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Nat Lipstadt Mar 2017
Forest inquires:

How do you decide, choose your design, find its guise,
give it a face, surrender to the poem's own
vanity,
        and choose the poem's alignment?


                                                  an­ answer forms:

this alignment idea,
you think it simple,
everybody understands
what your inquiry means

alignment -  the appropriate relative position

we live in relative position to each other, our poems too, for they are but written synapses of our close captioned interactions, seemingly random, but assuredly not, as we invest in ourselves, seeking the mysterious appropriate answer
                                                                ­                        from the Theory of Poetic Relativity

                                                   ­             i love your question;                              hold it to my nostrils,          
                                             ­             smell the coffee aroma wake up blast inherent;
                                                                ­      
 kiss its robust childlike cheeks for the simple   soulfulness essential arousal;
for you see sir you have found
the appropriate position that relates us, our mindful words;

                                 answer no good, wholly insufficient?
                                        perfect.
                          as i close this quick cooked to perfection laboratory solution, take note

                              
                            ­                        the earth has moved
                                our hearts have beaten a measly thousand times
                                    time and space have appropriated our prior
                                          
relativity

when you return years hence this poem's shape will perforce have moved. for words are weathered flux constant and yet inherently unchanged except for the part of us that changes with every re-reading  

and what was


**right before has left and the center has moved again
Nat,

This is probably just an insane thing of mine, but I cannot stand the center aligned formatted poetry. I want to read the poetry, but why center? I want to know why it is center aligned? If it is a metaphor for how poetry could/should serve as a balancing point, a countervailing force for a point, perhaps I could understand...but so many poems center aligned, I don't know, I am probably missing something.

A right aligned poem? Perhaps I could understand, if the content was asking me to revolt, to revolutionize, to counter the status quo. But a centered poem? What does the alignment mean?

anyway, it has been a long time since I've been around, keep writing, hope you are well.

-forest
Pepper Dove Mar 2020
A ghost is said to be a form of energy;
and we now know that energy can physically move objects.
Which would make sense when someone witnesses an object move independently,
they would immediately assume “ghost”.
But what if it wasn’t actually a ghost moving the object at all,
but really the person themselves?
We are starting to understand, more today than ever, that when we breakdown a humans molecules
to the tiniest points, known as “subatomic particles”,
that all that is left is light,
and that in fact, light is a form of energy,
therefore we humans are essentially energy.
Now knowing this,
and with practice…
why wouldn’t a human be able to harness their energy,
and use it to quite literally
move physical objects themselves??
Going further into this concept, where we are talking humans,
then we can’t ignore our biggest human quality: emotions,
which we are also now finally understanding to be a type of energy in itself,
and that it can also be felt…
such as when someone is sad near you, you are able to sense it
and feel bad for them...
So who’s to say that when a human has a panic attack, is outraged or even terrified,
wouldn’t be able to form a supercharge of energy from a build-up of emotions
and unconsciously move an object?
Therefore, confusing the incident with what seemed to have been
a ghost…
I wrote this 2 years ago and just now rediscovered it in my notes on my laptop... thought it was an interesting thought I had hahaha and figured I would share.
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2020
When I close my eyes
sleep does not come cheap,
today's cost
is inevitably tomorrow's loss.

Invisible connections,
in entropic waters,
burn out,
demanding to be re-soldered,

hardwired,
in the hopes
they will once again all fire
in the correct order,
at the right time,

(whenever the need may be).

And it's now here,
as I reach for you
across this memory bridge,
to find you safe and sound
tucked right under my chin.

I will learn to keep
my eyes shut tight,
allowing dreams to bend, loop,
and faithfully overwrite.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2020
king of all the children of prride,

a challenge

simulate the mind of christ,
imagine that,

but before that mind there were others,
fully contained

in the godhead,
******

the reference points we are mortal at or on or in or of or
whatever

withknown mitgnostic mag-I-artful-intuition ifity

springing, post clockwork world,
post atomic force augmention focus visuals translated

in virtual 2-d

a word. is. wide or long but never short and long and high or low,

without a very sophia isticated way of folding

re
ality into now, with you finding yourself beyond the Disney-ifiers

set with cubic ziconia tiaras holding mantilla veils

covering the window in the top of you head.

--- great message, I got a lot out o' that.
--- especially the worthship

seamanship **** preventer, look up, y' re

demption station draweth nigh,
we all *** rrecycle by and by,

jest, decide not to lie,

ye get by. And y'kids do, too.
Rope and release
CC Jan 2020
Where?...
What's happening.
No, no, something is wrong. Very, very wrong.
Why can't I see?
Where, am, am I the only one here?
...
...
It's cold here..
And I think I'm lonely.
I'll make something
And it will be beautiful
Bright
It will explode
With life
No more darkness
I can rest easy
Humanity, I’ll call it
They shall be perfect
And I can go back to sleep.
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
If the earth is flat as a pancake,
how come the sun and moon, and pretty much every other celestial body, are round like a Belgium waffle?

If the moon landing is some giant hoax of trick photography,
who did it? and how?
I mean, Industrial Light & Magic didn't get it's start until nearly a decade later!

Come on!
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Delayed reaction
Bitterweet one-note transaction
Turn a blind eye
Voice it in a lie
From compulsive catalogs
Gift-wrapped by mythomaniac hands
Mixing false theories
With hour-glass sands
Because everyone can
And everyone will
Believe the scientific rulebook
And how the high heavens, they shook
So long as it looks pretty
And speaks in a foreign accent
Join hands in singing the praises
Calculating our own descent
Passively uninvolved?
Problem solved...
In today's world, ignorance is no longer bliss.
Eyji Noblesmith Dec 2019
When trees could all stand,
With the beasts of finest fangs;
Erased by a bang
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
*** in the morning
Death in the afternoon
And it was dark

Milling about stacks
Of paperbacks and out of focus snapshots
Some of her in the shower

But pay heed
She's an iceberg
Warm her up on a bed of nails

Until she's a plaintive waterfall
And then tie her to the scaffolding
Of a clean well lighted place

What remains out of sight
Through omission
Through silence

Through childlike syntax
Shall float to the surface
In its own due time
To the master of the Iceberg Theory, Ernest Hemingway
Yue Wang Yitkbel Nov 2019
Chorus:

In Spring, from my poems, flowers spring
In Summer, a sum of everything green
In Autumn, foliage melancholically falls
In Winter,  my wintry mind gradually thaws

I. Spring:

Always one with nature
The Truth, my mind follows
A wave of pastel colors, returning swallows
Peck the hedges with petals of my soul
Blue and shattered, into the poetry it goes
What is without, escapes, imprints on the folds
Of time and space, as the stream of consciousness flows
Till, without me purposefully noticing
It captures within my thoughts an eternal Spring
And remains
Subtly felt but
Unseen

!

In Spring, from my poems, flowers spring
In Summer, a sum of everything green
In Autumn, foliage melancholically falls
In Winter,  my wintry mind gradually thaws

The Poet's Dream Follows the Season's Calls:

When the world exterior is abundant with
Life and the breathing, palpitating all
I capture in my mind, thoughts and words
With wonders and troubles
Of the nature
Without

When the world exterior crumbles and falls
Hidden and blanketed, asleep by the winter's call
The opening beyond Plato's cave gradually thaws
I am suddenly privy and drawn
To the nature
Within

II. Summer:

Always one with nature
The Truth, my mind follows
Between the boulders of lichens
Upon the emerald streams
Floats the vessel of my soul
Gathering seagrass and pollocks, it goes
What is within, the nature time briefly holds
Is now words of mine, to be told
Before the grass fields are eclipsed by the gold
It captures my thoughts evergreen
And remains
Brilliant with eternal warmth
Read and felt yet
Unseen

!

In Spring, from my poems, flowers spring
In Summer, a sum of everything green
In Autumn, foliage melancholically falls
In Winter,  my wintry mind gradually thaws

III. Autumn:

Always one with nature
The Truth, my mind follows
A twilight dance of leaves and boughs
First it blushes, ruddy, timid but bold
Then, it undresses, melancholy, bare in its fallen maple soul
A chilling gale gloats, pallid night wallows
In the anticipation of the impending revelation
What is without, dreaming its withering dreams,
Is now traversing through the wilting wintry plain
Soon to reach the delusive emptiness above
The hidden valley of invisible plenty
And be captured by my thoughts, reason and faith in harmony
With its dazzling orange and red, cerulean velvet behind emerald fringes
Forever vivid
In my poetry, to remain
Deeply felt, though
Unseen

!

In Spring, from my poems, flowers spring
In Summer, a sum of everything green
In Autumn, foliage melancholically falls
In Winter,  my wintry mind gradually thaws

IV. Winter:

Always one with nature
The Truth, my mind follows
The snow covered barren streets
A tattered overcoat suddenly greets
In a moment, by it I was brought to a place
BLOOMING with intrigue, I navigated this maze
And found the GREEN hedge of will and fate
Rich with HARVEST fruits of reason and faith
Like the SNOWFALL, that steals all
I became a glutton of light, in spite of the shadow wall
What is within, bursts from my mind's seams
And overflows
Not into the nature beyond, without
But nature of my mind and dreams within
And is captured by my words
Mirrored from my thoughts
In my poetry, it remains
Enlightened by and enlightening
All who seek and think, every being
With truth evidently felt
However
Unseen

Conclusion:

The poet of autumn, summer, and spring
To the exterior objective nature sings
The poet of winter, withered and plain
From the interior subjective nature, essence springs

The seasoned poet blossoms regardless
Whenever, wherever, timeless
Among
Fleeting fields of earthly gold
Or eternal pastures of souls
The Seasoned Poet Reaps Truth with His Soul
By: Yitkbel Yue Xing ****
Date of completion: Friday, November 15, 2019 1:38 AM
Started sometime after/around 10:00 PM Thursday, November 14, 2019
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