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Traveler Jan 3
I wrote my play in portions
and posted them in draft..
I’m only 62
a little over half…

The best part of life is living
Each moment fades into now
I will write forever after
I will return upon the clouds

I went searching for a meaning
Then my Poet took the stage
Now I’m staring in my encore
The best part of my play!
Traveler 🧳 Tim
Ken Pepiton Dec 2024
to what end wrestle ye with spirits in truth,
not a true Jungian complex if we slip the knot,
now, who started the dispute about right useness?

Table manners at a Norman Rockwell reenactment.

As eldest, I let my peace, first comfort me,
then extend, as joy in truth is our strength to use,
facilitate wait to see, which chocolate each remembers
- it's me as the never has been grand father
- establishing the fact that life remains
as much like a box of chocolates
as any random chance choices
acting a fan of symbiology
on holiday l'chaim
made so by holy
symbolic life experience
changes in the Christmas story,

the one where Mary's matters,
she being Luke's prime source,
James the Wise's mother,

Mere and pure, indeed, one idea
peaceable at nomination, wise
at the taste oh, the beguilement,
we can make secrets, ours, alone,

eh, holy ordained layer on of hands,
no, holy transcriber of tongues,
there are enough inspired
utterances ex cathedra
ala Azusa Street, and radio

mind trust building framed information,
so greedy deep that to this day, knowers
feel the genuine pain of wasted peace,

invested in hate needed to consume
according to planned economic
impression therapy, reset…

wars
for old ignorances
of custom, fief fee fidelity

501 c3, proven non profit…

duty due the personal will to say why

right works and wrong does not…

to tell the whole Bible story, as imbedded
in a disciple
to the kind
of being we form, as
rowdy boys let run a little wild as
has been practice in war societies,

or has been so fictional-ated
as to make no never mind

what if, ai ag us on one eclipse
explanation, sheer luc, by any measure

You gather all your experience,
pick any 27 years,
in acquisition sequence

-------
I can remember thinking different…

-- what more can a rescuer Dad attempt,

temptation to avert a train wreck,
praying to be led away from adversity

endured, enjoyed remembered,
encouraged to let this mind be,

in you, be ye bond or free, be leaving

the lessoning about to be wished loose,
as one's equivalent knot, to a yoke,

broken in the acceptable fasts,
we agreed, let every yoke be broken,

set the captives free, enforce reality,

or else, enjoy making up your own mind,

given the exact same mind, liturgically,
as the blessing of wisdom settles on us,
as we witness the weform this mind takes

and we feel light headed.
May be this, maybe that, what it is, in the end, is how it was remembered.
Did the peace abide, or did the stranger merely come to entertain a thought.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2024
Few,
I know,
I understand, few living
or in legends that grew as
all things worked together,

to sort the plebs
from the patrician heirs,
do, or believe done, indeed.

Oldest deeds
to land grants
to the suppliers
of groceries
and entertainment, bread et
circuses, happy merry men making

**, **, **, and a bo''le o'***
or a jug o' cheap wine,
though to drunks not allowed
on Election Day, or on Christian Sabbaths…
under which conditions, persistant coughs,

forced the man
with a dollar wine jones,
into the local pharmaceutical corner store

for a dose of Terpin Hydrate and Codeine
signed for on Election Day, even
in Blue Law Counties.

Now, Terpin Hydrate and Codeine,
can only treat persistent coughs, in elsewhere,

so liquor stores stay open on election days,
making days after, hang over, asking
what was sup, sup
post understood,

prophesied after effectual fervent prayer,
to do right
by you

a mandate from heaven, a Cyrus, envisioned,
and presented to the horde arriving
for the circus, worship the story,
in spirit and in truth, as one believes,
one's own self authorized to lieve being

true as true can be, taken, as given
in answer, apokrinomai phonic Greek,

as first person present tense I am made
in the eye of any beholden to a tried spirit,

come to pay respects, we watched the show,
unmazing performance, unraveling the weaves,

we've all imagined praying prayers that work
miracles, witnessed, before our very verifiably
wedom minded oath bound souls dispiritings
virtuosi-like - sudden shifts in sense, presensed

we were
all in black and white, and 254 shades of gray,
and the idea's that Boolean signs enforced,
with weight of knowing > custom duty tax

for sellers of wasted time spent on old mechanics.

Mind tool collections, mostly hammers and grips,
a solid anvil and some super sharp hardies,

my legacy used to prove
real life interruptions, fires, and wars, and weather

none one experiences, none one frets or prays
to prevent, taking grace for granted, lets hope float.

Gnoshit, some old truthz remain true, bottom up,
down in the dirt is the seed of every actual need,
and forces intwined so fine, you never real ize
you felt,
fine.

Stretched, strings tuned to creation, breaking
glassonion speedborn legal reactions to reasons

used to train warminding brains, containing secret
whys called reasons,
for the hate needed
to **** with.

Survive a babble
Copy that, say curio-wise…
Whom do I owe
for my survival, so far?
Say you know, I'll say
mebbe so, if your ideal surviva-babble
possible ever, after,
alls been saids been done
and ever at all in reality
exists,
is there a place where evil is punished,
for being known
in all the common
ways we think, lies we believe,
should be taken to the forge,
to be reconformed, to the hardy hole,
needed tho, never needed knowing,
how iron sharpens iron, steel hones
the edge,
in mental wars weaponry,
phi phantasy spirals
fibbonacci saw wise
twist most simple, bending x
hex marks the spot, you see x
hale the used air, taken in nex t
the rest
of the story, shall we find an ai
to read us, or shall we read our minds
and act as if we are listening,
fretlessly to all the jazz
wrapping angstroms to pure joy

adding the idea of a slight smile
using lost peace to make some

good for nothing pure
evil, imaginary, mirror neuron firing signals
to the glands
from the guts to each
knot of knowing relaying response
to the noise - cries of havoc,

Tense butter better
be war-y
settle, that was then, this is now, roles
change minds, don't think mind's don't change

kinds of minds, even, whole categories
of minds, character traits, collected,
across a seventy-two year space,
two minutes on the Babylon
clock calendar whole truth
concept wagwanfyew duty  to reify
if I were
what we agreed, to let be we. the plural I,
weform the patterns we make, the paths
we take, the patterns we use to make sense,

swirls and x t o A pi the sign, >< whose to say?

sets change, pillars come
to seem
to hold no weight free thought
recognized mustabin wild

- remenants proving result
- recognizable mob rule following
- deme domes as above so below

So, domes do work,
tunnels work too, the problem is,
nothing to do, the Coen bros tol' you

and if truth were told, living words told you.

Mental exchange graces many breaths, deep
taken with intention, to think, commas, work

That was in the era after the atom bomb,
and before the repulsion from Dianetics, umph,
Voltaire's secret, written invitation to converse
with him, in his or any Wikipeadian tongue,
his conditions were my agility to define,
my own terms, peaceable,
for good reason
infection, will
to define my terms, wish
to have this magical mechanism
to hold this thought, and link
on that phrase,
to make a novel, a new

way
to arrive where life leads, when followed.
There has never been a press this free on the inside, public poetic pools of provacative creative vacancy where no war's reasons balance, ever...
I need to move on,
I need to hate her.
But the promise we made
for our love to last forever—
the magic of that promise
worked a bit too well.
My first poem that's posted here <3!!! Yeah, sure, you guys will get A LOT of depressing Sapphic poetry... unless something that I think will never happen, happens.
Chelsea Quigley Dec 2023
Son
He is gentle ,
Sleeping ,
Waking.

Tossing and turning,
Yearning,
Aching.

Voice unknown,
Only sound
That seems to linger.

Crying,
Screaming ,
A dramatic temper.

He is unknown to me,
Blood as cold as ice.

No rhythm in my heart
When I look into his eyes.

But alas,
He is mine,
And mine he shall become.

For I am young,
And choose to be one with my son.
This poem is a short poem simply about the effects of birth and motherhood. How one may become distant to their child at first and the struggle behind that. But in time they adapt and find love for their son/daughter with support. If anyone is struggling with post partum depression/psychosis, you are heard. You will get through this.
Zywa May 2023
After today's four steps
I'm sitting in socks by the fireplace
My heavy boots are standing straight
and my back is still rattling

I am a henchman
I push the boundaries
of the ladies in love
and the rich gentlemen

I leave horse **** behind
and take the scent of freesias with me
The water in the bucket sloshes
like yearning love

I don't travel alone
We are armed
The papers are precious
Sealed letters

Beginning and maintaining
of relationships and major interests
Between the stops, the reins
of fate are in my hands
Four steps: four postal stops

Postilions (post-coachmen) wear heavy boots, to protect against getting jammed; these boots are named after the average distance between the posts (postal stops, relays): "bottes de sept lieues" ("seven-league boots")

Postillon d'amour = Post-coachman of love

Collection "Migration"
Ghxstcxt Jan 2023
Every thought I conjour is venomous
Specifically hot and pressed 'insensitive'
Literally lost in bottled hot headedness
Weighty when I slog a verbal cosh with these sentences
Hasty without thought at a cost to everybody's detriment
An onslaught with no relevance...
I wish I'd stopped...
If only I'd stopped...
Anais Vionet Feb 2022
(a billet-doux to HP)

4 minutes til (virtual) class
“Dang”, I think. I need to post today's poem!
I paste the poem, the title, the tags.
I have the sense that once the page says “saving draft” I’m *******.
So I quickly press save.. and..
502 bad gateway
“Argh,” I say under my breath, glancing at my clock.
I press refresh.
Do you want to submit the form?
Of **** course I want to resubmit - I press submit.. and..
502 bad gateway
“Oh my f-king GOD!” I yell at my iPad
I press refresh.
Do you want to resubmit?
Yes, yes, YES- I resubmit, I submit, I supplicate, I grovel.. and..
502 bad gateway
2 minutes
I scream a line of obscenity that would **** the Pope if he were here.
I refresh
One of my roommates inquired, “Are you ok?” from her room.
I resubmit and.. and.. and..
“Yes!” I yell, to reassure my roommate, “Website issues,”
it finally, finally posts.
A “Whoom” sound announces the start of my virtual class.
BLT word of the day challenge: billet-doux: is a love letter.
Please don’t tell me this has never happened to you.
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