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Ken Pepiton May 30
If I ever taught poets to read
the worth of knowing when
in life to pretend to know
what it is that makes
a boy become man,
the couplet
rhyming died and lied,

Here it is, my Ai had it for me…
----
Kipling, Common Form:
If any questions why we died,
Tell them, because our fathers lied.
-------------
Future ever
when the glory
of military privilege lures the young
to follow a National Pride Promotion,

-another war for holy reasons
to end all wars, if we win...
then
Common Form

that one would be read,
in all my classes,
if If were ever mentioned, as essential.

------------ a response ---- how can I say I know

----- or think, why, I know Kipling felt shame
I know I would.

I have wept with men who believed such lies.
If.
If was written at the height of the Great Game in Kim,
Jungle Book was written
for the son born during the Raj
whose eyesight exempted him

but, he was the son If addressed,
as were all his upper class mates.

John died
in his first ww1 combat
at the age
of almost 18.

What son
of the man who wrote If
would not,
confess the pressure
to join the righteous push against the Huns.

What laureled poet would not regret,
the call to courage only faith
in truth commands
-we must believe the call
to defend the faith

stiff upper lip, keep calm, carry on
taken as a lesson
from a horror, drilled deep
into any real warrior,
real men won't miss
a chance to fight...
to learn the price
of cowardice
- who can resist such urge
the charge, ours not
to reason why, ours but
to do, and die

If you can keep your head, my son…


the lie he relied -- any surviving father
would not be proud, he would grieve, just walk in his shoes.

War ought never be given glory nor honor, hate is man made.
Truth validates poetic license, but I know Kipling regretted that his son loved IF. Teacher's tasks should not be any person's first National Duty... nor should the office of President beheld by a liar, but that's the way it is, not always, just now.
Peace doesn’t always mean
something good.
I’ve seen different kinda peace
some are worse than wars.
The sharp taps of the clock await my silence to break free from my wistful whisper—to never hear it while my eyes are shot open, to find my nerve and trigger it—as the sadness carefully passes through my system. Too far gone to care, leaving me paralyzed in a cold, soft, sinking bed.

It was a momentary piece where my head had the sensation of being stroked like piano keys, where a soft yet disturbing melody filled the place, and I closed my eyes, lulling me to my deep slumber.

There’s that unknown peace where a deep slumber could lead to an eternal doom—where the past, the present, and the future collide together, where everything exists together, whether in a beautiful song that’s pieced together, or loneliness held in thousands of agonies.

One thing is for sure, I have the guts to love the doomsday, and all things are possible because it is the end of May.
I haven’t been writing for months already. Maybe because I use my time to stuff my soul with the tasks in my work. Lately, I have not been feeling well. I know in my soul, there is an itch of hopelessness and anxiety. But I’m holding myself together.

For myself today, and for myself in the future.

I was able to come back into writing because of this song: Staying - Lizzy McAlpine
Maria May 29
In this funny ol’ thing we call life,
the world is full of hatred and strife.
Wars are waged, and tears are shed,
at the very same time that people are wed.

We flick between channels of misery and hope,
turning our brains off just so we can cope.
“Why should we change? We only will suffer!”
Don’t think of the ones for whom it is rougher.

So much changes, but some things remain,
peace and joy will always come with pain.
‘What is a human?’ I begin to wonder,
as the rain pours down and it begins to thunder.

Perhaps we are destined to suffer alone,
but at the end of the day, we are just blood and bone.
We stand, balancing hope on the edge of a knife,
in this funny ol’ thing that we call life.
In this cruel world the lioness lived
so much different, they all believe
But I stood still and saw her beauty
her face her body and gave my duty

I like her hair whose change its shade
Her smile a star above that god has laid
Myth brought up to life, her curves displayed
bright deep red and soft pink orange

An art that shines beyond the range
when I glimpse her face some lights erupt
the northern lights whose beauty can’t be corrupt

But I don’t care about this prettiness
all I care is if she owns some kindness
an olive bearing, JAH’s dove
I feel her humanity, peace and love

Just got to know her not just by name
A wild bold spark I couldn’t tame
she’s belligerent, brave a pepper flame
charging through life with no hint of shame

Spontaneous soul with a brilliant mind
a fierceness that’s rare yet beautifully kind
determined and sharp with a laugh that flies
you see the storm and the sun in her eyes

her heart is huge her spirit unchained
with charisma so deep it can’t be explained
at times she’s cynical quick with a jest
but soft in her core, more than the rest

Her smile disarms her charms aware
she walks with confidence proud and brave

I also like some piercing tattoos and dreadlocks
but these are extras and only talks
so my taste is understandable and relatively unique
so all I left is a lioness to seek.

With faith divine our hearts align,
our passion of JAH is a sign
I’ll live with her, our faith will grow,
in love, in peace, where humanity flow.

Together we’ll live, in faith so true,
with love and peace to guide us through.
To share my life and faith with her,
in love and peace, our hearts concur.

With her beside me, I will say,
I believe in love peace and humanity every day.
praise and thanks to JAH the one.
enjoy!
Let me hold you between my two hands.
You have schmutz on your face and
Fleas in your fur, Poor baby.

Your head sags between your shoulders.
Your tail retreats beneath you
Don’t be scared, sweet baby.

I have something nourishing for you to eat.
Let me love you, you deserve it.
Please don’t bite, Honey baby.

For forever I will reach out to rescue you.
Knowing you will fight me for it.
Always will I wait, my love.
My Dear Poet May 27
This heart makes room
for those without place
find a chair
a bed
some peace
some space
my heart’s your home
make it sweet
inside my heart
not at my feet

This heart makes room
come and hide
at the heart of my soul
not by my side
my heart is warm
a fireplace
come abide in me
beneath my gaze
it’s quiet here
within my chest
come now
come sleep
find your rest
Mri May 27
He watches the moon day by day,
Observing its nightly display.
But he doesn't quite see,
That the moon shines for him, wild and free.
A person thinks his/her love is one-sided but the person doesn't realise his efforts made his/her unrequited love into two-sided love.
Looking at your crush from distance,admiring them but person is oblivious of reciprocation of the moon.
Artis May 27
Paradise,

A dream
With no screams,
No tears being shed.

No questions,
Only answers.

A world with no fight,
No bloodshed—
-
Only peace,
Harmony,
Companionship,
No Judgment
No killing,
-
A world where
We aren’t controlled
By our fears
Of the darkness
In the world
We live in.

A world
Where love
Wins
In the game of life—
-
Where kindness
Walks the streets freely,
Not bound by chains,
Not set free
Only when
There’s something to gain.
        
Paradise,
Every soul is seen,
Every voice is heard—
Where hearts reach out
Without fear,
And healing
Is no longer a dream.

Here,
We don’t expect paper,
Or wealth.
There is no greed.
Everyone opens
Their arms.
-
Everything is free—
Given,
Not taken.
Supported,
Not scolded.

A place,
To belong.
Where silence
Means peace—
Not loneliness,
-
Love isnt a option
Its a necessity.
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