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Traveler Nov 2020
From the book of
“ I say so ‘s”
(Not Isaiah)

Nothing can really be described
yet a poet paints a picture
in your mind

No one can be converted
until their truth
has been perverted

Lies needs to be believed
the truth doesn’t
we’ve all believed
a lie that wasn’t

There’s no future
there’s no pass
there’s only the present
Life is a state of either
Pain, pleasure or pleasant

Do not stop desiring to desire
The meaning of your life
Lies within your passions!
Traveler Tim
Yanique Zimmer Nov 2020
Would you slip into my skin and spend the night?
And after that, slow dance in front of a bigoted populace that seeks uniformity in the minds of us happy few?
Would you mind if I carried you away from our performance and showed you a special kind of spirituality?
The kind that guides and intensifies beauty but is considered evil and immoral to those who never seem to understand us. Those who comfort to and rot in subjective complexity, cognitive normality and traditional toxicity, manifested by history and old, yet matured minds.
My lord, would you mind if I showed you a world you might hate less? Long enough for me to create you a world that you will love more.
For you see, I owe you nothing but love and happiness. For you have shown me nothing less of that.
Yanique Zimmer Nov 2020
I say to you, my dear.
The sky seems darker, when you turn away.
Grains of sand seem to be less tempting to count, when you turn away.
The light in my eyes die out, when you turn away.
The smoke from a pleasant, yet random gentleman's cigarette and the bottle filled with blood red wine belonging to a wise, yet mysterious lady calls to me, when you turn away.
The objectiveness of morality seems pointless, when you turn away.
The soft words of your soul seem lost in translation. Your plea for peace sounds absurd. My selfishness seems rational. Your cries for me to change are lost in void. The meaning of your love becomes a forgotten proverb - when you turn away.
For your attention gives meaning and your beauty is an inspiring art; the magnum opus I shan't live without.
Bhill Oct 2020
a pleasant memory of riding in cars
taking us to places so near and so far
looking out the windows in amazement and wonder
as we pass all the sights that make our minds ponder
the freeways, the streets, the canyons, and alleys
rolling along at great speeds and right through the valleys
through the window you see, a whole different world
as the wheels roll along and the sights are unfurled...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 298
I made my way
finally
to Point Pleasant
I crossed the Silver Bridge
and walked the blood soaked fields
where the Battle of Kanawha took place
I walked the streets and absorbed the energy
that hovered like unseen clouds
I approached an older woman walking her dog. She was very sweet and made me think of my Mom, God rest her soul. I knew there would be no harsh words or anger from this gentle lady.
I asked her with a friendly smile if she had a story of the Mothman she might share.
'Not the Mothman, she said...but I do have a story.
One from childhood that I've yet to tell anyone, not even my parents. I was maybe 11 or 12 and walking home after playing and it was getting late. I caught something out of the corner of my eye. When I looked, I saw a large plane losing altitude. It just came closer and closer until it leveled out and passed by very close. So close that I could see the passengers in their seats looking straight ahead, silhouetted against the light behind them. I could see their faces. It went by and then gained altitude again. The strangest thing is that I never heard a sound.
I'm not sure why I told you that story. I always felt that people would think I'm crazy. I suppose I can see that you are truly interested. So there you have it.'

I saw the museum, the ammo bunkers and TNT plant and went back to the hotel. I awoke the next morning to find two odd looking drops of blood on my pillow...still fresh. It startled me and I got up to see if it may have come from my ear. As I headed to the bathroom, I noticed more blood on the foot of the bed. In the bathroom there were 2 spots of fresh blood on the floor. I checked the mirror and found no blood in my ears. No nicks from shaving. No nicks on my arms, shoulders, neck or head. I have no idea whatsoever where that blood originated. And here's what really spooked me. They look like 2 very strange faces.

There were no phone calls from Indrid Cold. No prophecies of planes crashing or bridges collapsing, but I left Point Pleasant, West Virginia with a distinct and clear sense that I had tapped into an energy, peeked behind the curtain of Oz and maybe, just maybe I got their attention.
true story - forgive me if it needs editing. I'll get back to it and review later
Mark Wanless May 2020
open window
i listen to bird
warm pleasant air
Emily Mitchell Feb 2020
Winter Winds stinging
bringing hot tears to my eyes
pleasantly painful?
Written November 9th 2018 inspired by the cold wind blowing through the wind tunnel alley that I used to have to walk through to get to work. The building that formed one side of the alley isn't there anymore oh well...
Kale Nov 2019
sad
I am not sad
I am not sad
I am not sad
The darkness keeps
Eating away at the remnants
Of the pleasant facade
That I built for myself
But I am not sad
Until I am returned to
The Earth from which
I was born
I will refuse to make
The inconvenience
Of my sadness drag
Me into a pit of darkness
I am not sad
I am not sad
I am not sad
I am not
sad
Leslie Ledezma Apr 2019
the horses are still beside the hill
the hotel still has a neon sign
that’s pleasant as the wild way he would
say it as it is
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