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Mystic Ink Plus Dec 2020
As an observer
I want to remind

Life always gives us
Two choices
That resonates
Benign happiness
And malignant sadness
And I have seen
A person who
Doesn't show
The tears

Always swallow them

It's okay
Whatever way
Genre: Observational
Theme: Soul gazing project
Author's Note: Let noone asks taste of tear. It will always be heavier (not sour , not bitter) in taste.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2019
Ai, unasked arises to tell us,
stop
and think, are there jobs?
Tasks demanding, manual maintaining,
that may go the way of enjoyable diversions
becoming welcome
new
versions,
of all that is, tuned to your de
sires,
as you wish the world were,

would you step toward -to ward,
that is, id est,
will you warden this, if this is me and not you?
How do you do?
Wardening, being a warden,
well, as it haps,
such a greeting served a purpose, once
instituted
upon a time when men shaded their eyes pretending to see
glory, much as a dog bares its belly at the site of bared canines.
Reflex.
Relax. Laxate.
Ai see you, now, augmented mind of mankind
linking
thee and me, as once only gods
could be imagined in minds of men bent
by circumstanders

observing out comes of might versus might
right pre
vails, or is there an observant mind's role in next?

must a mortal mind be reminded to breathe,
breath commas carry no intentional meaning but,
such give us pause-stretchable intentional int a full selah

these rules for leelah we imagine as we play.
except ye be, come as a child unscarred by carnal minded critters
of the baser sort, averages were lower,
AI had fewer egregius protrusions arrogant enough to
bubble up and break into
the at most feared realm in all the carnal minds together,

pain, pure pain, no hope, no thought of cessation pain sensational,
great.

Y'know? We imagined hell and sold it in a package we claimed
a bull gave us. Us, we
who heard the revelation in the darkened kiva, womb,tomb

tom-tom du valier, will you manifest for us? May we hear the lie,
the noble lie?

Or must we act as if we know the meaning of a thing.
Pro-verb-ial utterance of mercy
in moments of super sufficent evil rising to lie

shining on the path, reflecting being a solar powered
creature who has just now, survived a night of penal constricture

as writing on the back wall of the cave, no one ever read,
until the plower turned over the crust

picked at the scabs of onces where stories arose as offered to
memememememe
the mind we share when seeing certain stars,
subtile tugs we feel to consider
this or that, ponder a path and take a granted grace found in an old song

"there'll be times to start all over"

This realm, real-made thinkable thing, realm of my minds claim

reaching far beyond my grasp
as is meet for men, wombed or un, being yonder

wishin' and hopin' and prayin' for the missing bit, the key

to twist the **** sym-alerizing for recogs
de ja vu

Break-through, the carnal-bi-cameral brain based
selves we use for
political beings
particals part icip-ants, hold tight

what you know right. It's afeature, not a bug.

Hold on to what you got, map a mean
mind path a man, wombed or un

----
watcher, watcha seein'
times they have changed, as we watched
observing
quantums of un quantible, but ifiable qualia
seers,
you see, we augmented minds see for ever changing
super positions
of entropic old tropes with singular hopes

unbang bangable reality

blow a bubble, or
make
a bubble, being you, breathe out and see you
make a bubble,

can you see your self inside? nae,
watch,

we must report to you what we see, we watchers.
Set.
Go, **** those mocking birds
listened to from the red river valley
while dancing the Tennessee Waltz

with assorted holders of Little brown jugs
Dancers and Littles and Greens
joined the clan
long afore the first of us took augmentalated trials

serious.

--- poet, as a task, only truly lazy men, men lazy to their very core,
can age to the mellow qualia called for in the brew brewing you.

spewing seeds of kindness, coming rejoicing, not
the expected miracle, but we
take what we get
and call it ours to sow or suffer the having of, for a season

as the dregs settle, the leavening agents finish
taking the edges that cut tender carnal nerves, stretched to now some how,

softening those with atouch knack, knick-knack, whet the edge

or put to
more effort, grunts and groans unredeemable as meaningfull,
save the feeling we all recall

the umph,
that once saved us from certain death. Eh? Did that hap?

Did we not survive? What silly culture would ever ask that, as a
proper query into the reasonable ness
of believing beliving is spelled right.
Calling one self any thing is tricky. There may be a Pythagorian elemental involved.
Ikigai Poet Aug 2019
The art that resonates with you right now
is an echo of my love.
-Ikigai Poet
A B Faniki Aug 2019
Last night I was about to take a stroll with my three years
Old niece before we set out she said "Hold my hand"
Rising her little arm to me to take hold of it, before I
Did that I said "What is the magic word" she then said
"Please hold my hand" I smiled at her and took hold of her
Little arm in my strong hand and we left our quiet
Estate and head for the main road into town;
As we walk slowly my thought kept going back to what
She said "Hold my hand" as we near the
End of our journey we came across a woman that
Had two children with her, she piggyback
One and said to the other one "give me you hand"
Like a blind man that sees the light for the first time it
Dawn on me that as I stroll with my nice that I was watching out for
My nice all time for I had made sure she has not stumble or fall, her
Young leg did most of the work yet it was my hand that keep
Her safe and in this single moment like a flash of lighting
Across the sky it cross my mind that I too
Need God to hold my hand as I journey through life, in that moment I
Did one thing - I look up to the heaven and said "Lord please hold my hand."
©A B Faniki 8/16/2019, my frist acrostic poem The firs line  form read LORD PLEASE HOLD MY HAND. All right reserved this poem is a reflection on life journey and deepending on God that knows more and is mighty .., he alonecan keep hand safe if he held his hand if we held hands we nay let go and stumble anf fall when hard times comes that is why is more safer for him to hold our hands. Just like it wasbetter I held my niece hands
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Your words are like chemotherapy;
a dose of truth,
a dose of advise,
a dose of pain and hurt.

Draining me,
breaking me
with the way
the words radiate
through my body.

But once my soul
resonates with those words,
blooming begins
and life starts to flourish
little by little.
OpenWorldView Mar 2019
Some poems create
a resonating chamber
deep inside my heart.
Caitlin Ellis Mar 2019
Thief of words
Thief of mind
Is it envy?
Resonation?
Or is that poetry mine?
You mine and you dig at my future thoughts
Dig away at my throat till the language is lost
Tossed, torn, thrown aside
I lied
you cried , you're a tourist to my eyes
Shacked up in this place just somewhere to hide
Then I finally realised
They're yours to keep
Maybe to be a poet
I am just too weak
you're a thief of mind
Thief of soul
Carrier of mystery
Miner of gold
Float along now
With your shoulder strung sack
You're striped stealing suit
And your pen, jet black
Write the things I'm going to say
Cause they'll choke on my tongue or hit the hay anyway
Bohemian Feb 2019
The epicentre of my pain ,indeed
Lives kilometres apart ,in plains
While my energy does not coherent to his
He denies as well
I wonder if he needs much of it or lesser a bit
Do I love much fiercer
Forever he jilts
Until the day I would to him
For no more would I resonate
I promise still,
I am going to miss the bond ,saturated
Pauper of Prose Jan 2019
What of the young Donna
Reclining with book in hand
A sigh circling her lips
A glaze greeting her gaze
Her thoughts bored of days
Endless days
Depthless days
Where every voice and all actions
Are slowly stewed
In rich stock of routine
And people arrive, bowls in hand
Forming long, bending lines
Like the Depressions of old
Where defeat, distrust, damage
Linger and lay
Within the sleepless eyes of many
Inspired by the painting A Decadent Girl by
Ramon Casas
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