#formation
Festive morn, I crossed with thee
Embellished silk shines with whirling elegance—
Of translucent textures and fine fragrance
The royal formation— that anticipates a chance—
A romantic browse of catered acquaintance.
As I swipe to slant,— Thy arms braced my shoulders— and uplift me—
In awe of my still,
Slipped palms of thy distant longed—
In the halls of hide and seek—
Despite the fragments,— Thou aimed to break the lines,—
Chasing this harmony,
Unravelling the elflock sway;— to clutch the Orchid; Until she stays..
Jul 2, 2020
Jul 2, 2020 at 2:56 AM UTC
A conundrum that can't be tested, even how hard you try to exercise every specific. Just ail parts on a spinning axis with no conclusion! The conclusion to test the bewildered expression of pieces without there own thoughts. Feelings resort to compassion. Excluding the taste all together. It’s messy how something exists, which has no theme to what they are, and how one is tested. Tested to take your parts and find some commonality with more existing parts that urge the taste of compassion. A taste with its sense of propriety. Justification to mount moral terms with oneself. Oneself can’t tell itself apart. Only pieces trying to organize itself while spinning their connections down the rut! Permanent desire to fetch them out of the phase that’s established its original premise. Originality has no qualms with the likes of compassion. Setting up without any discernible corrections. Meant for outsiders within themselves to judge, plan, and exercise, without mercy to anything but oneself. Spinning axis burns desires upon urges that breakdown over time. The spinning pace doesn’t stop, until you stop and learn what truly is happening. Pieces remain in the rut. The rut full of many spread out phases too much to take in all at once. Plans don’t go to your agreement. Something outside oneself has yet to appreciate yourself, and what you have to offer. Except how does one do that when many pieces are too spread out for one to notice? Every specific is already radiating like a charged particle. Charging too much friction between one another. Trying not to lose one another in the constant spin of irony. Irony devoted without practice. Practice makes time for oneself to finally notice the originality of its premise isn’t truly spinning on its axis. It’s actually strolling for one’s interpretations to finally notice its static charge. The different pieces are holding on. Fetching the obvious back into circulation. Circulation outmatched not by itself. But by perception of a fully established sense of self.
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
it's a mere wink from the waning moon,
it's two o'clock, in the after noon, post
meridian,
sliding
in to night, it feels
like
falling.
It always does, be not astonied, it's a trip,
you did not stumble,
you are not fallen.
Astonishing is what stoning was in my realm,
we never imagined
rocks used as apes use rocks.
Astonishment, we meant.
Show the fool the truth, let'm
imagine what they saw,
samesame what
we all see as we 'come round
the mountain,
then
when you see,
you know you saw
all
the fools say
they see, after
the fact.
There is some way, where there
seems no way. Some times take days,
some take no time at all. Change what you know.
In merest of minutes, the moon shall slip
below my horizon and my
spelling trance fail
to make sense
from in or
of darkness, this time of day.
Redeem the lunatics,
this cult culture made made our children mad,
for noreason, but gravity and
matters of time, some
twisted
into
an imbalance in the way
stuttering
words reach round the world,
as fast as a spell spoken
in the beginning. Bang.
Bang.
You're dead. Too bright.
No, you did not anger the gods,
this is an old thing,
under the sun.
Augmentisism is a shock to the system,
so no mindmob sees this without being
Upgraded to use the tech.
Now, wait for the tech,
we always beat them to the finish.
----
Artisto Informo Archeo Typo
whiteout, blame the paradigm shift,
they insist on punctuality.
---- life goes on, we always win in the end. True.
----
A new voice added to the choir,
preached to
since
first
the lie was law
among men imagining
only evil, continually.
Catastrophic morphic
resoundings ding ding ding
Do any American children recall air-raid
sirens announcing noon?
Do they know how to hop a freight,
and twist the rails into
an idea for a
protein
hopf-
based on an origami swan taken to the nth?
Jun 27, 2019
Jun 27, 2019 at 8:07 PM UTC
It poured and poured,
The clouds were relieved,
trapped for so long,
Felt burden less as it splatted,
Creating a ripple
as it landed on the water
or landing softly,
On the green grass,
Making it moist,
Or crashing on to the compacted concrete,
Forming the pitter-patter sound,
Petrichor smell spreading everywhere,
It fell and fell,
Until the clouds realized,
That after the rain,
There was always sunshine,
And that was how her story began,
With a bit of sunshine,
And a bit of rain,
But she was the rainbow that was created,
In that beautiful combination.
May 5, 2018
May 5, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
Ecstasy mire in its own sorrow,
As if a ghost makes love to its shade.
The wooden door merely holds the knock;
Instead it punches out within the walls,
Dispersed as if a blow of clay.
There the sound hauls up a craft:
Foul of the wooden scent.
Just as it intertwines with cloisters,
The curves are lined into a silhouette.
The mountainous fogs are sharpened,
The apex is buttoned and round.
The matter it is that shapes the core:
The mere marriage of soul and dust.
How a flesh can tease its craft,
As it gnaws on a clavicle(?)
The ghost sips on a river,
As if making love to its shade.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
As if one moving with an intent,
the flock of birds,of same feather,
with out any flight plan whatsoever,
or navigational chart,all approved,
change formations in lightning speed,
in to shapes none can ever imagine,
breathtaking to view, different each minute,
they do this in mid flight, reminding the quicksilver
dynamics of ocean waves,each minute day and night.
Oct 28, 2017
Oct 28, 2017 at 11:50 PM UTC
too many souls
live life like
it's a test
always rushing
to absorb the
i n f o r m a t i o n
nothing is
in f o r m a t i o n.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 7:01 PM UTC
Broken glass in various forms washes up on ocean shores.
Edges smoothed by the violence of salt.
The water was never meant to be home.
Again, they find themselves in unfamiliar territory.
As I stand over green, blue, and brown pieces, the sun breaks through.
Gathering warmth, they shine in the winter air.
Here, before me is a metaphor for my life.
I am broken glass in various forms.
Made of varying shapes and types, I have found myself on unfamiliar shores.
Beached for a while then taken into the grips of the vast, I return again to where it all started.
Now, people comment on how out of place I am.
In the same breath, they compliment my beauty.
We are products of our environments.
Time moves us into new directions and places.
When uncomfortable, we shine.
Looking up from the glass, I feel a calm come over me.
Epiphanies come to me in the strangest places.
Aug 28, 2017
Aug 28, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
Sparrows in brisk flight,
divide, avoid the tower
their reunion seamless!
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
There is a study of some interesting production
That says that continents drift, but I disagree,
Listen if you will to my theory it's of a sort
That is of a very different decree.
In the beginning a planetoid smashed into the earth,
It would later become our moon, it was larger at first,
This matchless form of damage caused a great impact,
From which would later be whole continents birth.
The lava that flowed would be enough to make
Whole parts of Pangea sink, and huge amounts of
Ocean would poor into, eventually be. But this is my theory,
Why when the damage was done the magma flowed
So much from such areas, it formed what is now the
Colorado mountains, as well as the whole of Australia,
Japan, and the Polynese. I know this is just a theory, but I'd put
All I have into simply wanting to believe. The truth is always
Out there, and this is simply what ideas that I conceived.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 5:21 AM UTC
Manitoban Skies
Clouds are the mountains of the prairies
Towering cumulonimbus masses
Incredible backdrops across an otherwise plain blue sky
Warning call that rainstorms may approach
Vertical reminders of atmospheric instability
Jetted upwards into vast formations stretching miles and miles
Promises of unrelenting lighting and thunder
Cinematic sequences is country folk are lucky to view
Humidity in the summer, ah
What would we do without you?
Rolling clouds are a fair trade for the lack of rolling hills
Clouds are the mountains of the prairies.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 4:56 PM UTC
Rolling out into honey-coloured clouds
Above sun-drenched meadows.
Drifting into silences of amber light…
Where only the sky knows your heart.
Horizons shift willingly ever further
Promising joys and delight.
The auras of doubled wings, painting
Shadows over a mellowed earth.
The rush of wind lashing at my face,
Hugging me into submission.
While the soft drone rolls into a dance:
O! to dance with thee!
O! to hear the long forgotten ballads
Woven into magic melodies.
Music made by the gentle *********
So swift and graceful on the wing!
July 1999 - flying as a passenger.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
When thou lost order within thee,
Allow truth for the remedy,
Thou seek not being obsolete,
Ambition is one-third the piece,
When fair is foul and foul is fair,
Answer with a righteous prayer,
And once the sword of truth runs there,
There’s no desire for foul to dare,
Thy second bit is quite a sweat,
For love is nothing without debt,
And once this virtue lays a threat,
Preserve the balance with one step,
The final triumph is through the hail,
Indifference is the frozen stale,
And once its staggered breath gets pale,
Thy will gets handy when they’re frail…
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
As it turns out,
there is more to falling
than just the fall.
There is, for example,
the thought.
The, "what the hell" kick of
adrenaline that keeps your
engines running.
The, "make it stop" sort of
desperation that sends you
somewhere beautifully
terrible.
The thoughtlessness of
being pushed that is somehow so utterly
unforgivable but still exhilarating.
There is the actual falling.
S
t
r
a
i
g
h
t
d
o
w
n
or sometimes
s
l
o
p
i
n
g
and even sometimes
f l a t o n t h e g r o u n d.
There is the flight.
w d
i a
n e
g r
s p
S
like a bird's and waiting for
the air to lift you
up so your feet don't touch
the soil.
The darkest part of flight is
landing.
It can be as peaceful as
the baby being
d
r
o
p
p
e
d
from the stork's
beak but it can also be
painful and
sudden and
harsh. But the main thing about hitting the ground is
your fall is over and
who wants happiness to
end?
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC