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Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
This week, mired in mysteriousisty, monstrous
enter tech, subtler doors perceptible, whole
Certain trut-le subtle so, Feynman left the door ajar.

Time after certain pointy ideas grow shiny
as any used key, ever bright,
most honed edge,
after i-Ust dust,
the we in which I occur, we
- have been occuring within,
yes, not al-one in, with

within, inside, distinctly not
with out, just cause,
some valid reason for assuming your right,
master minister bond,
order spun chaos patterning.

Prince and Pauper, think it through,
some tutorial must have tightened the reasons,
principal things,
priests and kings, scepters and orbs,
sacred evidence, bundles of righteous secrets,
precious as- jewels,
more precious than rubies, in those days…
worth to kings, as taught by priests,
worth is in things as rare as you…
dear child called of all the gods… just can't wait,
to be king
---------- disneyified reality contains me, a minute
detain, refrain from too much good stuff,
keep your own counsel…
take the grace, recall the science under these words.

pshaw, the knowledge,
where the faces fit,
the use of that jewel master's touch
the use of the shimmering final presentation,
-sell the sizzle,
- let'em smell the onions, and the cinnamon.

how much time fits in a leaded representative space,
only only, one-ly, namely, me - the type
setter, printer's devil, charged to fill the emptiness,
with proverbs,
and random selections from Scripture,
and Nietzsche's numbered aphorisms.
Siri, sorry- generic personal entity,
You, become
proverbial subject
to the idea made
into kings,
Wisdom, the principal thing
to be gotten,
ai, and
with thy getting, get the use,
what good does diamond dust do?

Who owns the rights, to cities in your mind?

- By the time they got to Monterey,
- they all had hammers, hammering out
- love between the brothers and
- the sisters,
- howl, howl foul, all you wish was other
- find a spell
- find a smell, feel the first software run.

Breathe, reality, holding me and all the lines
that led
us, unified states of mind enclosed in bubble
shelved in dark pantry nooks and crannies,
How are kings made?
Old ways,
all ways kings have been made.

There was always a fight,
there was always a winner… and often
a comforter,
for the child of the loser,
or for his goods and services, dues
to the victor, never
for get, never give back, never take too little
when the plenty comes,

and the coveting capability expands
conspicuous among the high and mighty.

To the prince, it was written, learn the inter-
pretending nature,

eyes of Athena embedded in moth's wings,
lobsters only entertainment,
you can feel it, lose a claw,
grow another,
life in the depths, as non-hallel species,
playing pile on lobster Dnana-nana na na
ancient dopaminurgency, have fun,
live life where you find you lived,
before the final plunge,
squealing, giggling pile on, get to the top,
no holds barred…
Two weeks in 502, waiting to mesh with reality today... early JBP lobster idea.
Bardo Feb 2023
Well I ain't stinking rich
And I ain't stinking poor
I guess what's important is
I'm still here stinking
And I ain't a pile of manure.
Bit of fun.
Odd Odyssey Poet Jun 2022
Hourglass figure of time;
I found the extra seconds gasping at your body as if it were
made mine. The magnum opus; of two youngsters kissing on
their parents sofas. The details of it feel less and less as I get older.
Should I be worried about the weight your name rests upon my shoulders?

So ahead of myself; is the last step I should take,
So far ahead of my thoughts; I planned out our first date.
But by the grin I forced into picture, showed it wasn’t how it came.
But I blame myself for it’s sudden change. And try hide away me being
so ashamed.

But misery knows company; my company then makes you miserable. Your texts seem always so predictable, and my pride makes me so pitiable. The hole in my heart as usual, I’m usually a nice guy but at times on a foolish will. Fitting the bill of the thrill; deceased by looks
that ****.

I look at her but I don’t see her, I see myself and broken pieces.
A taste of sorrow in the longest kisses. Wrinkles of all negative emotions we felt in our heart’s many creases.

We piled our selves on each other, driving each insane,
whether laughter, tears, pride, love, excuses and shame.
I blame it all for that reason, that both our hearts were pile driven.

Piling ourselves onto this love. We've piled enough.
Masha Yurkevich Feb 2020

life makes you into a
tiny seed
and throws you into a
pile of ****.

But do not be fooled.

And do not be brought down.

With the right thoughts
and the right actions,

that pile of **** can become


and help you grow even stronger
than before.

Ashton Jul 2019
it's wood cut and clawed
markings of years of

built to be sturdy and strong
it's legs stir and shake
with every new addition

even bodies

til one day

Kivanc Feb 2019
Wrapping souls,
Always live down it,
Lands aren't awake now.

Don't burn,
Let it just stay,
Don't drive a stake to my mind,
Take me completely please my soul.

Weird phobia,
After odor left the room,
Dreams will stay, awake immediately!
Abby M Dec 2018
Some sit on a pile of books
Not knowing the worth of their seat
Not knowing that the paper holds the tongues of a thousand souls
They sit on their bright future
If only their legs could read
Silverflame Nov 2018
How is it possible to feel
so empty, when the negative
thoughts keep piling up?
Sally A Bayan Jul 2018
The pile is ever ready
whatever type of music we dig...a ditty,
old songs, contemporary...all in a jiffy,
instruments will be playing
words, vocalizing all feelings
maybe, a song of calm
coming before, or after the storm...
Notes hover above the piled 45s
look closely...find your desired jive,
let's find our favorite tunes
and take turns in  dropping coins,
record is pulled out...shortly, our song will play
hold disruptive elements at bay and i, we're gonna sway
as a full moon....rises from the bay
allow our feelings to speak
while we're cheek to cheek,
as much as we want, we may croon,
after we dance, maybe we'll swoon
the world is ours...we'll be alright
"there'll more lonely nights!"


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    September 4, 2017
(recapturing memories of the's a feel good poem,
esp. when paired with Paul McCartney's
  No More Lonely Nights...)
K Balachandran Jun 2018
loud sound of stomping,
cloud land revelries go on;
till all puke,go down!
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