Bobcat Jan 10

It's been a while since I've written
It may be 'cause it's been a while
Since I've really felt anything at all

One little white pill
"It'll take all the pain away"
But the dealer never told me
My new friend was here to stay
So before you say yes
There's something I need to say

You'll lie awake wishing for pain
At least then you'll feel something
But it'll never fucking come
Because your friend you call numb
Calls your brain home

Numbness used to be my friend
But when you invite him over
He'll never want to leave
And you'll do everything you can
To evict him from your home
But forever there he'll stay
And you'll always feel alone

My tiny round friends used to be so kind
Now I'm reminiscing on times I felt alive

Whatever.
Demeter Sorin Jul 2017

Though is the granite
And smooth is the soil within
All matter is condensed in one
All is in motion
All in the dark
The circle must remain perfect

Following a zen-like perspective
Paul Jones Jul 2017

Like a drop of ink     diffused in water,
A single idea     might change everything.

00:15 - 11/07/17

State of mind: content; tired.
Perspective: empirical; spiritual.

Thoughts: from observations - of pressing a paint-loaded brush against the rim of a glass, watching it all run down the inside, diffusing throughout the fresh water.

A single idea might change everything. A single act might mean something. Ripples from the butterflies wing.

Questions: What can be done to make a difference?

Listening to: Coldplay - Everglow
Poetic T May 2017

They cling on false hopes
as they hear the illusion
of happier times coming.

The carousel slowing down
             horses like waves
up and down around unending.

But they are disorientated by the
thought that the finish line is on
the next turn, there reality now frail.

Jami Samson May 2013

It is for the reason we think and think and think,
That the finishing line seems to shrink and shrink and shrink.
Their trophies and our consolation prizes, we always link
To the faces of where it matters not if we stink.

We grope and grope, but never look;
Only offer our eyes to reference books,
Pay our lives to learn how they sit and smile and dress and cook,
When we could carve out crafts of our own on hippocampus walls to hook.

Charts and charts of sound waves go farther than needed into the ear,
But in this statistic, there are more of those which we are deaf to hear.
Then we wonder, perhaps they will listen if we talk our fear through beer.
What we cannot, we must preach, so in the morning it’ll all be clear.

Putting on several mouths, sincerity seldomly salivates in our tongues.
And all we ever scream about, we let clump and clog in our lungs.
Our voices, we swallow, then verbalize universal dung.
Is that easier than to allow our singularity be hung?

To possess such delicate bones under thick coats of flesh and skin,
One little sting, we crumble as if our framework isn't as fortified as tin.
But sometimes when too stung, we rigidify and our cutis turns lean.
Our pores, too open, that even what doesn't exist, we welcome in.

And so, we stick to our lifelong work of homemade bibles,
And add commandments every time we build stables,
Along with valuables from the places in people’s fables.
Only us can decide to make room for new tables.

#21, May.27.13
Arlene Corwin Oct 2016

A Day Of Thinking or
This Is The Way My Brain May Work On Any Given Day

           Breakfast In Bed
No one in this world
Makes thinner toast,
Better toast, winner toast.
You do not boast.
How have you learned to slice
This near-transparent, indisputably crunchy piece of bliss!
What skill!  And modest too!
No one can make such toast as you.

                Going In To Thank
Going into different segments of the brain
I thank for life in any of the synapses.
Is there a gratitude partition
Or a separate, section - special one?
An all-inclusive?
I don’t always feel it – just today.
It probably will go away.
I hope it leaves a record.

          Late Afternoon
Deep, deep inside
I’m feeling tired of society.
It’s like, what I imagine to be
What they call depression.
It’s connected to reality; civilization.
There’s the problem -
It’s not me, it’s them!
I ought to put away the TV (I’ve no phone)
Things electronic, dailies, monthlies,
All things histrionic;
The destructive, scandalous and shocking;
All things not-to-be: illusory.
Noel Coward wrote “World Weary” –
A light, song for something serious.
Perhaps that’s it!
There still exist fall hues phantasmagorical:
Food tastes, sweet music, friends amusing, loyal,
Beauty, animals…and still I feel
Despite the goodness,
Deep, deep sadness at the mess.

A Day Of Thinking 10.28.2016
Circling Round Reality;
Arlene Corwin

Austin Bauer May 2016

The church we visited
Today for pastor's round table
Was set like the scene
Of a Grant Wood painting.

The fields were stretched 
For miles upon miles,
The view enhanced 
By gently rolling hills.

The tin-roofed-and-sided church,
Once a barn, now renovated,
Sits in the middle of a farmers field.
A treasure once hidden, now found.

In that building we discussed
The move of God across
Our nation and our state,
Building unity amongst us, 

Those who till the earth 
And spread the seed,
Waiting for God to 
Bring the increase.

For as the rain falls
Down from the sky,
It waters the earth
And causes our seed

To sprout and produce fruit.
So we must be patient now,
Being faithful farmers waiting
For the seed we've sown 

To receive the nutrition 
It needs to spring forth
And yield the harvest 
We have always desired.

Flying Away Apr 2016
.

our earth
a round orb with
clouds, oceans, trees
mountains, rivers, lakes
volcanos, waterfalls
glaciers, flowers
and You
.

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