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Zywa Oct 2023
Downstream, three buckets

of mayonnaise are sailing --


along with our boat.
"Desolation Angels" (1965, Jack Kerouac), chapter 1-2-57: "Mayonnaise - / Mayonnaise comes in cans / down the river"

Collection "MistI"
Mark Wanless Jul 2023
i eat the food of the soft and hard work
   no time is left for a god to appear
cross the river and find a path that works
   a life of effort all live with the true

of not excisting in the mind of self
   and what we call god is a bandaid that
is better than nothing as we bleed life
   out of love upon a table raza

which is true yet maleable so now
   we walk and talk the walking head maybe
not a word is true that's not thought softly in
   a moment of yells and we follow

as to the inner true unheard that
can be peaceful if we try i do not know what
Savio Fonseca Jul 2023
The more I think of Death,
The more attractive it seems to Me.
I feel like trading My belongings
and entering Paradise meant for Me.
Waving  Good-bye to all My Passions,
blowing out Kisses to My Pain.
Drawing all the Curtains in My Life
before Sorrows begin to Rain.
Half of My Life is Done and Dusted,
the other Half is not wanting Me.
Life that was Once a Silent River.
Now out there.....it's a Stormy Sea.
I shall breathe until the Sun is Shinning.
Under the Sky that's Calm and Blue.
Today is a Gift that God has given.
I shall enjoy it until it's Thru.
ChinHooi Ng Jul 2023
A place of silence
the bed of an exhausted runlet
parched and windless
it can make us remember
the part when we touched
some of us used it as a mirror once
saw in its rippling
the shimmering scales
of fleshed out time
it seemed real
it's frightening to realize it's real
we can recall when the never-ending flow
is exhilarating
alive
unlike other mysterious phenomena
now everything seems irretrievable
though we can still vaguely
hear its voice
in our lives
everyone carries with them
a streamlet
but we never want to be clear
about the existence
and future of the stream bed.
Psych-o-rangE May 2023
"I dreamt that the river was burning"
"I dreamt that the snow was on fire"
"And"
"In dreaming impossible dreams"
"I dreamt that you were my lover"

but...
the river dried up,
the snow had melted,
my eyes opened,
and...

I can't remember
I S A A C Apr 2023
water sheds from my eyes
floating on the river instead of panicking
i never felt so helpless in my life
trying to hold on but i am vanishing
slipping into the starry night
tripping into my violent mind
trying to hold on but i am vanishing
I S A A C Apr 2023
DNA
my body carries a river of insecurity
causing floods upon innocent harbours
insane membranes, complex DNA
nobody is wired the same
no candle burns the same
but they all end the same
Engraving each memory on a grain of sand
I captured time, for infinity, in a bottle
With tired eyes I sit there and mull
turning it around, over and over.

Will the sand ever pave the way forward?
Or will it cut deeper and deeper?
The grains may beckon over their own kind
wading through time, eroding like a river.

Perhaps there was a start to this all
A cold, unmelting person, thawing
as the lands shaped them, the scenery changed
but the river of memories just kept flowing.

It never makes it to the sea, oh no
never to float away, or to discover paradise
reaching the end only to turn back
oh, I've captured the sands of time.

The memories now all fade into one
of reliving each moment, the joy and the agony
the cascading grains all sing the same song
of the life I've lived, quite a symphony.


The glass is full, there's no more space
the fields passing by were never meant to last
a new course to be charted, to discover, to seek
to fill and measure with a new hourglass.
Robert Ronnow Feb 2023
There are actual people
half woman half man
running mornings and
dream people in movies
half language half light.
Tomorrow is John’s funeral.

* * *

This is my minute
my moment
Oops, gone!

Anything can happen
if you don’t resist
Resist!

* * *

But who am I? You think bullets won’t
****? I’m the guy they put before a
wall and shoot then eat lunch.

* * *

Long as yr livin
yr havin that dream in
which yr killin the villains
w/o even needin a weapon.

* * *

If it was fun, they wouldn't call it work,
but it is fun. It's what we do, a bird
sings, dogs bark. We work. Sing bark work.
Honey, put on your shorts, it's gonna be 90 today.

* * *

How right is the rabbi!
"What a good and bright world this is if we do not lose our hearts to it,
But what a dark world if we do!"

* * *

We saw a barred owl
camouflaged in winter branches.
Bird of death (in myth), hunts down the dark,
floats to a farther tree, turns its back, and naps.

* * *

The sadness of summer, the silence of winter
you can’t sum it up in one more metaphor.
So don’t complain about the epoch you live in.
Go to Big Hidden Lake and jump in!

* * *

Down to negative calories, in deep snow
we find soft wintering rose hips, gobble them down.
First time for me a wild edible made a difference,
not just a delicacy. Then we snowshoe out.

* * *

Spring morning
flycatchers, jays, thrushes, a woodpecker’s loony cry.
A toilet flushes.

* * *

Zach
awoke from a scary dream
I kissed him back to bed

He asked
are all the doors locked?
I said yes knowing they would not hold

* * *

The republic may expire
but birds go on traveling, singing
in their best attire.

* * *

My plump cashier
has a new love.
Her skin is clear
and her line moves.

* * *

Desafinado means slightly out of tune which is not a problem.
It’s a fortunate condition. Zach just called from school sounding clear
and happy to say there’s floor hockey this afternoon. For me, another       cold,
slow Spring. How lucky!

* * *

At basketball I was reminded
the better players in their private moments
think on the ultimate reward. Perfect rest.

* * *

You come in our backyard, we go in yours.
That about sums it up. Assuming there are definable, accepted backyards.
Suppose it’s all one backyard and time is all one sheet of ice?

* * *

My son Zach said as a toddler he liked the old house
and he’s having a good time now at the new house.
We were lying together in the window seat passing the early morning       time,
late September and happy as I was I thought what’s running out is time.

* * *

The young women’s bodies were awesome. I appreciated
the couple of Muslim women who kept their bodies
covered. That was easier on an old man’s eyes.

Not that I wanted to change the American girls’ ways.
They seemed comfortable wearing underwear outdoors
and unaware, more or less, of the longing it provoked.

* * *

To invade a clean house
searching for weapons or insurgents, I agree
with the enemy, that is a sacrilege.
Not that I accept their god, and there could be,
hiding, a mouse.

* * *

I tell my sons
If some man tries to pull you into his car, fight
kick bite yell run punch curse scratch knife
make him **** you right there in the street
use your feet your fear your hate.

* * *

If everything seems under control, you’re not going fast enough.
—Mario Andretti

* * *

The river in its muddy symmetry
high water mark in Spring
is a god to me
in a way that I can be to a dog while thinking
or the sky is to the hanging apple.

* * *

A day, a new day, starts at 5:00.
Earlier than that it’s still yesterday,
the rags and dreams, the sweat and worry, the *** and laughter
of that day. The alcohol and aspirin, the sunset and machinery, the dinner       and toothache
of that day. The germs and friends, the sports and editorial, the gleam and
      dullness
of that day.

* * *

The key to success is cross out, delete, compress,
rub out, expunge, black out scratch out blot out,
censor, crop, shorten and silence.
Clip, cut, erase and eradicate.
Hate everything you write.

* * *

I will be saved
and spanked too.

* * *

Phil is on a movie diet. Bad movies in which the logic switch is turned off. Jumps from scene to scene like a cat.
Most ******* is hilariously obscene. Genitals like little animals. Snowplows hit potholes sending up sparks.

* * *

Make way for a future that’s irresistible!
Dust. Rest. Mist. Rust.
One day follows another until the last day.
And on that day, there will be weather.

* * *

Driving in traffic
80 mph, 80 y/o.
Turkey vultures shrug shoulders.

* * *

When an archangel
flies into your windshield
sing cuckoo!
Under the bridge it flowed
That thing called his life
His dreams
His goals
His precious time
Life force and joy.
He stood on that bridge and watched...
Life like a game of poo sticks
Wondering at what point the moment would arise when he would engage
Engage in a meaningful way
Make contact
Connect

But the bridge seemed so....
Well it seemed to be the most sensible place to be.
Dry
Safe
Warm enough...
And yet
All he did was watch
As other sailed by
He was not satisfied. He lacked...

Yet there seemed like no obvious remedy
No clear path
No solution
Like a man wishing to eat a mango without getting sticky
Or wishing for a fine garden without getting soil beneath his finger nails.

Feel the earth my friend
Let it paint a picture in your soul
Let something take root deep within
And give it time to grow...
Let the process take time
A tree does not grow in a day or a week or a month.
You must keep this space safe and moist
Cared for and nurtured
So that over time. A plant may grow.
This plant will be your joy
Your heart
Your elixir for life
It will make you whole.
just some thoughts
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