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Sergio Gonzalez Sep 2020
There’s something in your eyes
That yells out to my soul
I tried to reach perfection
Only to end up on the down low

I missed the point of living life
Living more than material things
More than the chase of hopeless love
Past all the little things

Past the bad moments in life
I tried to find an answer,
To the emptiness in my heart  
Sometimes I wish God could talk back to me
But in the good moments
I’d ignore every single advice given to me

We are all alone
But that’s not necessarily bad
It’s in these moments
Where we find the answer
To who we truly are

RunRunRun
To find your peace
Time is a blessing
So use it wisely
I hope you take these words with gravity
Ken Pepiton Sep 2020
Aware, as I am a ware,
not all minds find time to rest
while being read to,
while holding power to pause the reader and

look up a fact the reader mentions as being known
to all, but
me, I did not know, for

until some, not so long ago, time, agone away
holdon- until now,

I lacked the leisure to listen, no time,
for I was busy learning to
use the next necessary
technology, with glee,
to some geekish degree.
..-. - .-

Find The Answer
that is the message first heard, is it not?
Do you know what must come next?

Hell, yes. Yes, I know. We know, say every baby
*******, being
shaped in secret by wizards who do peep,
and ping, one thing to another,

IOT FTA we are here.

Is the evil fruit parasitic? We may find the answer,
if, ifity, see this ifity we imagine there
is
an answer to find, and we live in times like none
ever, up to now.
We have answers to quests, maps, keys in riddles,
laws in minds mastered in disciples of once
known occurrences
while crossing the ocean of current opinion.

- minded to put her away
- brrring the meter to the poem o leave
- me ****** imp
- I've lived this the long way, one day at a time
- rimes at the rim of ality re all lies in me,
- fall through the null net
- true/false, re/no/si
¿ No se?

Symbols only readers see.
Magi once prepared the spells with images
of things called common,
Bullhead was somehow alpha…

at this point silence, and the  sixty cycle humms of my home
step up as chorus,
while the narrator makes changes to the scene.

This is 2020, whenever you are. Our quests have become
ionic, after r poets got the point
and pierced the code of common sense, y'feel me?

Méiyǒu huǎngyán?

2020, like as not a lot closer to Babel than Eve,
on the angelic one way spiral of properly teleo-mered
DNA.

Mere, as a word, is a map and a clue in my realm.
****** is as well, truth be told,
sayings and figures of speech get old, apoptosis ceases to
pop.
Like bubble wrap.

Listen. We are served by art, or we are the artificer
serving you art.
We, as a we, not me'n'you and the others, but we,
the people who hold certain truths
self-evidently, as in
evidently, we have the power to be true to our own selves.

But our owned-ed-ed-u-cated self, owes its soul to the
companion store, for we all must ever eat the same
bread brot pan pita our parents ait,

just outside the garden,
near gobekli tepi, maybe, worth a look,
but later, if anybody knows, AI knows already.

I can wait, let's get through today. whats the selah code
for today lets keep on this No Lie theme, in Chineze


Méiyǒu huǎngyán

Did I wish or pray or merely hope

some good
could come from me
discerning, filtering rocks from beans at an

early
age, life is always living

memes are living memories of
things others
learned.
shucking corn and finding worms, but not
evil canker worms that ate every thing,
just the kind that chickens like
for treats on shuckin' days
in the olden days.

Today. 2020 tech, ancient mental time travel
app approaching
act if ative ity ooomph ala

we good


Méiyǒu huǎngyán

The song was One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus,
That's All I'm Asking From You.

Careful what you ask for,
as we commonly hear conservative mouths mutter,
by rote,
sleep-learned response to faith preparing to leap.

Giant steps feel just like falling, but yes,
you may,
if mother nature were asked, she would have said.

There is always a  place to put your foot, says the
spritely reminder from Sycamore Canyon,
running rock to rock, in the spring.

One Day, today, I was thinking I have all the time
in the world.
I can say that and believe I am not lying, for
reason,

reason is tricky stuff, like sweaty dynamite, in
the hands of kids with hammers intending
to nail freedom to the mofa wall.

Everything looks like a nail.

Ages of reason have gone chaotic,
due to war being given reason by law and
law given credence by users of wisdom, trying
to gain authority by authoring peace
where no peace appeared possible.

Hmmmm, sixty cycles 2020 constancy, in America,
aha,
how appropriational can one app be, y'azme, mine's as
appropriate as any,

point to point conversion, all things being equal,
push comes to pull, not destroy,
idiot. id thing, idea, jot
tittle
tattle tale
child, old gaseous entity stinking in memorable words.

Incensed, he cried, I am the prayers of all the saints,
ohsit I think
ang or watt

hat'gosh-roted - my word, have aw e- unrolled a whole new
dimension.

-- message for today, when you read this it is written,
that is all… empty of meaning until filled by your reading,
really… no bad mocuss curse of doubt…

we emerge into life in living vessels, empty save the
basic ideas an ant has, avoid discomfort by seeking comfort,
time is not a factor, but luck seems to be,
then screaming and kicking
seems to work,
work, that’s a concept… work it out, why

why,
grunt, why, ahh, that

fertilizer, I am here to convert raw living matter constituents
into some substance needed by mother,
her,
she who feeds me, she who has a name, mmmm ahhh,
it will come to me
this knack I notice used
noises that calm and comfort. oh good com encompass me
swallow me whole,

I have all the time in the world - this is twentytwenty the year
and I am in one of those days.
Sad, for an enjoyable art effect kanji characters can't be displayed or saved here. I am enjoying the thinking needed to print them with a mush-point bamboo flair pen, as a child, as an old man I have AI
Norman Crane Sep 2020
The flag blew,
                         asking
Is it wind or flag which moves?
Wise man speaks:
                                It's you.
Famous koan distilled into a rhyming haiku.
Norman Crane Aug 2020
Introspection
The art of finding within
What you cannot live without
reyftamayo Aug 2020
At sumibol ang mga mapagbunying isipan
sa makapal na balat ng lupa.
ang pinagtatakhan ko lang ay bakit
tila tinatangay tayo ng malakas na
daluyong ng karunungan patungo sa dagat
ng kalituhan?
ito ba'y matatawag na kamangmangan
sa sarili o sakit na nagdudulot ng
panghihinang tumayo sa paa,
na taas ang noo, at may pagkukusa?
ano nga kaya ang nagtatago sa likod
nitong makulay na isipan?

nanatili ang karamihan na pikit-mata
sa pagtanggap ng mga kaisipan ng kapwa
habang ang iilan ay abala sa
paghubog ng mga bagong panaginip
na syang lililok o lilipol sa
buong sanlibutan.
hindi man sinasadya, o inaasahan,
nagsilbing mantsa sa puso't puson
ang mga panaginip na ito.
kahit na sa mga pagkakataong
sarado tayo.
walang malay nating sinasagap
ang mga pakalat-kalat na talino
na para bang pagkain kung ito'y
manukso sa nagugutom na kalamnan.
kahit pa ito'y ikamatay,
mapagbigyan lamang
ang uhaw na nararamdaman.
hanggang sa tuluyan na itong
umalipin sa sinumang magtangka
na kumawala.

o sumpa ng galit na apoy
ng nagbabagang impyerno?
tayo lang ang inaasahang sumaksi,
maging alin mang panig
ay tama o mali.
malaya tayong mag-isip
at mawalan ng saysay na parang
alikabok sa higanteng pusod
ng mabangis na lipunan.
o kaya naman, palihim na sumibol
sa gitna ng disyerto
kahit na nag-iisa.
Esther L Krenzin Aug 2020
i was built
on the crest of a wave
and swelling roll of tide
and i was not forged
to walk on my knees
just so that others may
know peace

Esther Krenzin
They can find it on their own.
seer human Aug 2020
Sherlock

Winner! Winner! Chicken dinner!
Shout of a wicked fortune teller
Man so wise became a winner
His opponent get gun;pull up the trigger
Gossipers yell "police chase the killer!"

A man black suited reading newspaper
Squint-eyed; wrote "May I get your number?"
Waitress come near read the paper
Sherlock whispered "payment,later"
#sherlock #winner #chicken dinner #wise #unlucky
One thing I dislike about the night is
It ends,
The comfort, the coziness all have to end.
It gives space for the day to rise.
Which makes me see all the emptiness and ask me to wise.
I don't wanna die, I don't wanna live in lies
Wish the night prevail forever in the skies
So the pain, the hurt, the failure never visible to my eyes.
M Solav Jul 2020
Oh how I hate art!
So much noise
And false pretenses,
Such undeserved poise
For those vain promises.

Sure, in everything there’s a message,
Yes, anything you want to acknowledge.

How I hate art!
For it is far too fragile
To dare play so smart
How I hate art!

Oh how I hate art!
Whether I’m missing the point
Or whether there was none;
Whether it isn't what it ain’t
Or whether it’s just for fun.

How I hate art!
For it cannot do otherwise
Than state the obvious
And pretend to be wise.

Sure, you’ve convinced more than a few;
Yes, they’ve all grasped your great value.

How I hate art!
The cliche, the glamour
The whole thing and the part,
Oh how I hate art!
Written in December 2019.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2020
Old and satisfied, seven decades been plenty atime,
to live well, enough to tell,
some of what you wisht you'd done,

its prob'bly better thisaway.

That song never sung, when you were young,
you know
you still know
you had to know the whole story,
before you could tell it at all, just as well

nobody could know you were lying, about
all being well
'til the end.

They would have believed and followed me home,
had they heard me sing,
my wandering song
and known i live under stars as free as the breeze,

come and see, come and see, see it live on the air,
as if you were there
at the time.

Now, pick a flower, put it in your hair,
pretend you were there
at the time.
-----
Some stories told in vain
remain told,
never growing older than that first bright idea,
imagine you were there
at the time.

Child of mine, our kind,
we were born to survive the hard rain,
now
we waited fifty years for the ice all to melt,

and we laugh at fools who find
our broken radio silence
silent in times of great woe. I don't know but
as a spirit haunting liars,
I coulda been a contender, had I known.
I coulda lied,
and said I knew the reason for a thing,
proverbially as well as Solomon ever could have
at the time.
Nobody woulda known, but then, I mighta died.
What if it ended other wise, HA! No chance. My side won, death never had a chance, life goes on and on, or seems so, at the time.
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