The plasticity of heart allows a path
to bending without breaking…
A dark night of the soul,
several or so
can lead you to an awaken.
Traveler 🧳 Tim
Hello Daisies Jun 13
I longed for
peace and fun
    some sense of belong-ing
              never wrong doing

I needed you
I wanted you
I ran for you
every day
it's all I knew
I didn't know
you
    I wanted to
I
     wanted
                    to.

you ran away from
me
ran away from peace
you kept running
and I kept falling behind
losing my mind
as you left
losing your breath
                                       so fast
gone with the wind
gone with the tide
every tide
another lie
another poem
another one gone
another frown
into my own arms
twirling and hating
shaming and blaming
always gone
never found.

the tide would win
bruises were found
hide my frowns
never a crown
always a clown
with you
longing for you
what could I do
what could I be
you were lost
inside the sea
lost without me
a sense of being

who are you?
why are you?
will I ever find you?
did I ever have you?
why do you torture me?
why do you paint me so dark
and blue
leaving out all the other hues
why can't you see me as I am
as my true
my true self
....there you go again
run run running
away
at the thought of another quake
inside my brain
another flake
falling into grains
falling into it's own pieces
melted inside my bowl
my bowl spills empty
there you go
you always know

always know
how to empty my bowl

I'll keep chasing
I'll keep racing
sometimes I break
break into two
I love me
or do I love you
can't it be both?
love for all?
forgiveness and all that?
I guess you'll never know that
maybe I won't either ...

I keep running
running away
from me
running away from you
I tire now
of all this running
when ?
tell me sweet little voices
when?
when will i truly get to know you
stop running
start loving
please
start
    pouring
             my bowl is empty
start the rain
stop the shame
let me dance in the rain
                                       with   you
preston Jun 11

Sparkles and stars,
there is a brilliance in the sky
and a darkness, all around it

Child of wonder
child of Light
Oh my Lord, child

Please hold on tight

The worst of monsters
come out at night
A wingless child

Cannot take flight

Wonder, young child
Let the Light  in you
emit from your wild

Chasing all you have known
that causes  such fright

A grass covered field
A rolling, green hill
On your back,  you look up

To a sky, brilliant blue

Until the blue  I see
becomes the vastest  of oceans
now, below me

On a windless, cloudless day


Wonder, young child
And watch all the monsters
float away



I looked up at the tallest building
Felt it falling down
I could feel my balance shifting
Everything was moving around
These streets so fixed and solid
All shimmering haze

And everything that I relied on
  disappeared

Downside up, upside down
Take my weight from the ground
Falling deep in the sky
Slipping in the unknown

All the strangers look like family
All the family looks so strange
The only constant I am sure of
Is this accelerating rate of change

Downside up, upside down
Take my weight off the ground
Falling deep in the sky
Slipping into the unknown

I stand here
Watch you spinning
Until I am drawn in
A centripetal force
You pull me in

Pull me in

https://youtu.be/WZ2hY6Fetw0?si=WvZY6UMU_-MxApkX

ovo xo
Man Jun 8
The stork flew today,
High on over the valley;
A beautiful dream
Traveler Jun 4
War is war
destruction and death!
Peace is peaceful
You can feel it
in your every step

Living in dugouts
Shell shocked retreats
Waiting for no more
then a certain defeat

Who deserves
to experience hell
upon this earth
where we all dwell?

Shall we pretend
and close our eyes
as the west continues
to sell their lies?

Peace is simple
beneath the covers
We just stop killing
each-other!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
JA Perkins May 30
Outside my window,
I hear a lonely dog wail
his tired nightly woes

His echoed alarms
interrupt an otherwise
quiet summer night
Haiku
My Dear Poet May 29
a little piece please
just a little piece

for the hole in my soul
to fill the whole of my soul

just a little piece of peace
for me
neth jones Jun 2
greedy to give                                                        
you’­re a cram    born of septic inflammation
                            you fist to govern gods will
gods will gods-will-god-swill-god-swill
gills pouching and punching   a gush of oxygen
and it's give-give-give (beat-beat-beat)
regorging from within
above all ; love
spunking out love-love-love (heat-heat-heat)
and  oh lord of the texture
all the children cupped   under the golden wing
measureless rush   of giving joy
and a returned rush of gratitude                                          
             ­                   and worship will surely be fellow
a flourish of life
lush to follow   the sporing warfares demise
(later  to perform it's own tidal demise)

                 - lapping
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