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Qweyku Dec 2023
The beauty of a snowflake is
seed with impurity.
A dust atom the foundation
of its crystallisation.

An air of heaven meeting earth,
a divine tango of melting gracefulness;
watering this cold cursed Earth

© Qwey.ku 2023
Science observes all snowflakes are marked with the number six. And like Adam are formed from dust.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2023
In my shop I have many unused tools,
and many useless things if electricty fails,

if crafts were to prosper, self sufficiency,
enticements might be as messengers,
in light, show-wers of the way, in story,
as once all knowing was made sacred, set
up right, perpindicular to the axial age last

rotation of the guards. How long this mad
mad mad mad made up and fed us, realm
stuttered into our commonsensed dance
where reason claims war is economical,
eventually, we assume we are all pawns,
so we do what pawns do,
get through
to the otherside, dude,
do you imagine,
chess players today less adept than AI
the prime ministerial idea, taken at init,

dance, what was it Foulcault's said
to have said? How can one discern,

5wpm quill to scribble, letter forms
sounds fit to, to say How can one discern,
a mad happenstance revealing an edge,
just in time, to stop, and think it over,
one more time, why am I alive, for good?

Eternal question all one trick ponies ask.
Animalistic nature of the rural breeds used
to be used to feed the cities, now they breed.

As the plow horses freed by machines, bask
in what looks like wild horse freedom, to a child.
Flank straps induce a buck up response, influid
flowing response,
to clover in bloom and bees, a buffalo
and then, some men,
on horses, olden days, three generations back.

The after math of war is a societie's honored dead.
Should the logical out come
of a point to point
message transmitted in the clear out
of the blue,
direct to you
as love, not of the Freudian mindsets sexuality
fact or realized co-related, lately piled on,
happenstance and dammed good luck, free

really, humans do these displays, and reflect,
scheizkunst riddle art with holes in the empty
Universal soldier modeled on all boys hero's,

drama sells glory, even to the losers,
look at Custer, and the medals for Wounded Knee.

So, what must one account for, idle word wise,
I burned each one redeemed, as raw aha, mere
words to the wise, each enough to titiosis curiosis

in volk, ah, dem Milchmadchen boo on u uumlaut

whoa, go slow, madness and mayhem, tears
in the flat felt seaming, inner thigh, sore

flat black and white yen to yank reality into my time,
I offer you this investment
of your otherwise used time,

which goes on forever in six differing ways.
In the middle of every thing I find a self expressed here as nowhere else, so far.
I S A A C Mar 2022
I'm 20 now, my logic still unsound
I still linger around and use **** to drown it out
I try to be perfect, be an adult, and keep working
but I am not perfect, it hurts knowing that it hurts showing that
but vulnerability is a virtue, I continue to work to
to shine my light to shed light on what might
be brewing under the surface, for a random observer
I'm 20 now, I hate the way it sounds
almost like the tik tok of a clock, I’m an adult now
my prime is coming to an end retail therapy to pretend
I'm not where I want to be, I'm not happy where I am
do I keep put on the track I'm on or do I switch lanes instead
too many tabs open in my head, too little time spent out of bed
I need to get on my own feet, I need to plant these seeds, I need to not burst at the seams
because I'm 20 now, cant wait to see it out
wondering where ill be, who’s beside me, and if I’ll still doubt
Raven Feels Jan 2022
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, best alone again:>

their tongues spoke in languages of dim black
not for the people, not for the universe, just for the humane lack
their mercuries slipped into a coma of grace
is it too much of an ask to grant a questioning face?
their secrets molded, intertwined, & folded
for the eyes to formulate the truth from the lie sorted
their breathes sent  beat to their hearts to syncopate that keeper
then feels out of their laces or not just them alone in the Ether
their dreams although vanished weren't a matter of none
for the hurt to be a double impressionist's helixed one
their souls craved for a carve of that humble form
so do they submit to rain & dance under the thundering storm?
cliché or not
somethings are left unsaid without a period dot
blunt or rude
better feel shame from faults than when ****
what does it mean, to be delicate's recipient ?
to be an exception to the head of a never lenient?
what does these ancient walls say?
if the colors of the face couldn't cover up before that end day?
a crime to deny them sensations
to get to know someone in six conversations

six pm Apr 2021

am a
the gravity
of emotion.
noting the
subtle lensing
of light,
as it
passed you
distorts my
star weary
i must
crunch the
equations &
check them
i don
& shoot
for your

of you
path is
a cosmic
wall; to
galactic sky
as microwave

sense of
your dark,
i spend
my nights
matter that
surrounds us.
by the
scented skyline
jet propulsion,
serenaded, and
lemonade rainfall;
upon another
acid planet.
your pain
upon the
still unpinned
by travelled
making me
jealous of
all the
places where
the universe
sees the
of you
i am
of being. °

as love
in ellipticals
it eclipses
my heart,
the awe
never ceases
to inspire me.
invokes my
devote my
life to
the beauty of
its euphoria
into the
to release
the burden of
it’s memory
like the sun
burned into
my retinas.
i compose &
compute each
itself onto
endless notations.
converting numbers,
filtered through
my limbic system,
into colloquial
closest words
to illustration,
as my
surmise. •
. •°.

code the
my poems;
my theories
of everything.
my poetry
to everyone
as my
my mind
my only
am i
still the
who can
in the

-six pm
six pm Apr 2021

for fifty days i fasted,

knowing no-thing,

save the retching of my own flesh,

save the pit of my own stomach.

for your arrival safely we sold

our cattle, fashioned a festival

our first kiss –a first sip of wine

on the day break of Pentecost,

at last my fast was over.

we fashioned circles of precious metals

and strung them around each other’s

vena amori, declared forever in a vacuum

proclaimed endurance upon the coming

event horizon of time itself.

space swells with the ancient ruins

of men and women who shed tears

tracing the constellation trails

from one end of an ocean to another

filling the void of voiceless oceans

with metaphoric rapture and appetite

for adventure.

Charles, the smell of desert sand swims

firmly between your pores,

your body warm as the land

cut like mountains

between your biceps

where my head lays

basking in the moments

you are here.

how i adore you so.

proclaim eternity

enter matrimony – eyes wide open

place his heart upon a pedestal

let no slanderous word nor malicious canticle

****** his woefully mortal heart.

roots and petals of calendula

poultice to quell the spasms

you take me in my blood

and i take you in my arms

when the nightmares hurt

worse than the back pain.

you remind me that even in the winter

the carmine-colored cardinal coos

and whistles, awakens the trees and fills

the cold world with sweet song.

i’m unraveled in your high collar,

blue and burned in a freak fire,

raptured by the desert

nothing is forever, we know,

yet everything is possible.

there is no going back.

on this river of time

except maybe we’ll escape

the event horizon burn

as radiation about

the black hole’s radio halo.

dying light is a subjective notion

when you limit every poetic persuasion

to the limits of the human eye.

we weave honey, orange citrus, & marmalade

into spacetime tapestry,

devote each second

as the present is our own reward

the art of being in love,

the pleasure of being alive.

the future is a metaphor –

as in calling the ocean endless

naming riptides undertow

we: new and other molecules

blur into water, two bodies

one brackish soul. -six pm
A poem about reuniting with my husband.
six pm Mar 2021
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.
                                ⁕                             ­ ­                                                               ­  ­                    *                               ⊹
· ⊹                                               * ·      · ˚
⁕                                                              ­  ­                                                              ­   ­        ⁞

for you i am a tequila sunrise;
for you i am heartbeat panging
through the pages
of schoolgirl crush notebook.
kissing crux of neck bone crest collar,
soft and warm as morning bread.
                                                      .   ­                              •
                                 ­                 ⁕
you are at least 6′ tall.
i blink.
     .                    *          i am sure.                                    ⊹

   .     ⨀              i say: starlight you are sunshine    ✧                .
   and i love you like buttercups.
i write you sonnets and give you heartbeat
✧             gift wrapped in its parchment.            
            .                             ­        .                        
                               ­    ⋆
­you grow 10′ taller.
you are menace and
i am mouse.

i tell you i am falling from your eyelash.
*     you grow larger. 20′ tall now.      
.        •·            13 miles you crest everest.           ⋱        .
i go to hold your hand
but i’m a lonely golden pebble.
                   you ask the clouds a favor;                
to blow their wind and push you away.
                                   .                     º            
­                             ⊹
you are leaving.
i will stay.
i tell you i need you.
  i feel nothing.  ·•
⁖   •․    i am in the stratosphere; floating        *   .
i am a helium balloon
and you are shrinking.
⋆ ­             you are dusking sunset             .
.    through bleary eye slits      .
and it is getting cold here.
⋰        star sparkle my vision sun sinking            .
º        backlit dropping…      
⊹                  .                             ­                                   ­
  ◐  •             you are              · ˚ ✷.

… my lover?    ⊹

· ˚ ⊹.      you are           ·  º

˚ ⁕      …my height now.       ·•      

you are smaller.
  ✧                 you are sprawling pacific ocean.                   *
whole life ahead of you.

  * ·      · ˚ ✷.              .
                                               ­      º
i am drifting alone.
         i still love you.     
·    .             you are orange melodrama, ⊹            .    ·
you are marmalade paintings
on still-life ocean surface.
you are the west
  * ·      ·                              ˚ ✷.
                                          ✧                                  ∗
                          ­                                             ​.
                                                          · •                .

⁕                                                              ­­     .

               ✧           and i am gone.                         
                           ­                                    ​

•                      ­ ­           
                                                   ­            ­         ​.
∗                                       ­             ­                               ⁕⊹      * ·      · ˚.
  ✧ ∗
                          ­                                             ​.

∗              ­ ­                      ⊹    
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.
  ✧                                          ⁕
                    ­­     .                                            

every constellation becomes a new map evolving
and i am only marrow
you can see right through me.
i am an open book and you are diary entry.
∗                            .                            ­        ⊹

                         ­  ⁕

           .                                            •
star­tling the starlings with my stories.
∗i regale earth’s ******* mud, her jewel weeds,

dandelion wish clouds,
and the way you kept together everything.
∗                            .                       ­             ⊹

                         ­  ⁕

           .                                            •
fu­r­loughed like an arrow.
you sentenced me to no-thing.
bone marrow bow flung me
with the bow crafted of my own heart strings.
sorry. i couldn’t make it to the moon by morning.
i hope the darkness wasn’t so bad.
i hope you missed me.  

–six pm | *furloughed
   ⁕                                                                ­­                .


                                                               ­ ­               •

⁕                                                   ­­                .

                                             ­­                                                ​


                      ­                                         ­         ​.

∗         ­                                          ­                      ­          ⁕⊹      * ·      · ˚.
  ✧ ∗

                          ­­                                              ​.

∗             ­ ­                       ⊹    
  * ·      · ˚ ✷.
  ✧                                          ⁕

∗                                                            ­ ­             

                                                ­  ­             ⁕
A style I've been perfecting since 2016. I love to blend visual art with my poetry.
dailythoughts Feb 2021
this hour of the day feels heavy
Wilder Jan 2021
I hit my peak so long ago
I was six, on top of the world
On top of the jungle gym,
Not that it was different.
But since then,
rolling downhill
um so I'm not gonna post that often anymore (not like I ever did, but) I got a ukelele and it inspired me to finally put music to the poems I write (which usually I have a tune in my head when I write them) I've been meaning to start writing music for a while, and I'm finally doing it :)
Emma Dec 2020
Head buzzing with recriminations, I’m lost.
2. Tired of abandonments, I left early.
3. A fork: the answer or unknown?
4. Stinging hornet knives slash ocean sharp.
5. *******. Now ******* silence deafens.
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