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Who we think we are, if we fail to define our own terminii,
Meum et Tuum, as we are, if we take full consideration

of our pose, relative, to the point of you, on which your
homeostasis hangs by the thread of sense we share
in mindspace dominated by English, no longer,

I can read poetry in Hausa, like a native born earthling,
after Hiroshima and before the peak radiation winds,
in the season of Maris and Mantle, and
The Days of Wine and Roses, and
social influencers promoting actual
bowling leagues,

"Lake Charles Calculators
facing off against Texas City Lo-rollers,"
- in the novel, the summer of '61, unshipped.

when this version of America, as remembered on TV,

shall never before
be gotten but by the free and brave, trusting geology,
can prove we all know
if hell breaks loose,
we all die, but the earth is resilient,

As Kritias recited all he knew
of what the lawgiver said of the reproof
he humbly received as a Sais priestly
admonishment to learn to hold
thoughts secure for disasters
are considerably common

"– all such events are recorded since the old days
and are preserved here in our temples.
Yet your people and
the others are but newly equipped, every time,
with letters and all such arts as civilized cities require
and when,
after the usual interval
of years, like a plague, the flood
from heaven comes sweeping down again
upon your people, it leaves none of you but
the unlettered and uncultured.
So you become as young as ever,
with no knowledge
of all that happened
in old times
in this land or in your own." Plato, Timaeus
_
remember, we once believed in giants,
then we learned of dinosaurs,
then we saw whales cry.

They wept for the loss of the cod.

Then we got the internet of things,
and things developed was to solve

the original division using co-op gnosis,

we see our follies on YouTube, and realize
we have abilities, should we agree, we never

lie, but do know of instances, when unbelieving
worked wonders while lying about waiting
for this exposure
to your final frontal lobe
remyelinating, to offset dementia.

It's a prophylactic tactic peace of mind allows.
I love my assisting indexer.
I can recall what movie I saw at a drive in in 1961, from my phone.
https://archive.org/details/plato0009plat/page/n5/mode/2up
Ken Pepiton Jul 7
Party line. Crazy conversation from a true believer,
left me feeling kinda prickly, so I got this high,
and looked back on all I was told to watch out...
Amen,
Indeed, at the mental sylabble, said meaningfully,
as mental activity, per se, aspiring to inspire, you,

dear reader,
the imaginary other,
on the other side of all I think we see,

when we look, this way, back through
this medium we mindtouch through,
thought through rough or furbished,

with a will to make a thing, a way
is often made known, as if we think a way

say, what if,
say wonder, the verb, we use, we know,
we make believe we can see it so,

just so, right,
as when we know
which hand to use, you know,

we swing our sensitivities, around
wondering how long one alone
would need to read all that has been

told known, put into the cloud as evidence,
any willing mind, taken to core as good manners,
and profitable methods to bore less as chores,
using knowledge originally intended unknowable,
by creator's perogative, declared, there'll be,

something, hellish, yes, where does that idea
reside, that sure knowledge, that we are all ******,

unless, yes, more or less, a few, feel the call to know,
eh,
why or how, eh

daily ordering of our domicile,
daily letting this mind be in thee, or me,
depending on the way the integral tale is told.
What ties ligament to bone?
In some situations,
there you are, thinking why you think at all,
and as you do, you think you did, so what.

Now, what, if we have wondered, now what
is what we got, for that effort, if you ever wondered

how the whole situation,
the cloud containing all the vastest data banks,
news draw interesting times from, for your attention,

click, and repeat, recall, the history of me, since
my first IBM readable responces on all 500 hats,
Red Ryder B.B. gun hangs on my wall, still yet,
child mind slips, slides us past the pressure,
feel the evolved will, to pass the scribal exams,
1954 baseline Achievment Test data, grade one,
first task, make thy own rural pen,
wait, now, make thy own smooth surface,
invent a reader for the marks to mean a thing…

- see, the kind of minds we have for use,
- literally all the learning proven conservable
- is at our fingertips, if you can read this now,
- some actual agency granted this technology

to flourish in families, for centuries, before we all
had access to this wave of wisdom, a dominion of ways,
perspectives on precepts used to shelter

ways to use sticky mud,
ways to use dry straw,
ways to use hot sun to dry fruits,

too far back to feel survival skills
sufficient to believe, life uses luck,
and words we both can use,
we believe we
have being in this atmosphere,
on the planet, third from that ordinary star,
only planet known beyond any doubt, where

what we are quantized particles at identifiable
points in the history of all that we, the information,
we, the persons involved at the evidence retrieval,

- the ceremony,
- ya'll come, we gather to retell our children,
- this is what we were when America was great,

We had the whole world in our pocket, Ike knew,
you know he knew, the monstors men can imagine,

when it comes to winning wars, primary purpose
along a chosen duty path to high value human status,

like a king, power,
under the highest commonly conceived,

authority. The writing on the wall.

Secret sacred excremental waste, ah,
***** plaistered walls in that awe-ful Irish gaol.

We all saw it, on telly, as true as Donald Trump…
we all see the *****, and we all hear those who eat it,
swearing it does smack of the promises to the righteous.

Made by a couple of Cromwellian Prime Servants.
The Blessed Few are duty bound to rule the disorder,

form a line, dollop of self con, fiduciary response, set
nil, no clue, nothing funny, Donald Trump is loveable,

easily as cuddly as Harvey Weinstein, party goers say.
I think one who donates money to either candidate is working from an agenda.
And I disagree with all the excuses they use for themselves/ we must have better choices for the role.
Jeremy Betts Jun 22
Sometimes I think it would be easier
To just give in and be the monster
The one they claim I already am
Just go ahead and put wolves clothing on a lamb
Then that way they can say "I told you so"
And I will play it off like, "I know, I know"

©2024
Jeremy Betts Jun 13
You make me feel like I'm...
A test dummy
A punching bag
An excuse
The reason
The fault at fault
Wrong
The wrong one
A mistake,
Possibly your biggest ever
The bet you now wouldn't take
The "if only I hadn't..."
Bad in hindsight
A wrong you had to right
The time that's never right
Time you'll never get back
Someone you need to get over,
Move on from
And leave in the past
The pain in your a§§
The last time
Never gonna happen again
Someone who benefited from you being in the wrong state of mind
Your weak moment
Your young and dumb years, if you will
...shall I go on?

©2024
Jeremy Betts Jun 10
If I where to ever get around to it,
There will be very few who would care
Okay, maybe a little bit
But they will roll their eyes
There will be scoffs and sighs
They will try to disguise the smirk
That comes with the pride of being right with no surprise
Because "todays the day"
They will finally be able to say
"I told you so"
"I told you he was a monster"
"I told you he didn't care"
"What did I tell ya, huh? He didn't want to be here"
Nope, not true
But what do they care?
Had they ever?
Whatever
What's true is I will no longer be there
To wave like hell to clear the air
And attempt in vain to clear my name
I will have proven them right once again
By not being able to prove them wrong
Just another loser's dance and song

©2024
Jeremy Betts May 31
Me against myself against I,
I am not alright
This darkness can not be conquered by light
I keep my feelings bottled tight, out of sight
Why do I hide?
Me against myself against I,
But who is right?
All I gotta do is make it through another night
No time to address it, I don't wanna fight
That's why I hide

©2023
Jeremy Betts May 23
Something doesn't feel right, could be that my head isn't ******* on tight
Could be that, try as I might, the absence of light shrouds the line between wrong and right
Hiding in plane sight but fright often forces the eyes closed, a blind plight
Never found the passion to ignite
Didn't think it possible to gaslight ones self outta spite
Never shined bright enough to conquer or at the very least scatter this proverbial night
Narrow vision and bad eyesight was my faley alright
Hit and fell through my rock bottom with the force of a meteorite
Bobbed instead of weaved and lost the fight, but not contrite
Many issues I'd like to extradite back to their day of origin, with new insight I'd like a full rewrite

©2024
Solaces May 13
I walk through the light.
In a Parallel world I step in.
I find you there.
In a there where you are not gone.  
Is it possible to make this version of you fall in love with me again?  
Do I follow the map to your heart here in the same path?
Everything feels right.
I suppose I'll let this soul ocean drift me to you and you to me.
In another universe I find you there.
My Dear Poet May 10
Leave what’s LEFT behind
Till you’re found RIGHT there
LEFT RIGHT there
LEFT RIGHT there

WHEN I WAS BORN MY DADDY LEFT! left, right, left.
LATER ON MY MOMMA LEFT! left, right, left.

I was LEFT RIGHT behind
left, right, left
Jeremy Betts Apr 13
Rivers of raging air and water
Coming together
To blaze their own trail almost without a care
Leaving the landscape in it's wake bare
Life's shatter
Right or fare, doesn't matter
The scare of it happening again is always right there
The horror of mother nature
Right around the corner
But truthfully,
I should finally be clear
It's the other type of mother,
And a lack of nurture,
That's the main factor
I've pretended,
Tried to blend in,
For many moons plus a year,
It's not a natural disaster
It's...
...it's tears
Ones that've carved ruts down my ****** veneer
As they veer through the unstable atmosphere
That I can't steer through,
Landing me here
On the shore
With only my pride and fear
And an SOS,
That I guess,
Doesn't come across as sincere

©2024
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