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Ken Pepiton Sep 2020
A gad fly,  a drunken blue fly, and I were
discussing
the curse of being a fly, if men were the measure of all things.

We rise as riders on winds,
and raise
dust when we land, ignorant of sophistry,
but knowledgeable, i.e., read-up
in classic biblical
knowing. {you know, as Adam knew his wife}

Yeah that idea,
essentiality and haecceity, causa sui,
per se, in other words, we could
insert and
still mean
mere words {digitized wisdom begins as words}
reading words makes them animated, not live, not living
being
words, reason essence, point of truth being

the answer to why there is a memory of nothing,
and not nothing now?

Idle words accounted once, are ever liable to personal
interpretations, thus we have classes in
ifity.

We learn via living, that every thing, even the matter the
newborn whatever is made of,
all
was here before me.

I am why history occurred, so far as I may say.
I am the point being only this

hominidiotic thought, they call an ideology and I am sure
I think it means some impossible to realize,
Leave It To ******  sequel, where Eddie Haskell is the cop,
who squeezers the life out of a man, on video
we witnessed
enmasse, right we saw and were we to not believe
deep down what we saw could have been stopped,
if that camera had been in my hand?

Yeah, like me shove that big old cop, he shoot me,

Yeah, make ya famous. Name abridge too, feryerass

Maybe, but I heard and seems I seen its so,
many's the wish gone wanting,
for lack of a man who will try.

Say winning is done with warfare, no fair, child say,
bully child, was reared in a bullied home,
seed of some Minetaurical idea for rearing kings,
feed them bull hormones
and lies frome the wisest of men, men of letters,
many undicipherable but to the
survivors of the mazing,

The Amazing Grace and Pledges of Allegiance and all that,
nothing spiritual, only inspirational national pride,
very carnal minded stuff,
on the surface.

Hmm, gadfly, or blue, give us some perspective.

We seem to be marching,
as to war,
keep in cadence to a bull horn -- gnoshit this is gnostic alchemy
jungina ju ju wu wu wei

we must be making this up.
You the enabler.
I be the artist, who gone be the accuser?

-- games, y' think first, thank later,  as each lesson teaches
this works, that don't
points add up, bit by bit, we begin, be-re-sit, ctrl/alt/del

blue screen of death.
ahhh men.
imagine we was once as **** as we imagined,
and we have the grandchildren to prove it.
imagine
we could leave these bodies behind,
and not lose our minds,
or any of the roles we have played.

This is like that. Today. It’s a trip, not a journey.
I'd take it from the top and feel safe landing here.
Perspective is everyting. pop. everytime
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2014
little pockets hid inside big pockets,
storage units with keys
purposely misplaced,
envelopes of documents,
labelled, saved for a purpose
that is no longer memorable,
but still instant recognizable

scenes from a marriage
violent hatreds so great,
that years of a single silence
were successes celebrated,
secrets never secreted

the taste of them
from your gorge
can't be easy erased
once the bile comes up,
you can't stomach the notion
of choking it back down

well past
the limits of inane,
voided arguments
left your bowels cleansed
but your mind throbbing pain bombs,
your body
floored in an exhaustive state

the limits of inane,
voided arguments,
left your bowels cleansed
your mind lobbing throbbing pain bombs,
your body
floored in an exhaustive state
and you dd this to yourself,
so no one helps you up

caches of glimpses of video snatches,
trailers of a life woeful misbegotten,
sudden asunder ripped to the fore,
you know you were there,
know you took part,
is that a younger sadder version of you?

the backyard of your brain
where the cache was dirt buried
kicked open foul odor and
well you smell the screaming hatred fights,
and the reel to reel breaks but you see it
anyway in the orangey brown colors of
time decaying, burnt-edges of video tape

you think your life is tough.
*******.
did hard time, 30 years,
in a prison with no air or light,
a cell the size of my brain

just when the stench is mostly gone,
the cache ripped asunder
and stink so profound
you gotta lie down,
cause a reflection in a mirror
is ample excuse to put your
head or hand through it

and all you did was go see a play entitled
scenes from a marriage,
and afterwards you keep both hands in your pockets
lest you start choking yourself
10/12/14
Mark Toney Nov 2019
Fresh new book opens wide and swallows me whole!
Taking time to acclimate I catch my breath,
Focusing as scenes and characters unfold
To instill memories of their length and breadth.
Finishing one book a month is my firm goal
Few subjects considered are out of my depth
Reading encourages to take life in stride-
Back to my book! See you on the other side!
11/7/2019 - Poetry form: Ottava rima - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
m h John Jul 2019
i feel more alive
in the scenes
of my dreams
than i do in reality,
i feel her gold leaf touch
ripple through my veins
while i call out her name
until she comes to me
and i can see her face
clear as day
before i’m able
to pull her close
i feel myself
float out of the
colored scenes of my dreams
and back into
the black and white
of my reality
m h John Jul 2019
sometimes we have to soak
in the negatives
of our celluloid scenes
in order to develop
and see the color
with in the world
PawanTube Jul 2019
SHE belongs to my dreams.
like SHE’s only my last string
hanging to the endless screen
to the room of “love scenes”
yet! it’s not clean...

for love inside our mess
which was not all a hate
I’m not a worse,
just fool of my hope.
the way the
circumstances betrayed
do we need to
pretend our spare?

HATE which I neither did
LOVE which i always did
though most time happened less.
but the the two are always
tied with knots...

how could you let me down
easily,
where’s all the promises
that we made early.
oh sh*t! i got this
moment right.
yet dare to
spell something.
unless my poetic
mind stops.
perhaps DAY is near
i’ll went out soon.
this tied knots brokes out
with the piontless cause.
01.07.2019
SHE belongs to my dreams.
like SHE’s only my last string
hanging to the endless screen
to the room of “love scenes”
yet! it’s not clean...

for love inside our mess
which was not all a hate
I’m not a worse,
just fool of my hope.
the way the
circumstances betrayed
do we need to
pretend our spare?

HATE which I neither did
LOVE which i always did
though most time happened less.
but the the two are always
tied with knots...

how could you let me down
easily,
where’s all the promises
that we made early.
oh ****! i got this
moment right.
yet dare to
spell something.
unless my poetic
mind stops.
perhaps DAY is near
i’ll went out soon.
this tied knots brokes out
with the piontless cause.
01.07.2019
halsey Apr 2019
paint me into scenes of monet waters
kissed by water lily wishes
loggi Mar 2018
1.
I sound like white noise
Quivering and   still.
The sound changing now
With the        frequency
                         Back into me.
I turned one notch
To change         the channel
Because   I can’t       handle
                         This episode.
The lights       blink
                 As images
                      Play in motion
                    And I see them
Dance like they should
Till the crack
And fizzle
back to black and white
   Blurring Into the SOUND.
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