#county
Din graiul tău, se-nalță veșnicie,
Pe buze tremuri, cald ca o cântare.
Mi-ești lege, dor și sfântă temelie,
Un far de foc, în nopți fără hotare.
Sudoare, jertfe, veacuri de durere,
Fii punte, peste timpi ce ne separă.
Din dorul tău, să naștem mângâiere,
Mândră ești, a noastră pururi țară!
Aug 29, 2025
Aug 29, 2025 at 11:53 AM UTC
It’s a city in the mountain view
**** I’ve never seen something quite like you
So fun and free, yet peaceful-
A constant reminder of nature’s beauty.
For some the growing happens after high school
For others, the change happens in graduate school
I was nervous to make the transition alone
However, him leaving turned out to be the best **** thing since edible cookie dough
Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 12:10 AM UTC
If we are a free country why does everything cost so much?
Society will not help those stuck in a cycle of poverty
The many cannot help themselves
So poor stay poor and the rich keep expanding the size of their bank accounts
Cannot save the hungry or the homeless so we might as well save face
Mistaken for freedom is decision
We are given few choices to make us feel like we are in control but that power is just an illusion
It is a free country to the privileged and an imprisoned country to the impoverished
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 5:20 AM UTC
If there are wonders of worlds unknown it wouldn’t be found in this missive. All ingenuity and innovation of tenders and obscure precarious peasants in town are forgotten. A tailor-made war machine ingenious to no purpose, but disassembling of pragmatic purpose driven people by torts in similitude to lay-flat bacon with no flavor. Style was not the first itinerary as well, as reason and intellection more likely found slung out a window in the dark grey burdensome MOCO morning clouds to dry than the vestige of its unrecognizable token. At the day of the making of the great ingenious monstrosity of marvel the crown and the crowd were all in awe, awhile the people gathered in the halls giving pittance and lamenting what they saw. They were counted with their many items that they made not similar to the machine that they stood in obeisance for.
October 28th broke darkness to a drab MOCO morning as brilliant light gives way to long pale grey cloudy skies of foreboding obstruction. What has come to pass fills the streets with unfriendly noises. Obnoxious street sounds of trucks and rude commuters in the morning melting *** of the county seat steered a drab venture for the driven. For some, the events of the day couldn’t come too soon. A sober male erected himself in an uncomfortable bed, eyes raptured into a day fore lorn by prophets of paisley drapes and trinkets once despised. Little left to vacillate upon he strikes his life for the fare he will need for the day without a meal and those owed are far greater than he can afford to pay. He deserves far worse. He makes his early drink in one thousand ways and questions the preliminaries that compulsory routine has degraded to utilitarianism as he is burdened by health of the sort the homeless are afflicted.
Sitting undisturbed, busy rifling through an ordinance of papers, the judge peered out over his bench checking occasionally to appear meticulous and still aware of off-guard court officers and clerks. It’s a wonder how influential the long satin Khaki painted walls aligned with disheveled faces of the father’s of the 9th District were in forming his disposition. It might not be obvious by the look of his sparse schlocky beard or furry eyebrows but, his portrait was as predestined as the grain on the gurney he rode in on. A paladin in white, a fury fine form, ready to leave his post modern imprint in-line with the greats. This wasn’t what he loved to do; this was what he was born for.
The tight soldier-course front-line of blue and teal is disrupted by our pocky pitched Siren dousing more among the brown of cross wood than the grain that red oak can display. Cordial banter in the echoes of the hall were far off despite the close good mornings and whimsical felicitations exchanged wittily without regard to fairness. Framed words are hard to come by in the sentence seat of the unjust. The fake philanthropic mating calls our Siren sounds before the wind are so grotesque in full sight they are only left for a sailors burial song or dirges in the dark by wearisome travelers and laborers neglecting the fear of their next day as they did the day before. Singing is a requirement in the back minds of the proud. of the proud.
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 10:52 PM UTC
White water meets white sky.
No escape from this fog bubble we call paradise.
Eyes blinded by white blankets of smoke.
We wonder what is beyond.
A white canvas to project one's desires of a far-off dream.
Thinking...
Anything is better than this, right?
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
a man
of Bastille
that Canandaigua
march till
Pacific with
their referendum
suffrages to
really inhabit
kingdom that
welcome a
pickle as
this ancestry
written petition
must declare
doom but
again with
fur trade
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 9:06 AM UTC
an early
moon made
falls shine
and being
a kind
of archer
where he
was taught
with ingenuity
that ritual
his prowess
in hunting
would tell
arrows here
in forrest
succumbed to
their inclusion
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 7:54 AM UTC
Hicky has been there to bleed a knife where once it traced him
in the knees like a robot he fought his colors in a foe but his registered *** offender agreed where feelings hurt inside the belt
that flood was never analgesic again and let him gun down nights
he walked alas with cleated shoes as future most often did ****** with just his uniform search for sovereignty and dignified marksman with courageousness that ended his justiceship in Harris County.
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 7:34 AM UTC
impale olympic skies! their pacific
avarice, turbulence, mai-tai-dyed
oxycontin contradictions pull out
deep convictions to rift meteoric
and fall apart.
happiness apart.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
The big day was a week away
The streets were being swept
Folding stands erected
Where homeless, last week slept
To make a good impression
The Mayor told one and all
To step up and take note
To answer his loud call
We must show the whole country
We are the best at what we do
We have to show the country
The best side of me and you
This meant weeks before this
The police were out in force
Removing the imperfections
Both on foot and out on horse
A cleansing of the city
Make it nice for all to see
It brings up bitter memories
At least it does to me
It happened back in Europe
A little corporal took command
He did his little cleansing
With his little **** band
The town had hung up bunting
Like the banners in Berlin
being homeless is a problem
It's not where a cleansing should begin
The mayor had plans for plenty
Marching bands and lots of press
He'd only answer pre-set questions
In case it all became a mess
He had to have it perfect
It was his first parade you know,
the streets were freshly steam cleaned
There was nothing he didn't want to show
The displaced folks all huddled
Down in the park, a mile back
Veterans and soldiers
Whites, Hispanics, and some black
Their town was in transition
They were the cities hidden sore
They would never be accepted
Never let inside a door
The Mayor stood on the dais
Waved and smiled as folks went by
It was a town of smoke and mirrors
He showed the world a great big lie
Like the small Austrian corporal
who refused to change and would not bend
The Mayor lied to his country
It was the beginning of his end
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
The eerie warmth that comes with the calm before.
The unnerving shade of black that only clouds can claim.
The heat that rises from tarmac on empty, open roads.
The scent of petrichor from the passing of earlier rain.
The first rumble starts somewhere unknown and distant.
The suggestion, an omen, of the beginning of an end.
The first drop of rainfall from another night of storms.
The thunder waking creatures from their beds.
The sounds increase slowly as time crawls and passes.
The night is young and roars keep rolling in.
The dark, as such, so early in the evening.
The set of warm goosebumps rising over skin.
The colour of the sunset behind their eyelids.
The blood of Gods is soaking up their breaths.
The momentary post apocalyptic sense of living.
The moody skies catalyse thoughts of untimely deaths.
The passing of the clouds seems dangerously fast.
The growls now thick and boisterous, vehement and clear .
The dust that whips past legs and arms and faces.
The shelter is no barrier for the splitting of an ear.
The tranquillity of standing up in air now still.
The peace of opportunity to look over horizons.
The aftermath of rain and wind and thunder.
The silence of one mind becoming enlightened.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC