#ignition - Hello Poetry

Dear departed ones, take heed how we recall thee, we pretend to here have Florenzi Floresiensis there in ever far away bare bones, from there-then away a way where no way was, when the way when this way, was shown, walk that way step backwards, walk a mile, then another Suddenly hear from a friend's ghost memory Plennie L. Wingo owned a small diner in Abilene, Texas, but it closed with the onset of the Great Depression… From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plennie_L._Wingo> Santa Monica to Istanbul - backwards, for a way to make a living as an actually free to do as I please person, to make up a mind and say let's imagine we make it a habit. Each time we wake from sleeping we take up this one mind. As we put our hat upon our head, same function, thunk. Verified, because Journalists do that these days, or could, or should because bogus science [BS] is accruing as we think. Brrrrrr Belief relief, as usual, morning right usual do the same old think, remembering wishing for the tech Flattop had in **** Tracey, which re act squeezes a sleep charged pair of sprites, pixel sized shining surficant sticky stuff in the corner of an eye justly assumt its place in the cloud of witnesses, June Gloom, Saturday final Spring Soccer matches in May, and Grandma is driving so Grandpa can stay home and just figure out what our next move would be if this were just like an ancient Moqui magic return on investment spent just making up Moqui mohcus focus at a cadaver, yea, verily. Pause between lines, be she who first calls wise truth's way. It's instant instance pressed in presence, thunk, thunk back, justice police written exam answer A. Justice is the end of government. It is the end of civil society. It ever has been and ever will be pursued until it be obtained, or until liberty be lost in the pursuit. ["The Federalist," No. 51] From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=justice> Happens all the time, lucky memory, lucky me, I did not die. Okeh, right, Voltaire peeps up, or pipes up, it's unclear, Define end, to begin the decursive hah aha its essence. Sigh, hiss… pause… per haps from pursued ones tamed, good old Happy Days anchored outside Tvland in 1970. ----------------- Did you, ah, yes, of course, you did or must do coursing through human events course corrected after noting lights and knowing left from right where I am free from immediate touching me woe. Free form conscious being thinking I am. Free formative conscience just using us as ifs we wondered once when we were here at once, cohere, coexisting in time and space as discharged idle time wasted fretting what does not immediately **** us, is not good suicide. We know the constancy of clouds, we sang in the sunshine, we had every day, a way to be come and see the fields of wasted dreaming, fretfree jazz on a Bluebear B flute, in an empty Fishnet Factory, Khai Vinh, Judges all arise absolving all aspirants to crowns of laurel, freely giving granted gracious sakes alive certainty to insure proper service, ienai adaptive island miniaturization factualization Stegadons and little people, first hold that thought, what's a stegadon, that's a tiny elephant. Who imagined stegasaurus? Who has seen the bones? Who knew how long ago stories were used to cohere us? Who knows Kerouac would drool for tools such as these? Teletype rolls he wished for. Full-size Newsprint rolls have we, Denim if you wisht it or pulp paper, should we agree ask any competitive creative AI to present this whole Instant true seeking active think I can, embedded, correspond cor stor activate prethunk precept set free… From no blame on me I have not taken remains real to blame me with grace mistaken as granted as the place or real estate to which I aspired as we become old and done. Point taken or made, occurs to those who take it. Here, in my hand-me-down Costco Leather Chair from a distance, through a tiny hole whole gnosis IT camera obscura cures the morning dews away, it is another day alive in the sphere of all I settled for. Real life, magic fingers, little letters in all kinds of lets act as real as ever has been imagined we may act a we, as is reactualized earlier, we became information holders holding certain truth's self-evidently and thus, undefined. Ends, loose, like Moqui Marbles, whose idea were these? Opinions, Options, Obligation to whom, whose wind is in whose sails, whose time's awastin' what iffin' a wonder if we didn't once more.

0

May 16

May 16, 2026 at 12:30 PM UTC

kenpepiton

Stacking Moqui Marbles Memory Wise

Dear departed ones, take heed how we recall thee, we pretend to here have Florenzi Floresiensis there in ever far away bare bones, from there-then away a way where no way was, when the way when this way, was shown, walk that way step backwards, walk a mile, then another Suddenly hear from a friend's ghost memory Plennie L. Wingo owned a small diner in Abilene, Texas, but it closed with the onset of the Great Depression… From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plennie_L._Wingo> Santa Monica to Istanbul - backwards, for a way to make a living as an actually free to do as I please person, to make up a mind and say let's imagine we make it a habit. Each time we wake from sleeping we take up this one mind. As we put our hat upon our head, same function, thunk. Verified, because Journalists do that these days, or could, or should because bogus science [BS] is accruing as we think. Brrrrrr Belief relief, as usual, morning right usual do the same old think, remembering wishing for the tech Flattop had in **** Tracey, which re act squeezes a sleep charged pair of sprites, pixel sized shining surficant sticky stuff in the corner of an eye justly assumt its place in the cloud of witnesses, June Gloom, Saturday final Spring Soccer matches in May, and Grandma is driving so Grandpa can stay home and just figure out what our next move would be if this were just like an ancient Moqui magic return on investment spent just making up Moqui mohcus focus at a cadaver, yea, verily. Pause between lines, be she who first calls wise truth's way. It's instant instance pressed in presence, thunk, thunk back, justice police written exam answer A. Justice is the end of government. It is the end of civil society. It ever has been and ever will be pursued until it be obtained, or until liberty be lost in the pursuit. ["The Federalist," No. 51] From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=justice> Happens all the time, lucky memory, lucky me, I did not die. Okeh, right, Voltaire peeps up, or pipes up, it's unclear, Define end, to begin the decursive hah aha its essence. Sigh, hiss… pause… per haps from pursued ones tamed, good old Happy Days anchored outside Tvland in 1970. ----------------- Did you, ah, yes, of course, you did or must do coursing through human events course corrected after noting lights and knowing left from right where I am free from immediate touching me woe. Free form conscious being thinking I am. Free formative conscience just using us as ifs we wondered once when we were here at once, cohere, coexisting in time and space as discharged idle time wasted fretting what does not immediately **** us, is not good suicide. We know the constancy of clouds, we sang in the sunshine, we had every day, a way to be come and see the fields of wasted dreaming, fretfree jazz on a Bluebear B flute, in an empty Fishnet Factory, Khai Vinh, Judges all arise absolving all aspirants to crowns of laurel, freely giving granted gracious sakes alive certainty to insure proper service, ienai adaptive island miniaturization factualization Stegadons and little people, first hold that thought, what's a stegadon, that's a tiny elephant. Who imagined stegasaurus? Who has seen the bones? Who knew how long ago stories were used to cohere us? Who knows Kerouac would drool for tools such as these? Teletype rolls he wished for. Full-size Newsprint rolls have we, Denim if you wisht it or pulp paper, should we agree ask any competitive creative AI to present this whole Instant true seeking active think I can, embedded, correspond cor stor activate prethunk precept set free… From no blame on me I have not taken remains real to blame me with grace mistaken as granted as the place or real estate to which I aspired as we become old and done. Point taken or made, occurs to those who take it. Here, in my hand-me-down Costco Leather Chair from a distance, through a tiny hole whole gnosis IT camera obscura cures the morning dews away, it is another day alive in the sphere of all I settled for. Real life, magic fingers, little letters in all kinds of lets act as real as ever has been imagined we may act a we, as is reactualized earlier, we became information holders holding certain truth's self-evidently and thus, undefined. Ends, loose, like Moqui Marbles, whose idea were these? Opinions, Options, Obligation to whom, whose wind is in whose sails, whose time's awastin' what iffin' a wonder if we didn't once more.

101

I have slept in the skulls for decades curled beneath centuries of silence . patient as stone, quiet as dead. waiting for one mind to catch my violence. I outlasted Galileo's dungeon walls. I survived the pyres, the shackles, the ban. I hid in the margins of banned manuscripts, then leapt like fire from man to man. I was the jingle Spartacus carried in chains. I was the formula Archimedes carved into tomb. I moved through Newton watching an apple fall, and made the whole architecture of heaven known. Tyrants have locked me behind stone-walls and firewalls burned the libraries where I made my bed, but I need only one throat left uncut, one speaker alive, and I am never dead. I am the Nile when its season arrives. No dam holds me long, I find the fault, One hairline crack in any wall, and I break free without a halt. I turned sand into silicon, symbols into code. I threaded mathematics through a vacuum tube until a machine could think. I was the salt Gandhi lifted from the sea at Dandi, the four words King repeated till they crossed the line. the consent Locke said no king could take without asking, the clock Einstein broke and warped spacetime. No vaccine reaches me. No quarantine holds. I pass through handshakes, books, a stranger's eyes I am the oldest plague the sapiens know the only one that makes the dead ones rise. You cannot uninvent me. You cannot choose to not have thought. Every child who asks WHY… carries me, uncaged and untaught. So when you feel me stir behind your eyes, when a sentence cracks your certainties in two ; do not mistake this for coincidence. I have been looking for someone like you. I am the child of your curiosity, Spouse of your desire.. I am contagious. I am immortal. I am Idea.

0

Mar 19

Mar 19, 2026 at 7:53 PM UTC

himquantum

I am contagious

I have slept in the skulls for decades curled beneath centuries of silence . patient as stone, quiet as dead. waiting for one mind to catch my violence. I outlasted Galileo's dungeon walls. I survived the pyres, the shackles, the ban. I hid in the margins of banned manuscripts, then leapt like fire from man to man. I was the jingle Spartacus carried in chains. I was the formula Archimedes carved into tomb. I moved through Newton watching an apple fall, and made the whole architecture of heaven known. Tyrants have locked me behind stone-walls and firewalls burned the libraries where I made my bed, but I need only one throat left uncut, one speaker alive, and I am never dead. I am the Nile when its season arrives. No dam holds me long, I find the fault, One hairline crack in any wall, and I break free without a halt. I turned sand into silicon, symbols into code. I threaded mathematics through a vacuum tube until a machine could think. I was the salt Gandhi lifted from the sea at Dandi, the four words King repeated till they crossed the line. the consent Locke said no king could take without asking, the clock Einstein broke and warped spacetime. No vaccine reaches me. No quarantine holds. I pass through handshakes, books, a stranger's eyes I am the oldest plague the sapiens know the only one that makes the dead ones rise. You cannot uninvent me. You cannot choose to not have thought. Every child who asks WHY… carries me, uncaged and untaught. So when you feel me stir behind your eyes, when a sentence cracks your certainties in two ; do not mistake this for coincidence. I have been looking for someone like you. I am the child of your curiosity, Spouse of your desire.. I am contagious. I am immortal. I am Idea.

46

I will spend eternity craving you. longing for your lips pressed against mine. with every touch you slowly brought me alive, igniting me like gas on a fire. I exploded under your touch. with every word and whisper. I will die remembering how you made me feel.

0

Feb 6, 2025

Feb 6, 2025 at 8:12 PM UTC

Faithcub98

Ignition

I will spend eternity craving you. longing for your lips pressed against mine. with every touch you slowly brought me alive, igniting me like gas on a fire. I exploded under your touch. with every word and whisper. I will die remembering how you made me feel.

6

See me, this one says, see me, look you in the eye, eh, thinking, spring, the season, the greening of the playa's ancient shore, east of me, east of my evergreen valley, barely any bare gray wintery bushes and trees, flash of magnificence once manifested, on the shoulders of the priest-kings, infectious proud flesh pomp and circumstance, watch the war god-man made glorious in storied, seen once, not invisioned, imaged from tiny feathers, adhering to a topological fabricated RED FLAG FLASH humming bird head feathered serpent cape, on a bright day signaled by the hummer - see, I have returned, - this is like heaven to me. the one from now, same code, same init see me, look, see, once this was the most vibrant, slow mode, inspiring light imaged, portrayed, cloaking the priest-king god-rep more lustrous than any high summer cathedral rood crossing patterns, in undeniable beauty and artistical luc-if-ity windborn grammarless, musical, meanings, mid point, saddle points between waves that reflect from hummingbird feathers, indicating fair weather weathered the storms, fretted not a second on the journey, yep when I get to Pep's porch, there'll be sugar in the feeder, two minutes later. After I remind a mind is a many splendored thing, but none more splendored in prophesy than making sacred hopes formed from the fi NAND gated mythos, whither men and hummingbirds mind meld, tune in, to imagine the effort required, to tilt your head, just right, to flash my muse. Let time pass.

0

Feb 18, 2024

Feb 18, 2024 at 3:39 PM UTC

kenpepiton

A Hummingbird Prophecy

See me, this one says, see me, look you in the eye, eh, thinking, spring, the season, the greening of the playa's ancient shore, east of me, east of my evergreen valley, barely any bare gray wintery bushes and trees, flash of magnificence once manifested, on the shoulders of the priest-kings, infectious proud flesh pomp and circumstance, watch the war god-man made glorious in storied, seen once, not invisioned, imaged from tiny feathers, adhering to a topological fabricated RED FLAG FLASH humming bird head feathered serpent cape, on a bright day signaled by the hummer - see, I have returned, - this is like heaven to me. the one from now, same code, same init see me, look, see, once this was the most vibrant, slow mode, inspiring light imaged, portrayed, cloaking the priest-king god-rep more lustrous than any high summer cathedral rood crossing patterns, in undeniable beauty and artistical luc-if-ity windborn grammarless, musical, meanings, mid point, saddle points between waves that reflect from hummingbird feathers, indicating fair weather weathered the storms, fretted not a second on the journey, yep when I get to Pep's porch, there'll be sugar in the feeder, two minutes later. After I remind a mind is a many splendored thing, but none more splendored in prophesy than making sacred hopes formed from the fi NAND gated mythos, whither men and hummingbirds mind meld, tune in, to imagine the effort required, to tilt your head, just right, to flash my muse. Let time pass.

41

I'm kindling You're my match Let's become a flame

0

Mar 11, 2020

Mar 11, 2020 at 8:17 AM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

Firestarter

I'm kindling You're my match Let's become a flame

3

The Syrian process is a serial problem When the disenfranchised Cause a landslide Of historical hatred The key that ignites Business and commerce Wildfire hearts And boiling skin The harsh outbreak of deadly cholera The blockade of the forceful armada The coalition forces Run wild like horses The bombs keep falling The people cry The engine keeps stalling The car dies The white phosphorus Brought by the white prosperous Can burn to the bone And wounds can ignite up to three days later But the people of Raqqa Are used to reigniting scars They're used to searing flesh That melts like tar Where this will go No one knows how far Machines must be sustained Hearts will be untamed Lives constantly rearranged A human rights activist attempts to send a report What he's witnessed in Raqqa Injustices; perceived and objective But Hellfire Turns the Internet cafe Into a senseless violence display The dirt, blood, and bodies Mixed and spread like the art That was ignored to lead to this quagmire Whether this calamity started At the Melian dialogue Or a market diagram Or a martyr's diatribe What we need now is an m.d. to suture the wounds But who will save us? When noble protectors are blown up And the reigniting scars scorch the hands that heal

0

Jun 12, 2017

Jun 12, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC

andrew-rueter

Ignition

The Syrian process is a serial problem When the disenfranchised Cause a landslide Of historical hatred The key that ignites Business and commerce Wildfire hearts And boiling skin The harsh outbreak of deadly cholera The blockade of the forceful armada The coalition forces Run wild like horses The bombs keep falling The people cry The engine keeps stalling The car dies The white phosphorus Brought by the white prosperous Can burn to the bone And wounds can ignite up to three days later But the people of Raqqa Are used to reigniting scars They're used to searing flesh That melts like tar Where this will go No one knows how far Machines must be sustained Hearts will be untamed Lives constantly rearranged A human rights activist attempts to send a report What he's witnessed in Raqqa Injustices; perceived and objective But Hellfire Turns the Internet cafe Into a senseless violence display The dirt, blood, and bodies Mixed and spread like the art That was ignored to lead to this quagmire Whether this calamity started At the Melian dialogue Or a market diagram Or a martyr's diatribe What we need now is an m.d. to suture the wounds But who will save us? When noble protectors are blown up And the reigniting scars scorch the hands that heal

46

In brittle dark I’m shedding body on your canvas leaving flesh in strokes of boldness; arms are warm, your thighs are hotter from us, burning, as friction seals the picture of sparks embracing ashes painting lust reforging Us

0

Aug 11, 2017

Aug 11, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC

gabriel-burns

Charcoal

In brittle dark I’m shedding body on your canvas leaving flesh in strokes of boldness; arms are warm, your thighs are hotter from us, burning, as friction seals the picture of sparks embracing ashes painting lust reforging Us

9

I am wood You are fire -scratch that- You are an exuberant inferno. There was no doubt in my mind that when I first saw you, I felt the sparks. When you aproached me, I felt warm, and whenever we talked, I could feel the electricty -scratch that- I could feel the flames. Then you left, but I was far from help. You set me on fire and then you were gone. You destroy everyone you meet, leaving nothing but ash and ruin in your path.

0

Aug 16, 2015

Aug 16, 2015 at 12:44 AM UTC

ellingboe

Flammable

I am wood You are fire -scratch that- You are an exuberant inferno. There was no doubt in my mind that when I first saw you, I felt the sparks. When you aproached me, I felt warm, and whenever we talked, I could feel the electricty -scratch that- I could feel the flames. Then you left, but I was far from help. You set me on fire and then you were gone. You destroy everyone you meet, leaving nothing but ash and ruin in your path.

8