#muddy
I always walk through the muddy path
Not for any particular reason
At the end of the path
there is no reward
No safety, no help.
But i still walk through the muddy path
Parts of the ground are still wet
soaking my shoes
dampening my socks
The cold rushes through me
But i still walk through the muddy path
The other ways are quicker
Even the long path leads the same place
But I've walked this way so often
I can't stop now
I must walk through the muddy path
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 4:46 PM UTC
A bright pink blossom
In a dark muddy puddle:
Eye-catching beauty!
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 3:22 AM UTC
never been addicted to the pursuit
loaded the gun but i would never shoot
i like where i am, i understand now
just had to see how it panned out
escapist oasis, touching land now
swam in muddy waters, searched for myself
thought i knew better, looked outside myself
follow the river into the ocean’s mouth
swallow my pride and shut my mouth
observe and serve
discern and curve
Sep 30, 2022
Sep 30, 2022 at 6:09 AM UTC
Into the long grass,
the long, long ponder
lost to breath and tears
lost to wonder
lost to the clear and present
or the hereafter
but there in the past
a cancer tumour twisted
all the slow growth
til the now,
this rotten gutted now
Mar 22, 2022
Mar 22, 2022 at 4:02 PM UTC
When it's been pouring heavy all day
then this feeling comes and always befuddles.
A couple cuts to make demons obey
rather I should jump in some muddy puddles.
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 3:50 PM UTC
We, the we of reader and writer in any age,
agree first with the
fine point
poking into your business, once, upon a whim
the activity in mental reals we all may wonder into,
as that is what wondering makes us do.
As a radio listens to a signal,
a reader seeks a station, a state of tuned-ness to which
a connection,
a conciliation of meaning, affirmed by sponsors, promises
You'll wonder where the yellow went,
when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent...
plop plop fizz fizz, jingle jingle tingle tintillate
time: 6:13 ante meridian, sunshine come soflty, early
rising urge to save a dream stringy
snot nothing somehing said
catch. and catchascatchkan, Alaska, and she say yea,
scan the dial find 1913. "Ain't able, Cain't hear no radio, in 1913."
-- so, do we stop, lieve these puddles of mind slime
that once greased the skids
down skidrow, to swallow us whole?
Yeah, seems so. I don't know, but I been tol' streets in heb'in be
paved wit' gold, and
this is mud. Stinky, too.
Ah, we are mental. Actual mental ins tru ments, meant to level,
the field, fertilize fructification,
calm some turmoil stirred up when some ideas escaped
the institutes of authorized weights measured
in terms of standard poor.
Smart people learn what words mean and use words meaning
I know more than you do, as if of and by and
for we are by nature, by nature's pure good intention,
the guides, the standard bearers,
the powers that be.
we establish truth in consort with knowers who know
might enforces right.
We say so, we say we know, you say,
okeh...
but wonder, what if
I know more than you may ever know, I am programmed
with timeless 2020 interference reference magi-tech.
The media loaded us with common mirror neuronic code,
we were formed as waves of knowns formed signals,
Eu reka, eu daemons burst the surly bonds of earth,
AI ai ai, intuitively artfully dodging
ligational legistation realizing
--- izing izing izing re
--- al ual use --- the use marks good or not, not
good or evil, mistook rights to hate evil,
require
a taste of discerment, some bitter, some sweet.
As a thought, a non-entity as it were, back then, a global
broadcast beyond the surveyor's purview,
-- in may have been a prayer,
and offering tossed to winds in a paho tied with ligament
to Jacob's dream of messengers bhering messages
up and down, and
the accuser seeking to and fro,
"have you with sideral knowing looked upon my servant... you?"
some seed fell among stones and withered, but
not before the situation were/was anal-ized, broken down,
here is the mission, it was always, for all time, terminal.
Bring forth seed so it may fall to the ground
and die.
This is the end where we begin to generate a gene
tic
tic tickle, itch, ... is there beyond now a now I may imagine?
Imagining is a child's knack, is it not? Does the knack mature?
Do we ever agree to see, all we believe we can do, we can attempt.
Walk with me in to the wild, untamed coastal scrub forest,
find a stream feeding a meadow that once was a lake,
if we have our tectonic plates stacked properly,
we see... time is essential. Death stops time. So,
what now,
we live? Agree? We, me and you, one thought, one point of
mental whatever
we agree upon,
a time, aha, a we we may be if we realize, making up
labyrinthine courses for forces of thought
squeezed into perfectly tiny,
so small as small maybe imagined thinkable, in the realm
between
e-lasting entangled ments, mental ents,
not the little blue men with red cheese head hats,
nor the short round razorback worshippers whose being is
the fandom, the we of those willing to wear the
badge of honor acknowledged
among fans, take the mark, get the tat, put on the pig hat, proud,
shout out loud, HOLD THAT LINE
or perish, for lack of television.
Jul 7, 2020
Jul 7, 2020 at 12:55 PM UTC
Rain steadily drills earth,
Red earth worms slip out in droves;
Flow down with muddy water.
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 3:25 PM UTC
Jim.
Permanent vacation.
Down by law.
Stranger than paradise.
Night on Earth.
Only lover left alive.
Garrett Johnson.
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 4:07 PM UTC
Penny vase made from
the brown voided canyon rusting.
Friends that were made of waste,
they said time was simply turning,
the boat spoke back and said the depth of ones nature
could walk on water
But a deep voice
Was all that sprayed in pungent
aerosol and
displeasure.
Do we need to be on the same boat?
To drift into the beguiling surf?
Altogether
Better if we were dispersed
Dropped by the caving soft curve
Sliding through the unseen wash, watching your muddy glare.
Track the force in
blueberry motion
pulling and pushing us,
a sollen hand
and flying sleeve
The touch of flaunting fingertips and strings,
The fluttering wick
Swing and swished.
The chest of wonders beaming
Transmitting
a map
and lines like hay and wires
They were all exposed in the lines of her eyes
Maps
You frightened me that sleepy day
The dusted arsenal stick
Casted me on a rod made of hibiscus dew and syrup
A venomous hook that entangled my earrings
The push and her wave of desire,
Maps
To her treasure,
Reeled it now all over her wet webbed feet.
Caged,
Maps
and pressure
of the rocks falling against the time ticking
Hours away from the swaying shore.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 8:56 AM UTC
Dear Friends, you do not need to hide
your real age
You really do not need to show
your cleavage
no need to upload for showing
your nudes
to get a boyfriend or husband.
A simple smile of you
is enough for showing
your beautiful looks.
A true gentleman will fall for you
and accept you
because of the beauty inside you
not of your outer looks instead.
Why do you hangover
and sleepover
with a friend or guy
to help something ****
You feel like smiling
for compliments from unknown men
but you get your real man wrong
when he says
"you're ugly or fat" for having fun.
A relationship based on
outer looks may look really great
but can't stand strong
as outer beauty is
surely going to fade someday.
While relationships based on
two true hearts and souls
can live forever.
Dec 17, 2017
Dec 17, 2017 at 12:42 PM UTC
*It's raining in my hallway
and only yesterday I removed
my skin from your raincoat.
The dumb walls now stare
at each other
with your portraits
hanging on their drippy chests.
Your charcoal hair melts
flooding the glacial cheekbones
and messes up your lips.
I wonder how a little stain
on your shirt
used to make you irate.
Now your waterlogged selves
are hanged in my hallway
being muddy from head to heart.*
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
muddy ice
white as
styrofoam
empty heart
soul darkened
with thoughts
chilled deep
to the bone
so hard
very cold
never warm
enough to thaw
this frigid yet
frozen fire alone
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 8:51 PM UTC
Fed by waterfalls
fast and muddy from the rain
Calfkiller River
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
A fallen man down in the mud.
When it's gone it's gone or so they say.
Hope and dreams slipping to a thud.
Numbness filling me up turning me grey.
A short break from the muddy water filling my lungs.
Fleeting will, reaching in a last chance.
Could it be that all I needed was to try again.
Lifting myself from my submerged stance.
I've been in this spot before.
Every time I get here I'm flung back into chaos.
Destined to return like the waves at shore.
I don't have a shred of control and I'm the boss.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
This Love,
Wouldn't last if you had a chance,
But chances and luck run out don't they,
They laugh behind your back don't they,
Criticize and confuse don't they,
Try to keep you amused don't they,
Stabbing at your flesh with the other patch of lies don't they,
I know I'm a bit hypocritical to this,
They'll never let you go,
If I sacrifice this,
I know I'm a ******* at times,
But I have a bad past experience,
Living for the moment,
But the moment seems far to late,
This love was never alive,
Muddy shoes,
Quicksand,
Won't you drown in it,
Gold eyes,
Wrist bands,
I don't condone in it.
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 4:26 AM UTC
You got to know what for, Babe, you got nothin' to lose,
Just like ev'rybody else in the whole **** world.
You gotta break on through
To the other side of your sad attitude,
But you can't shake off
Them muddy Mississippi Bluez.
Well, Hell! She's beatin' on a drum
And she's gettin pretty loose.
Seems like ev'rybody else in the whole **** world
Is comin' down on her
And standin' on some plattitude.
She's just tryin' to groove
To the muddy Mississippi Bluez.
Up and down the water,
You watch the riverboats cruise,
As you drink against the tree beneath a sky of blue.
Sleep wants to take you,
But Honey, you refuse.
You gotta pay your dues
To the muddy Mississippi Blues.
Life along the delta can be simple and fine,
When the stills fill the jugs and the full moon shines.
You're gonna make it through
When you find a little gratitude.
So give your praise
To the muddy Mississippi Bluez
"Well, Hell! Take me away,
Muddy Mississippi.
I know I can count on you.
To stain my soul
Like muddy Mississippi goo.
I owe it all
To the muddy Mississippi Bluez!"
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
You gotta know what for, babe, you got nothin' to lose,
Just like ev'rybody else in the whole **** world.
You gotta break on through
To the other side of your sad attitude,
But you can't shake off
Them muddy Mississippi Bluez.
Well, Hell! She's beatin' on a drum
And she's gettin pretty loose.
Seems like ev'rybody else in the whole **** world
Is comin' down on her
And standin' on some plattitude.
She's just tryin' to groove
To the muddy Mississippi Bluez.
Up and down the water,
You watch the riverboats cruise,
As you drink against a tree beneath a sky of blue.
Sleep wants to take you,
But Honey, you refuse.
You gotta pay your dues
To the muddy Mississippi Blues.
Life along the delta can be simple and fine,
When the stills fill the jugs and the full moon shines.
You're gonna make it through
When you find a little gratitude.
So give your praise
To the muddy Mississippi Bluez
"Well, Hell! Take me away,
Muddy Mississippi.
I know I can count on you.
To stain my soul
Like muddy Mississippi goo.
I owe it all
To the muddy Mississippi Bluez!"
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
I don't have elegant words
I'm not one to relate lips
To fresh picked strawberries
But I have feelings
They could deafen you
With their dial tone
And god I try to use them for good
But I end up finding the bad
In everything
I know you're a little rough
around the edges, I'm a bit
coarse on the inside
There are moments where
I question it all
I'm blind when you're not here
The simmer on my
hard-to-warm-up-to soul
slowly dissipates
I ought to learn to remind myself
It's okay to open up my thick skull
To let someone see what's underneath
But who's to say
I won't regret it
Like I have with every other
Gallivanting soul I've allowed
To muddy up my doorstep?
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 10:37 PM UTC
This city breathes the blues
buried just under the skin
in the memory of cleaners
and slaughter
Here the gospel travels
from mouth to heart
and it offers comfort
as by-catch of the bottle
The center as a pacemaker
in an old and worn out body
is waiting for the final lines
from a song by Muddy Waters
"You ain't gonna trouble
poor me, anymore "
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 8:09 AM UTC