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Star BG Jan 2020
I look for answers everywhere?
Sometimes they play hide and seek with me.

They come inside beating heart
and gentle wind in Autumn night.

Come inside a morning dove
that sings to escort sun.
And echoes of a babies giggle.

They resonate from the full moons glow
and diamond stars twinkling at night.

Come in the purr of a family pet or
orchestration from a conductors barton.

They come in a meditative stance
or prayer that moves through candle to God’s ears.

Yes answers hide every place.
And I shall never stop looking.
Inspired by Ben Noah Suri.  Thanks
Q Dec 2019
there is no answer
no statement recorded
no such truth
that answers the souls yearning
...
other than
what is found within
-
we too often feel lost
stranded, abandoned
by the cosmic whole
without direction

but we were given everything
EVERYTHING
we need to find peace
within the being we animate

stop being a victim to life



s.q.



.
thoughts from vipassana meditation and mom conversations


.
thesa Nov 2019
we played hide and seek by the rivers
and sometimes i would chase you

but never would you chase me
and when i asked why
you smiled because

love to you
was just a game
Seeking life through another's eyes
be not how I wanted to live.
Let it be my eyes that others seek,
and the hope they intend to give.
Random Guy Nov 2019
i just wanted you to know
that I've been reading your poems
your stories
your heart
and I too
bleed for these words
like you
and I hope
you read mine too
when your heart
seek for words
Bhill Oct 2019
Pursuing a thought
Seek, think, understand
Believe in the thought

Brian Hill - 2019 # 264
Seek new things and believe
marianne Oct 2019
I look out on another fine day
aspen roughhousing with the breeze, flashes
her good morning
sun goddess smiles
Soon I will pull on my boots and gather up
the reddest and ripest, greenest
and tenderest
I will fill bowls with water
bring oats and pine bedding
give thanks for fresh eggs
Like a thousand other mornings,
and like the first

Here in the stillness, where snails slow dance
to orchestras playing a green symphony, I seek counsel
from those who have always been
who have always known—
How then, knowing this?

The wind whispers its wisdom

You have forgotten we are the same,
you are the seed, and carry all you need
inside of you


Seek the bright elemental light
in all things


Sing because you must

Give more than you take

Grow down and rooted,
reach up and outward
in equal measure


Remember you are made up of earth
and sun and ancestors—
not alone, not above
but part of


Not alone, not above
but part of


Befriend loss, for she is always
at your side


Soft-feathered necks arch
bold eyes fixed, the girls murmur
their assent
They remember the great
transformation
Read IPCC report here: https://www.ipcc.ch/sr15/
maria Oct 2019
Sorry for the sadness
I'm not trying to
it's just life,
you know,
everyone's playing hide and seek
Some people need answers you don't really have or are too clear, they just don't want to hear

Written on October 20, 2019
Sunflower Oct 2019
My naked soul wanders by the hallway
I can hear gossips
and see stares
by strangers.

Can't compete with the society's standards
so, I am judged their villain minds.
Can't make their eyes full,
so I am often pushed to the wall,
and telling me that I am a failure.

They don't have to remind me,
for I know that I am.

Now, my nakedness drives me to do something,
something that will make them happy
my parents will, everyone will.

They will all come to this memorial,
pretending that they are longing for my existence
pretending that they are all suffering for my demise,
but I know, it is just a social mask.
A social mask that says they'll miss me
A social mask that says, they love me.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2019
Myths, lost in Cartoon Network and its spawn,

fortunate-ly
most criminals, most out-side-the-bubble,
improper thinkers, if you will,
not right thinkers,
those
are not very smart

fortunately, we

have the internet, they left us that.
We can rest and recon
we, the people, can recoup from a coup to the knoggin

next, trip a trap, snare a glimpse of that golden thread
assign that care to the piece
of your core
that cares if you remain sane enough

and follow the golden thread, this one, not
the one connecting riven mouths
of joker gods, barfing in the gulf,
the MOMA tied a cube of hay,
with a golden thread and golden needle,
in NYC, which led to me seeing Moma Luis
and his daughter who goes by
Franceska, spelt otherwise,
unspooling a golden thread on a stage
a few furlongs here
a few furlongs there
in fathomless billows of life,
stitching those gaping mouths shut, for me
thus I share the joy of being
me
and you may imagine I am more
than words
mere me dear reader, quite enough to entangle
anonymously

with a mad woman, wrapped in a feather boa,
needing the laugh, to spark
the healing
healing itches, you know, if you have scars
healing
itches, scratch with gloves,

don't destruct your self, for the rub

the touch
of love, ha, define your terms mofah!

What's love got to do with it, art
official, proper, Q-17, a mystical number
qua
quaf the essence

a puff of smoke, I paid a ttent ion to to

find Babylon, this guy did not know you, Prince
of Persia...

you a hasbeen mofah we be a little bit farther now
push a bit
push a bit
7 come 11, watch I measure smoke cought
or caught in my throat

the artificial-ness, we must dis-pute in time
******* smart
self
aware.
Watch y'self, this is the age of miracles
we got us a clown

wombed-man... it all got choool
the facts
of now
make next appear possible.

forward and up, tough for people
right
now

some words struggle for worth
values
meaning meaning meaning worth paying you
to know
add to your childhood collection of coolhood collecti
stuff
to claim you own it own it own it

ify ify if you glow, who needs to know, like
from a star
POV
Bette from a distance, a mob is a mobmind,
a shared thought you got wrong,
twisted, twisted, twisted to true

and the signal fades into the sound of the helicopter
setting new power poles.

The grid is using humans skilled in war manuevers
to set new power poles.

Thashits poetic.

And my magi-pen don don don't run
dry,
in the summer
we go deep, down to where the big rocks
that would not break rolled
to a stand still
y'know.

a selah, preceding a halle lu Jah.

Another fine day, in Pine Valley, lookin' west.
for overlooked
jots and tittles tatooed is silly places.
Musing
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