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Ken Pepiton May 2020
Fight or flight button upgrade in process,
pleas,
beggings,
wait. Wait and see. Selah. Wait...

there. The next para-digm pop, you opt for geotime mode...
think
I am a rock... not the whole song, at this speed that takes a mortal ever.

Hyper awareness arousal, slow and steady mode...

startle response seen in squirrels and lizards and me, the re
sponsor of what... ? nada,
oftener than not.

The trigger is a ***** from a point being ig-nored in ignoble folly
iggie popped a bubble,
iggie lived an ugly life at the same time as earth was living an ugly life,

pop aster risc pop star ish pop

horse feathers as a load, ye gotta tote that bale, bher the forbidden burden.

Ye never read? Is that the message ye come t' judge. Will ye find me those winged
messengers of old, mercurial bherers of points in the right way
popping boundaries to progress, in time,

laughing at the rock I imagined I am, or am I?
Am I the rock Sisyphus rolls?

the time scale has wobbled,
ever just threatend to end free will,
-- is this suicidal imagination killing its own self?---
you can't die if you want to.
Not here.
Up the road a bit there is a bridge. Sure thing. For normals, who
never been this far before.

Would that be Sylvia Plath paying me back
for knowing nothing of the effect her work had on
the message McLuhan got...

next generations are pre-enabled to be skeptical,
the medium is the message,

resonating into ever, since October 27, 1954...

singing- chorus of smallworld voices

Soaring strings... whennn you wish
upon
a star, makes no difference where you are...

the
first American Television
generation with unformed frontal cortices in 1954,

sang that song, in their hearts, and truly,
wished on Venus, often,
that supposed to be the wishing star,
all things considered
combining into les confused knots
Pinochio/Tinkerbell dust/ Magic wand

the besom, broom, for sweeping up destruction,
Fantasia ai ai ai
was animated. We saw it with children's eyes,
in darkend rooms that poured
our mass attention into the massive window
staring into the windows of our souls,


---- the effect of truth
---- war loses its honor, its only supposed reason.
---- war it self crumbles under truth flowing in the at most fears
---- made superficial, top ply, last layer losing wind

breathe, soft yes, nothing is funny any more. Ah ah ah waht if
it always was a literal joke...
high brow,
a maze, to entertain life... in 2020 there is tech for this.

We have access to survivor networks of every imaginable ilk.
Meditations on truth, owmmm what is going on gonggggg

And they are off, all the fears and doubts and unbelievable lies
into the stretch
intendere
sistere

pop to Sysiphus Happy Now

Massive multi player game, where all non-player characters
lack masks, they do not play, the masked ones play for them, in the spirit
of
truth
told so suddenly y'gut jumps,'n' sphincters clinch...

simultaneous release of un belief, opening
empty knowledge boxes lined
with cedar, for the smell,

hope, in my chest, where my trea-sure things are.

My grandmother, the idea of her, her life was happy, as far as I knew.
Now, I know she was a  final model of mental upgrades
to the enregizing system we all share,
at v.1.0 white of the egg dna,
some 120 kya a[kilo years ago}... there have been upgrades and repairs

to many lines of YMRCA's since she wombed her way into
our family history,

it must be quite a story, if we can imagine mito mom mighta had a whole

dreamtime life where she snipped the thread of all the other wives,

a vision, she says I see, and I see I say, this is the way

prophecy woiks, woopsie daisy jes' dropptabebe, do a li'l dance,

weep 'n' moan, what could be woice, than a cajun gramma lover voice?

singin' sweet by and by
so long no longer means a thing,

things being what they are, and we being mere words, working
through true trauma beings

lining up for gratulation, grace for grace, eye to eye.
Bad guys lose, good guys win.

_ like I said, there will be times you must start over..
_ but the game goes on.
Contuing continuing  ting ting tic... sure plays a mean pin ball

ymrca means wombed man most recent common ancestor -- we family, y'know.
Robin Carretti Mar 2020
Hello! Its me always on the cell phone? I tunes
Hello Hello does anyone acknowledge
Someones hello do not disturb sign movies of art
Getting awards all hearts next role part
Hello private lives desperate house wives
Writers words that move us hello please don't leave us
A friendly hello greetings and deadline meetings

Please don't hurt anyone's feelings

Getting closer no impostor
Stars shine hello my dipper
Like the golden rule running like
A mule the competition
The compromising position
Just the hello- transition
Getting awards surprised

Say what you mean
Words should be
Crisp like lettuce clean
Cafe French roast hello mingle
No awards to be married or single
Instagram beauty
and the beast pictures to hustle
Climbing the diamond door
  Getting awards hello a title

Moving towards the winning line_

  Fast and furious "Valentine"
Computer hello apps trophy
Getting awards your happy
Over the Judy rainbow
Metal awards and plaques
Seeing monuments and hello
Hollywood graves
But no-one hears me

The "Yellow Brick Road"
Were off to see the wizard
Hello! Oz
Like a fantasy getting awards so comforting a smile a friendly hello be happy
Harshitha Girish Feb 2020
Her presence was
Lumos - it lightened his heart.
Her sass was
Bombarda - it blew him away.
Her tears were
Crucio - it pained him.
But my goodness her smile was
Avada Kedavra - it killed him.
Only Potterheads can get this poem lol.
Nettie Schulte Jan 2020
We’re off to see the wizard
The wonderful wizard of Oz
The one with courage, a brain, a heart, and a solution
The powerful wizard of Oz
The man, no being!, who has these wonderful things
The wonderful wizard of oz
You walk into his room
The wonderful room in Oz
You ask your questions
Oh wonderful wizard of Oz!!
Will you give me what I need? What I crave?
Please oh wondrous magician of Oz!
‘Why of course’ he says
For he is the wonderful wizard of Oz
‘You need a brain? Courage? A heart? A home?
Asks the inquisitive wizened man of Oz
‘Take mine and go, for I have no need of them
I want to fly away from this confining land of Oz
Take everything I have and let me float away
The man in the sky from Oz
Waving from above the clouds
In a wondrous balloon above Oz
You’ve been off to see the wizard
The wonderful wizard of Oz
And you’ve found, that he is a lost man
The hopeless man from oz
Twilight Breaking Dawn, page 329, Title of chapter 17
Winter Sparrow Nov 2019
Light up some sage.
Bring down your cauldron.
Put a candle on.
Let the rain be your music.

I am no wizard.
Nor am I a man of god.
But in times like these.
Maybe I should believe in someone.

Who am I?
A man split in two.
Consumed by anger.
Driven by freedom.

I am containing myself.
Holding back.
Baby, this isn't who I am.
I fight for what I want.

Think not of is as an act of selfishness...I am not selfish.
Nor as an act of heroism...I am no hero.
But because I understand what you are, who you are.
Im holding myself back. Fighting myself.

Finding a reason...why should I stop?
It's because you respect her boy.
You fool. Slave to love.
Captive of your own desires.

I am no wizard.
Nor am I a man of god.
But in times like these.
Maybe I should believe in myself.

Light up some sage.
Let the ashes fall in the heathen ***.
Get that sentimental pendant...
And wear that red gem around your neck.
Äŧül Oct 2019
Mark Wanless
A fine poet
Penning beautiful
Poems
That happen to have
A definite structure
His words full of youth
My HP Poem #1783
©Atul Kaushal
Mitch Prax Aug 2019
I dated a witch-
her magic made me wish it
had never ended

6:34 PM
13/8/19
Randy Johnson Jul 2019
A Wizard gave my cousin two choices, become an ogre or praise the new Doctor Who.
It took less than five seconds for him to choose what to do.
He chose to become an ugly green ogre even though it will be for the remainder of his days.
He chose to be an ogre because the new Doctor Who TV show isn't something he'll ever praise.
He became an ogre two years ago and this morning I learned that he doesn't regret it.
He doesn't regret his choice even though he's so ugly that he makes Shrek look like Brad Pitt.
When he was given the choices, he was expected to praise the new Doctor Who.
He has always loved the original Doctor Who TV show but he sure does hate the new.
Wizard of the earth; I am the botanist of yore -
Conversing with the stars until the stars can hear no more.
I read them pharmacopoeias from catacombs of lore  
To fill the vacant sky with verse of those who lived before.

Poet of the sky and the ever glowing sun -
A seven-headed serpent lays in wait upon my tongue.
I sing in sacred stanzas from a phantom in my lungs
To make my spirit rise before the day is yet begun.
Unfinished fragment from something i wrote a few years ago. needs work.
PS Feb 2019
And it’s only in those silent moments I feel sad.
I spend my days keeping busy,
I tell them all I am actually doing surprisingly well.
Because I actually feel like I am, it’s not just something I’m saying to say.

I grieved.
You were gone for, like, three days before you appeared to tell me it’s over.
So it felt as if you’d already done it.
Like a missing person’s body finally being found,
Like a crash towards the inevitable, that wave of just knowing.

He is never coming back.

But in the daylight I’m okay.
No one has to know my feelings on the subject,
You don’t even exist to them.  
It’s only when I’m in bed and the music stops that I realise the gaping hole in my world.

The faces of men I turned down for you,
The things I would’ve said, the plans I could’ve made,
How close I was to finally feeling safe.

But like every man before you,
And probably many more to come,
Safety is never an option.
Security is someone you call to get people out.
Home is a place where I build the walls, I decide who gets the password to come inside.

But I don’t want an audience anymore.

No one gets to see me.
Why should I let anyone see behind the mask of the Great and Powerful Oz?
What do I get in return?
No home, no heart, no courage for finally speaking up, no.
Just a slap in the face that feels like ice water.

So I sit here in silence, avoiding what has to be done and I cry and I cry until nothing comes out but a squeak.
This weak creature finally speaks:
‘You used to make me melt but now I’m melting.’

Oh, what a world,
What a world.
I have no idea why the Wizard of Oz became something of a prism to speak through, but it happened.
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