Finishing first
- a chapter flash back to Easter
in a Christmas Peace
reconceived past under stood
common sense before the internet
... sufficiently advanced know how
made accessible through this screen

Per one and a hap, laps
at once
sat
before me a Manet,

A boy pfifer, piping
a flat image,
catching
my question, why…

For the uniform

For the Zouave oath
to die before surrender,
Victory or Death,
as a child sent
to war
in the name
of God, by Time
assured the same iota one
assumed just used
to refer
to the God
of the Papal authority,
symbolized
by a cross, or two,
one for Andrew,
one for George, both saints.
in the blue field, left field,

at attention, observe the stripes,
thirteen, indeed so great a cloud
of coincidences, so same so often

money borrowed… jewels loaned
for instance
to forge a suitable crown

to suit the proven winner's incentive
to defend the title, each winter,
each longest  night, after
each shortest day, ever
time told true

Allah
In the name of God, the Gracious, the Merciful.
By Time.
Mankind is at a loss.
Except for those who believe,
do good deeds, encourage truth,
and recommend patience.


Waiting is, said Michael Valentine.

What are the keys to holiness and perfection? Practice, patience, time, and integrity. Like any good thing, it takes work and lots of it. You don't become Van Gogh, or Mozart, Michael Jordan or Mother Theresa overnight. Granted, some of these people have certain gifts and talents that make it easier, but it still took practice and consistent work. Patience is also necessary. There may be setbacks or failures, mistakes and sleepless nights, but one must be patient and endure, because if you keep going, things are going to look up and trials will strengthen and give us the tools we need for the future. Time is something we all have and never seem to have enough of. Make good use of your time and fill it with good and wholesome things. Do not hurry or rush perfection or holiness or any good thing. Nothing good comes to those who hurry and rush and do not wait. Finally, and perhaps most importantly is integrity. To be holy and strive for perfection, one must have true integrity. As Shakespeare said once "... above all else: To thine own self be true". Be true to who you are and who you were made to be. Do not try to live someone else's life or be someone else. You aren't. You are you and that is that. Be the best you that you can be. For, as Mother Theresa is quoted as saying: "in the final analysis it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway".

God bless us all on our path to holiness and perfection. Amen

Today I have progress on my mind
Of a physical and spiritual nature and kind.
Taking steps to improve my health
Where I am ow is better than where I was.
From day to day or even week to week
I don't notice the progress that I seek.
But when I step back and reassess
It is then that I'm aware of the progress
I'm farther than I was before
But still not where I want to be
Even so, I'm closer and it gives me a thrill
Because I can get there, I know that I will
There are good times and bad times
Sometimes I move forward, sometimes back
But I refocus, recenter, and get back on track
Losing weight, getting stronger
It takes practice, patience, and time
It's tough, but it's always worth the climb
It seems to me that our spiritual life
In many ways runs parallel
To the ways that make us physically well
In our prayers and in our giving
How we're loving, how we're living
Sometimes our faith builds slow
And, sometimes, it quite quickly grows
It's hard to see in the desert place
Where the wind blows hard against your face
The path ahead is very nearly lost
No idea how much distance you've crossed
But the winds die down and the skies clear
Breathe in deep as you are standing here
And through the trials you see
Just how far you've come
And how you came to where you are
You've done so well and worked so hard
Now have some rest and keep making progress

Spilled pill pieces
like crushed up Reese’s
I found my thesis;
in an empty stomach.
I formed some habits,
they reproduced like rabbits
and if I couldn’t stab it
I’d try to make it plumbic.
Decide to destroy at any cost,
I can’t hide or play coy; I’m my final boss.

I’m so messed up that I used to enjoy the battle;
while I lost, I lost to myself so I’d win.
Lamb to slaughter but too much guilt for the cattle,
maybe a sort of pacification that we can begin.
No cheat codes for this game we play.
All we sow is the seeds for another day.

Blurry scenes
and forgotten dreams,
no ends to a means,
but it started quite simple.
It began with quiet sighs
and tired bagged eyes
my grin would rise
but it seems I lost my dimples.
I was stumbling and swaying yet so lost,
fumbling while playing; I’m my final boss.

I was so messed up that I used to enjoy the game;
while I lost, I lost to myself all the same.
There’s no contra code and no extra lives,
no easy mode, no new game plus to replay twice.
No cheat codes for this game we play.
I keep wishing I could pause, wishing I could just stay.

There’s no save spot in sight,
no shrine and no campfire.
My hands gripping on so tight
my mind and my eyes tire.
I wished to be the hero of time,
always scared that I’d become a Ganon.
It took some work but my Zelda’s mine
I hope that ending stays canon.
But life is something that can’t be cheated,
destiny can’t ever be defeated.

How to read an evolving novel form
of witnessed am-usement,
think with a poet like yourself,
become remused, bemusedly
free, but for the cost of your attention,
freely paid, and freely taken on the come,

come to see how it all ends, in real life.

/poems/popular/
or /latest/
read down the stack, find
sacred knowledge muses use to rate
treasures that force a full blown what if…

Read any poet who rates being
in your hearted pile of impressive works,
hellopoetry.com/handle/poems/popular/
take the mind, let it be in you,
read each word chosen on the fly,
pause, rethink, the stacking algorithm,
most read pieces, past tension piling on,
it was good, as it's, so
and on, people's choices, random,
right on, reasoning rationality,
what's a minute's worth of musing,
precious, indeed, taken time, used,
is all time is for, others read first,
to pass on noticeably new, mere ifery,
used to make common sense used to read
wildly unorthodox translations of basic,
towb ra
good and evil, OOPs, flaw interpreted,
beautiful adversity, face to face,
true, real yes, first novel knowing
tell me a story, tell no lie, boys,
will be boys, until sense
common as all get out,

comes to account
for idle words,
used to get by those wasted years,

to when, beyond
what ever hell are you now,
thinking, y'gotta carry on, squint

to have the eyes stretching time, now,

we have seen it done
https://hellopoetry.com/MK/poems/latest

did it today,

put me through a blizzard on this year's hottest day.

Pump primed
A squeal of metal as rust crumbles
Groaning and gurgling with effort
The flow forced from hiding
By my energy

a trickle,
a sputter,
a gush

Warm, murky with sediment
No clear and cool refreshment, this
I will continue the motions
Wetting the ground with my efforts
Until the output is fit to consume

What keeps the dark away?
And keeps the wick alight?
Let's create a poem a day
It is not that difficult to write

Doesn't need to be a masterpiece
Just need some time and consistency
It doesn't even need to rhyme
Just meanings upon meanings, and words within words

Use puns, irony, simile, or hyperbole
Tools to use at your disposal are many

Free form or haiku,
Just write, time and time again
Embrace consistency

Write without hesitation, but be sure to re-read
For mistakes can be made, and improvements can be done
Not chasing for perfection, just a product pleasing to the eye
May it contribute to the reader, more than it did to the writer

Now come on, follow that blinking cursor and type
Grab your respective writing utensils and weave the words
These poems ain't writing themselves
And the day is not done

All my mind in time spent
Thinking in multi-tasking mode, modernized
ontuition, in multicomplexity, chata chabad,

original intention, revealed long ago,
to a trance chance glance of a ox, I knew,
it was no bull.
But had been, as a calf.

*******.
Some old fool I knew,
hollers from the back of my mind…

Historically, part of me assists informing
all the first time crossers of this meandering

mind stream swirling phi in life with pi and x
concepts set to contend, earnestly
for the best gifts, coveted, in trust,

true rest, excusing superstitious sacraments,

all the lies are swallowed in truth, time tells.

A message. An Inspirited shape in forming,
a we, to recollect once knowing an instant true.

An artist, a person gifted with a time spanning
imagination.

An eye, we use, in times of loosed beliefs,
ontuition, intuited as mysterious mystical
as a we. We
have being shared in timesmindspace's
expanded sense of each reader's pace
adapting
breath and bubble, below
common consciousness
sensing sensibilities
adapted to due to normalized
faith in the phraze that declares,
MONEY ANSWERS ALL THINGGGGS

in the infallible preacher's whinings

que sera, sera

the story from the spirit window seen
through to the future when you see
we imagined knowing is repetition,

we imagined many impossible things,
we made them work, mickey mouse,
but, we made things work, to make
old age easier for the beguiled mis-
sionaries, empty vessles, gathered

widow's mighty faith, borrow,
borrow means, to know, how lamps
kept burning, call with smoke,
commas breathe and act as brakes/ lo'
come trim the new knowns from olden
days, now that the curious may fact check

but, as with plain text literacy, the gifted,
the mind that can read and does not,
knows no more than the mind
in movie mode, turbo
memory augments
tuned to reason,
depth charges,
accusing saints,

calling all revelators to prophesy
face to face with Micaiah, and walk on
inspired by his God's permissive will done
bymarching as to war dening the imperative,
loving those who treat you like refuse, biochar

desert stream bringing lithium from old dust,
what was once some kind of star rare as hells.
-------------
non sense. sense.
sems sun sumsymsense when  we accept

let us veliebe, old orders of reformed
societies, gelaubt
after the purge of all who
could not tolerate the truth,

The pilgrim's fled religion,
the missionaries sold religion,
and the money changers set the worth
of knowledge traded for curses lifted,

when old men stop drinkin' stop being
so godamned useless and good

for nothing, free, for free
for nothing but the use
knowing good from bad. from a child,
fed sweet peaches from Canyon de Chelly

-- long ago a hero named Kit Carson
-- led federal troops and local conscripts
or hired hands, squatters on Dene land,
Kit led a rowdy bunch to Canyon de Chelly

to burn a thousand of the sweetest peach trees
ever nourished for centuries on sacred ground.

Kindness of strangers,
old cultural investments, paid ahead,
weight of all the worthy fasts all past,
take no thought for worth in exchange
for the yes, at the judgement bar,
to thy ownself true, are you ready
for your judgement day, bets all in?
worth of an extra six months, at the end

this is declared that bet, let ride… no

money, ecclesiastical hordes, invested
with the wise users of letting information
manifest compounding interest, on a whim,
made this will worship worth reproving,
as a fluid  ide, a thought, breath,
thing in a thought, hooks
an eye a measure, a
0ne part in one floating point
at the recent mean rate of Petaflops
just yoost
enough, particle particulation, you think
this time,
it makes patience sweeter than revenge.

We yoost to call the guy who knew the rules,
now ai know, so we can say we do. too.

This is a good future. We had something like it
propagating between data and metadata price
praise and worship
measure all the effort effectual
as taken for granted to mean  whatever
confusion
persists in believing spells
concentrated into koanic mantras,

spend time or take time
used for nothing more than
slowing knowing too much humm

coming into tune to the ever after
Jesus, or a spokes person, Paul, I think,
sole witness of his own conversion,
according to the authorized story,

let this mind be.
Let this mind be in you.
Letting that which letteth be
taken away,

what can it mean, to
a day dream believer, and
a rodeo queen, at the dawning
of the harvest festival down under.


costs the average adult VBS QUESTERS,

when an instance in doubt, forced yous
to learn we do have multiple CPUs

some of which tuned in to sub conscious
user canals cutting across the esophagus

as we swallow, unsaid protestations,
gulping hesitation, to **** it up and,
clear the are way, to say it is gnosis,

air way, empty abhorred vacuous space
between ose and ic on balancing atomic

ideas developed to help us conceive, ic
internal circuitry to as ist, sein, wir sind,

intentionally conserved kennen und wissen,

in qwerty future scribal service prep,

during the Child Buyer buildup at ARPA net,

Ike's first term,
before under God went in the pledge,
but after Polio was cured, in exchange,

some good, some bad, live and learn,
before the Dulles Brothers,
before solid state quantum foam bubble RAM.

And.
Now.
The original intent. Embodied in a word, as
real as any worded message from beyond you.

Real letters, letting us think,
silly thought that never stink,

sigh, and try to be honest now, smell
the rose or the cheese, ask
which triggers gut reaction,

relaxatation, loosen bowels of mercies,
prayed for under inquisitor's historical,

memories, useful for Memorial Day BBQs

wave the sacred flag representing the lost
intentionally religiously regulated republic,

God, bless America, the dream, the ghost.

True rest, flowing in life's higher will warrings,
appetites and courses cut across experiences,

manifest in out of mind rewindings of things,
math wise, a ruliard is thinkable, as this set,

these words that translate verbatum,
phonetically in webedonspoken spaceless
old cuneiform wet clay repressed
palimpsests lost to EMPs,

in all dystopias.

--------------------

Fretting for another's lack of freedom
to imagine using another's mind, reading

original intention, when the parable,
or analogy allowed in drama spake aloud

to the rabble used to make deme mobs,
we forms of feeling normal, we think alike

until freedom emerges from an over learned
truth, from the bottom of your cache,

depths unplumed introspherical sure selves
set on shelves as crystaline urns, not a few.

see if some
of these be emptied, not a few, emptied
of old lies left allowed told, according
to old oaths taught us in our toddlehood.

What binds us to our oaths?
In truth we slightly smile, saying whatever
in truth being lets us be
we remain free, from fretting overflow.

----------- epithought
this professional whim wrestling is useful:
for rumination under mystical mis perceptions,
for greazing gears gone crusty dis used,
-- legal. garden grown herba consemillia
the dormouse said feed your head.
Slick, Grace.