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Ken Pepiton Aug 21
and they began t' sing
marching single file

from the west

no masqued men were these,
these were
Kachina whitemen only saw in curio stories,
now,
approaching the old
prosper-specter

sitting full-lotus in his Barco-lounger, curbside-score,
from the land of too much good stuff

still, it's America, best effort men have made,

up to now.
The whole world has known since the International Geophysical Year,
1957, when the Symbolized Face of the Hungarian Freedom Fighter,

graced
the cover of Time, as Man of the Year before, when they lost
their war
and nobody cared, because
every body knew Disneyland is the Happiest Place on Earth,
where wishes can come true, and

that place is in America as sure as

blue fairy, you'real wish, Urielistical wish-grant,
Asrael and the others
singing backup
reload
when you wish
side-really… and a subtle shift in per
spect capacity
let be, just so,

and haps sub tile into layers of complexity re

because we, the people born to mature in the environs of Dublin
writ large, we
seers endowed with tele-vison, from birth.
The elders who watched the roll-out.
Aye, we watched
us evolve
to now

our future bright they say, a bright white light, then what

now,
we can say. The seals have been broken.
Nothing hidden now stays that way in ever,

and ever, as you know it, began

sometime
agone afore in some direction beyond your
ken, as it were when kenning the way of a knack was
as common as dowsers in the desert of my childhood.

What's in any name but what the namer seems?
Hey, yah way, tha'swhat I say,
tell me
what I say
Hey
Dancing shuffle footed single file
pass the white shirt black tie messenger from
the telestial king down Sonora way,
via
Yahoo, feel that tickle fo' a nickle, Hiram say come see
come feel
a boinin' in d' boosum through

the very crystal lenses

portal-ible model
through which Joseph of the name
Smith,
-- link back to Cain, through Tubal, via Na'amah--
-- set a breadcrumb, landmark, tag- say good old way
-- sign out don't break the story

through which Joseph of the name
Smith, came sayin an angel of light came with another gospel,

maybe the same guy the Galatians were warned to ignor,
re-legate-- re-read- start at the top
or all meaning is
like a song sung by Kansas, when we aren't there,
any more, than those wee
merest kachina jingle bells listing in the winds

but the Kansas chorus is stuck asif dust is all a simple

higgs-ified mind can manage to
regulate

without reading any ancient landmarks on maps of meaning
tattoo'd to the face in your mirror

in the darkest memory you hold
dear,
dearest,
your precious, in your Gollum-purpose state you know so well
protect it for all its worth,
with only your
strength
to lift
being the measure of worth-ship.

Ex-tol the worth of no bher-don born while in my state,
poor
un-gifted.  I remain a mortal soul linked mitochondrially to thee,
for whom the bell
told. You heard, but you were tolled don't ask.

Listen, the same hunch that said, It don't mean nuthin',

when you say you know that,
you bet you do.

I slew this dragon, not you. I say what the map says.

The dragon died of natural causes, so now,
all its true-sures
is yers…
Crown o'glory moon shine

plumb pert-nigh perfect fiture
imagined happy place to a T, crossed
and I dotted

Bleibe Doch! This is where all the Faustian Losers left their marks.

This is not where I aimed t'be said the elder bro,

as the wastrel was welcome t'Dada arms,
the crucial critics rave
Sheiszkunst, who Rah!
isis throws
a party for the prodigal madrigal has returned
from the pig's sty

packing each redeemed pearl, his brother once
fed to swine.

bent low 'neath his pearl-loaded ****-pack, he lifts his head,
waves his
crown, Fini,

come see, he says.
where I live, nowadays.

This is that treasure, on another level
as you may imagine,
free, if

you accept charity.

{There's the rub, say professional older bro, I know, charity;
'taint fair,
s'foul some, some ne'er-do-well finds a
pearl in some pigsty,

I PUT THAT PEARL THERE FOR THE FUTURE
not now.
I worked
for them ****** pearls, I sweated, brow-sweat, lo and hi.
I hid them well,

only a fool would ever believe a treasure
could be found in such ****,

but some fairy pulled a fast one, 'put a bean in little bro's ear,
so when the pigshit hit it began to grow,
sent a tendril to tickle a special spot,
just above the left ear,
right
there,

let's see diamonds, no
pearls,

any where we wish.
Let's say okeh, mark this spot, let us move on,

this is life. Let us see that more abundantly, while the poor
are safe and sound,
free as me to pursue haps past the frozen

disnified happy-ever-after WW2,
in the wake of Camus and ****** Wolves

---
splashes as the speeders pass, powered-row-row-rowing,

merrily mere ly wrong, not evil. Live on, next
is as you wish it were
someday, but in its diapers,

still. A we thinker thought awaiting effectual function,
as this trigger is pulled, in your space in time,

and another bubble appears,
portalish as mine-craft if ever there were

a subtle shifter of perception conspiring
A.I. see
a conspiracy with Lex Fridman infected by
Lynning Skyward
though a wave of old Radioman vibes,
played with plastic spoons
a famous peace march by
Kenurchka Klumpen, Sera-serah-selah-sinnade in B-Natural

and the last to leave broke the right arm from the doll,
sealed the dirt box one measure by one measure
deep and wide,

That seal was broken, 1957, approxi apriori right
arm dis
allowing
the left to change this next to come, sym-bolische
ified in the one-armed bandits left behind,

the bet. The die cast. Foccinaucipilinihili or holy

happy hunting ground, imagined in the land of too much good stuff.
Bits and pieces of the underlying tale. Note: The one armed effigy left in a 12 inch bt 12 inch adobe sealed hole in the floor of a pit-hose that may have been a kiva/ Vernon AZ
Darryl M May 8
Sorry I bothered you before.
But there’s no way I’m to see you and not compliment your beauty.
It lies in the eyes of the beholder.
Looks like you were created for me to behold.

There’s no way I’m to talk to you,
Hear your voice and not be aroused.
There’s no way I’m to get close to you and not consistently make a move.

Let me leave, before I become a permanent complication to remove.
What we have is unfinished business.
But we’ll leave it hanging.

What hurts the most, is that I never chose this.
Yet I don’t want it to go away.
It’s like an ***** of its own.
A kind that keeps the heart and mind in sweet harmony.
Amateur Sonnet
I am invisible when I ascend
But visible when I descend

I sustain every living thing,
I am what spawned forth
The firmament


I run but I have no legs
And I clap but I have no hands

What Am I?
Leave your answers on the comments section.
Water flows in the heart that knows
Pride inflated chest, humility hasn’t shot him yet
Walking around with a lighter nose
Heaven knows where egos go
When pride is demoralized to its lowest low
Live life like a fool, always wanting to know more
A hungry scholar will educate his mind
To study ancient history
Because even he knows he knows nothing at all
Knowledge is power and ignorance takes it away
How do I get inspired
with a brain so wired
when fragments of my conscious  
now refract the splintered image
of an idol which once stood above me
as the root of every rhyme
that spilled from pen to paper?
Now all I see is an ever-shrinking divinity.
as apathy interjects
to dissect
lukewarm affinities
it’s never long
before the names of my deities
sit like formaldehyde on my tongue.
Apologies are clichés
excuses are formalities
they’re just words  
that escape through
the smoke that chokes your lungs
after you threw your last manifesto in the fire.
Now I’m left with
the silence of the hangover
using rage as a muse
to thrash against the page
with poetry from the ashes
of what you once created
when your anger wasn't so understated.
Tommy Randell Jan 2018
Is a person who has been
A Has Been?
Is a duck that is dead
A Dead Duck?
How far down does one go
To be a Down & Out?
Or falling for a Star
Become Star Struck?


Has a plaice on a plate
Found its place?
Is something not written down
Worth the paper it's not written on?
Can a Dead Beat
Be beaten to death?
Can something not poetic
Be a Poem?
Carlos Oct 2017
Here I've grown to accept the riddles of each day, to culminate into a coalesced mesh of disarray.
Never would the seeds down under sprout to see the sun at the mere sound of thunder.
X marks the spot somewhere dissolving in my gut, wrenching at the chance to give both some and none of which we call *****.
I've lost my faith in humanity,
I've lost humanity in my faith.
Yet I'd face my fate if only just to sate the state.
This flip book of stop.
Animation.
Assimilates fremescent assibilation,
And similarly tastes terrible,
Savoring like dry sponge, and tied tongues,
It's incredibly trivial, just a trivia of syllables stripped up to simple tools.
Simple tools.
Simple...
Brianna Jun 2017
He likes to come back when I least expect it and sometimes I wonder if it's because its familiar or if it's the sheer fact we are both missing something in our lives.

He likes to tell me when he's drunk and filled with lust -- and because I'm lonely I get off knowing I'm on his drunken mind.
He likes to tell me the things he would do if I was in the same room- but we both know that's just drunken words and actions always speak a little louder.

He's clumsy with words, but also eloquent enough to get me hot.
His tongue plays tricks.
His lips speak riddles meant for only me to solve.

I think somewhere deep down he knows we aren't good for each other and that my heart lies with another man.
I think somewhere within he numbs the fact I've broken his heart numerous times simply to get off.
I think somewhere in his heart... he knows I'm no good for him.

But those lips speak riddles against my skin.
His tongue leaves my body crawling for more.
One day he will  stop calling and we will be left with clumsy words and broken memories.
I'm In Team Leo Jun 2017
It is he who with you can withstand
All the fights and fears within your hand
He is not power, but he is your strength
Which in all beings varies in length
I planned on making this a sort of riddle. Theme is 'emotions.' So, can you guess what emotion I'm referring to here?
This thing all things devours:
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountain down.
Created by Gollum
Solved by Bilbo Baggins
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