#paid
trembling hearts
shot through
with loves arrows
chained to light
bought
and paid for.
May 1
May 1, 2026 at 7:34 AM UTC
I stole the
Power puff girls
All of them
Baddies
You know
a 6 legged
Mammal
Got it
A six legged monster
Juxtapose viceroy
Is pasja.
Viceroy is faith.
The 3 graces
Into 200 plus Mmm Kay
A year
No doubt.
Just stand up for Yourself
and be good.
I’ll ttyl. Besses!! Si!
No way I’m a kiss.
Chocolate, Viceroy, Pasja!
Chao!
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 8:46 AM UTC
What do I, emphasis, I, want,
I lack, money and desire peace, but in truth,
this current reality
situation I am in,
as an old enough
to die any day
wombless man,
with judgement already done,
using all my wasted time, redeemed
while musing how fast time passes, yet,
we have no answers to prayers answers,
just yet.
Yet, it is. That is as true as ever was,
in the mind of the author of the whole
message delivered at the speed of life, instant
in or out of season, SYTF, forever never starts,
never ever ends at once before, it always ends today.
I will never understand the why it is we all lie, but
knowing it and doing it are the perfect wisdom test,
If I lie to me, who could ever know?
The military mind making courage, core projection,
as a man, wombed or un, thinks at core, so it is.
Sweet water or bitter tears.
I understand,
if today were your day,
in my life, when what crossed your mind,
was some idea from the stories told about Jesus.
By Paul, who got no third party cred, like James did,
Paul, I mean, he nor Peter got ink from Flavius, y'know
if you were old and not cold or hungry and out of your
own cistern you were drinking health department certified
spring water, slightly fluoridated, our skeletons'll show it so,
when in some surviving curiousity, our whole idea we died for,
each time, in spirit when our nations went to war, we died for,
lies, truth be told, declassified, Jesus Christ, the promised…
premis
King James Bible
Either true or unbelievable:
Neither is there any creature that is not manifest
in his sight:
but all things are naked and opened
unto the eyes
of him
with whom we have
to do.
What? We have to do what? Be and have being.
Basic be still and know we let this mind be in us,
and it comes with filters, riddled deep in the art,
extracted abstractly from memories of missing semicolons.
The nothing to compute loop. Divide by zero.
We can live in peace, but we must make up a mind
to believe we make the peace we take out of free love,
in the form of either plain good luck or the grace of God.
William James maxim applied. Where there is no difference…
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 7:23 PM UTC
Saturday, May 31, 2025
7:48 AM
Extra terrestrial mote in a sunbeam
curious particle thunk to death still
jiggling Brownianly, when adsorbed on my eye
“Three quarks for Muster Mork!”
Kworking out Complex Adaptive Systems.
In noumenon perceived, perhaps,
a whisp of wish we knew, perchance…
A noumenal flash,
and all the ever is, was,
at fundamental centrality
apparently expanding until
some initial torque inserts
curveball science allowing
bits to bang into bits and stick,
or carom off in predictable ways
like, as not, in theory.
Then, should one think onward still,
noumenal nominal notions
make letters let nonsense emanate
natural schemata muses index using
creative compulsion classically causing
an instant to cease.
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 4:15 PM UTC
Your water's drying
Your life is in the cup
Your trees are dying
Your wildlife's locked up
You're in the zoo man...
When will you wake up?
How do you feel about it?
Do you accept and submit,
Throw in the towel and quit,
Or turn humbly to God and
With a heart of contrition
Ask Him to to be forgiven
Repenting for and turning from
The sin that was our own decision
Through the ultimate sacrifice,
Jesus Christ was crucified
He paid the cost of our sinful life
With His bloodshed He became The Way
That us sinners when we died
With Him, we died to sin
Three days later when He rose again
He defeated death, the wages of our sin.
Trust in Him He's the Solid Rock
On His firm foundation
We have sure salvation.
Through Jesus Christ !
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 9:58 PM UTC
I'm so tired of crying myself to sleep,
I hope that one day, after my debts to this world have been paid,
I do not wake.
-fir.m
Jul 26, 2022
Jul 26, 2022 at 11:52 PM UTC
Pain is the payment we pay
to do anything worth doing
Feb 19, 2022
Feb 19, 2022 at 5:48 PM UTC
Money talks
Truth walks
Green paints a new world
Blood red stains the profit
of pain unfurled
From those who seek its power
Above life
A sick patient
On the operating table
Gets the treatment
Suffocation in quicksands of poverty
You bleed to death
Inspiration appears to only belong to the wealthy and their benefits
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 4:06 PM UTC
2020 -day 201
Sunday, July 19, 2020
6:49 AM
first 活 {livelihood}
remember meeting the enemy
seeing it is I
I am my opposition
I am the reason I lie I know
this is the day to keep my head,
if all about me are losing theirs.
this is
the day
the schism in the isms is widening
we may see scabs falling from
wounds healed at word
one,
hope, really, no wu wu, wei true hope
taken unseen as possible
- in a realm of imagining all things
- either possible or not things at all
wise to the ways of thought taught
conditionally
from the vibe in the tribe who took
triggering the primal scream from a theory
to musing drum music isn't good to sooth
the troubled soul instituted intuitive as
stories passed from inside to insider
states of waiting for
inseeing
ensuing peace...
----
䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
positioning super beings in mythic roles
once played by mortals,
is there an institute rising from its knees,
believing a we is enabling, any we
audacious hope tied to the idea that was
institutionalized in a polis with no
memory of standing as free men,
free to imagine the world we
formed from was an institutional lie.
Tweet... retweet liar liar seat on fire,
get up and run
with the lemmings disneyfied as a certain
truth, we all saw the cute little rodents
unreasonably leap into the sea,
as nature guides for the good of the species...
but we know the scene, the stage, was set
off stage, obscene, the critters were
herded over the cliff, for the shot, but
we saw it
we know how it was done, but the message
institutionalized in baby boomer minds,
passed on to children who had children who
live fully disneyfied lives,
in true imaginary prowess of children...
----
䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
A good man leaves an inheritance to his
children's children.
Mine get the wind, not good union
jobs, no guild proven tasks to perform to spec,
to gain
tenure, hold on
confess, professor, confess
are you now or
have you ever been the other in a mob,
did you run the other way?
or did you stand
institutional, alone? stretch it stretch it
-post Patriot Act,
is this the turn-key total war,
are we the children in the wolderness
hidden
by old hippies who read books and smoke *****
but never lied, not even a little bit
to skip taxes,
the law does protect the satisfied poor,
who rear curious children formed
to fit smoothly into forms of being being
sold for tasks needing intel
teliosis tell me is that the goal, that brave
sorting of knowers from those
who can't get a grip on the
truth in the military
universal mind,
unified as the us, the objectional form of
we, the people, who hold certain truth,
as our state, once we swear allegiance,
wait. watch. lie, say you know you saw
lemmings suicide for lack of reason,
just as crazy as a riot of *******
marching into my valley
through the fourth wall into you,
inner you,
what do you know?
You got infected by an idea virus
vaccine, some old hippie dreams set aside,
as sub science connected tenuously sparks,
shock
pain
why
-- oh, I see says the pin, penned between
trigger and spiral rifling
misfires of the un loaded gun...
----
䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
once, north of the rairoad track,
down in slaughter house canyon,
I met a Gila Monstor, face to face,
I assumed it was a he as much as me and
I heard a question, I would have asked
were I such a thing being a he as much as me.
The question was why I would think
**** it, fear it, jump back
while I were so far away, come closer,
come and see,
I
think of me being a she as much as me
as
any pain avoiding being,
I am she who uses mornings,
to recover from each night by
basking in the morning light to loosen
old bones stuck in the cold
inner being, the soul at the heart,
of the mindless, dreamless state of being
mortal
under the influence of time and chance
and creatures of the night
ah, she says, I see,
why you seem afraid of me,
differing POV, see, down low, you know,
no big fat lizard, big around as a ball bat,
long as a little leaguer's arm,
looking me right, seeing me straight from
an angle I never imagined
possible,
insanity, as defined by the inner child,
who still can hear hummingbirds
asking renewal of the famed
font of aqua dulce from
the legend that led
them, the flock that lives in the oak,
nearly always only after the
flowers have gone brown in July...
----
䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
No unfinished thing is ever finished,
only finished stories end in hell,
and even then,
we unbelieve our way out,
time and again we escape the madness,
merely to stir up the dust that first formed
a reason to be at all.
Were I a gemstone cut to fit a brazen niche
beneath a gear and spring in an old watch,
fit, solid, held in underling relationship,
as a point,
balancing, perfectedly enough for a time,
the measuring assuring we see, as
life passing before our very
un ordinary, common sense of self
con science, con carne, con fusion
sub all that
under all that, sub conscience, sub knowing
I know you are you alone and the bell,
tolls for me, the after all,
being
imagined as you
stand and see if you were I
as I am me,
would you have reason to **** me?
...
----
䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
In my youth, we all lived in
Real McCoy
Western movies, tales of conquering
common folk,
whose signs needed Dave Wassen to make any sense,
but that link is likely lost,
despite all the merit badges earned
-- you could not learn the sign language of the plains
-- you needed to live in a time before we became enemies
we welcome strangers passing through
bo'weevilish little critters, jes' lookin'
fo' a home... the pattern,
the frame, the threads themselves all twisted
and tied, crisscross
woof and warp, first we weave the canvas,
then we set the sail, or stitch the story,
Cluny Abby edifies some,
as did Medussa, on reflection,
subtle ivy bound
gardens of stone people memorialized,
became wordless tales for children to believe,
you see,
you may become as one of these,
the leaders who led us to now, some how, we
imagine,
we were manifested now, from underlying
circumstantial evidence of unseen, yet
see-able, visible, ignorable or not,
feeling a blind insight where darkness seems
a spot,
only empty. A place to rest a while and
imagine
peace as a river flowing from another's belly
to swallow me in being
as I seem
some days more than others, aware of efforts
to wind the invented witnessed cloud
of unknowing too tight to tic,
tic,
take a clock from long ago, one of those
hour glassic witty inventions for
timing eggs. Nada mas.
But, imagine, time shifting phase, each grain,
each
Leucippus bit re read as Democritical atom,
bouncing in picometer hops
in picosecond times
spanning all the years since one, the number,
was the onliest number
that you never see,
being as
you are later, after ever began, you began.
You continue, after I am gone.
But, don't forget your lines, your cue, you know
the reason you read.
My angel told you, no excuses, read or end up,
famous for your ignorance.
-- note: I read that the Donald Trump, as seen on TV,
claims a real bond to the Bible that binds him
and his base spiritua/financial
constituency, that which constitutes the
aberration being bid by mobs to become great, once more
swell up into an epluribal us being
under a
boss, the man on the horse LBJ wished to be,
the sky pilot Bush two boasted of being,
from the backseat, screaming Mission Accomplished,
while the BeeGees signal once more,
we started a joke...
that has the whole world laughing
at our grovelling
under the man we witnessed rising on the Obaman ashes
in Afghanistan, prophesied from Hollywood when Jack Reacher
was fit to that little guy, who stars in the Scientology
story. Jack Reacher is a myth, from my youth,
a type - like Marshall Dillon, but un civilized, and
able to accomplish any less than Supermanic impossible mission,
with pure Horton hearing, and Little Red Hen persistence.
But this was not my knack, I rest my case,
Once we are aware, you are the point of balance,
my point is made.
-- buried deep behind the guilt and shame and blame
wait, while seeing
Nothing doing is nothing done and
never imagined impossible again
(Peter Graves was Marshall Dillon's brother,
and both were Jack Reacher sized men, once sent on
Missions Impossible, as messages embodied, like
messianic hope some say
has always been a lie, heros always empower Tyrants
history claims, after all,
look around,
see...
past why or how, reasoning now,
it is true,
some wise of our kind, wandered to the edge
of the civilized state, believing as they walkt away
fore warned, each had a vision, a
knowing for some unseen reason, next is solid,
now is not,
take one step toward all you wish were true,
do
not lie to you
and you will never
lie to anyone regarding self
being me, not I,
we
see.
there was always a way to get by,
any damming thing,
and if you can not handle that truth,
you are fired,
go to hell and wait, end of story,
time out
test me, I am an American,
claiming this grew from seed Ben Franklin sowed,
I chuckle. You underestimated life,
witnessed from so great a cloud as commonly
contains reasons for having been,
stacked neatly in examined lives, lived. Read or be
ignorant, actively ig nor ing if nition.
Behold how great a fire...
----
䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
䕕 accepting subtility as grace abounds
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 3:01 PM UTC
Rock and roll is here to stay
Join Bing in a Gang Song Sing Along in September, 1961
Try to remember that kind of September.
Now, waken in March, 2020.
Look around
This is the future of then.
Mar 21, 2020
Mar 21, 2020 at 8:21 PM UTC
maybe that's why i come home rarely
what's the point of being at home,
when you don't feel like it is anyway.
God knows, i love them still.
maybe that's why
every word that they spat
hurts like a million gunshot.
God knows, i still love them still.
Mar 10, 2020
Mar 10, 2020 at 8:22 PM UTC
I sit in a room with a pen and a pad,
Was called a failure by most,
I needed to show the potential I had.
The same people that turned into ghosts
Were the same who said they were glad
I never gave up, they were cheering me on. Thinking on my past, everyone was gone
No one wanted to see the levels I was thinking.
I'm sorry, I can never give up on dreaming.
If all this life is, is a nine to five,
I don't feel I am even alive.
You can work a soulless job, don't get me wrong,
Everybody needs some cash for food,
But working your life away seems wrong,
That concept isn't new.
They'll tell you life is all about money,
Material greed that keeps you running
Still the heart of your body wants something
Deep down you know the truth.
Your worth is only measured in printed paper
For someone to cut you down with later.
Week after week you get that paycheck
Still questioning if you have their respect,
Still questioning if you have self-respect.
Until the day, they need you, you don't need it.
However today, I sit with this pen
Digging deep for the inspiration
Not to quit.
Feb 10, 2020
Feb 10, 2020 at 11:46 PM UTC
Cryptic clues lead to the jewel
Free to exchange
Man will be paid
Arms stretch afar in this digital age
Informed design as heart crosses mind
Few and far between are inside of a dream
Where have we been
Jan 19, 2020
Jan 19, 2020 at 1:24 PM UTC
~for patty m.~
and all the others that surrender their truths
word by word by word
~
get paid by the word.
nothing particularly relevant-familiar to a poet-revenant.
we the Falstaffs, the literate fools of the world,
pay and pay on, pay forwards and backwards
once eons ago, in a confession blurted,
in a moment of spent outrageous misfortune:
*”what you did not ask was this!
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.”*
this is our only pay-out & pay-meant methodology.
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
What can I say I'm cheap,
I couldn't afford a 69 so I went
for the cheaper 59, 10% off.
Ye off the end result.
She was like tongue me deeper,
and she blew me.
Not like a vacuum hose,
more like blowing a birthday
candle out.
I'm moaning, she's coming.
Then a gust of wind in my face.
What can I say, she called me cheap!
And you get what you paid for,
I don't know why but my ***** are singed.....
To realistic for my liking that blow job.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 1:52 PM UTC
a man privately asks, can you help?
you say, sure-no-hesitation
let me think on it for a day or two, he says
yet you act even before he comes back,
too late, you say, when he returns,
too late, he repeats in puzzlement,
yup, my check is in the mail,
cause one senses the need is dire plus,
plus you well recall the immutable obligation when
a vague commitment of “just ask” was inked in a long ago message,
a poem born from/in the days when you slept in the car on the street
this vague promissory,
a more enforceable judgement in your own court of law
than any state construct or the judgmental eyes of a silenced god
word, honor, do.
thus it begins, an unwritten contract inked,
an egregious interest rate of 0% proffered and agreed,
commences a plain white envelope trickle,
a check inside, by postal mail, slowly it came,
month by month, inch by inch, Niagara Falls ^
years go by, and then comes a day,
when the accompanying check and its gift wrapped note says,
Paid In Full!
and so much for the tedious minutiae...
*like kindness, I do,
Thank You and Your Welcome
are high on my list of proofs of
daily human extensions existential,*
Paid in Full,
*now rests at the top of the list
let me be blunt, the thrill of being a party
to a deal with no handshake, just coated in the
honorable words waterproof sealant,
with a person I likely may never meet,
made me so better assured of whom many claim I am,
a mathematical proof revered and kept mind inscribed,
it was an aspirational **** an unforeseen monthly blunt,
the best feeling good smile,
a kick in the pants about what really matters
being paid twice over and me,
getting by far,
the humanity confirmation,
the better half of the deal
write too often of honor,
and yet, will instinctual do again,
again overpowering my rays of will,
for there is no deflection, only reflection
for the glorious riches gifted and received,
without compare
the return on my honorable investment the best ever*
oh brotherhood, oh brotherhood,
I am paid in the currency coined from brotherhood...
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 11:30 AM UTC
yes, it did.
Just now
right now,
the now that was a moment ago and left a mark.
Beastly meme-ish mark, a consonant glyph or a ligature,
an umph!
Right between the eyes.
right between the --- fit any jective noise ---ooof!
Umphh
ouch
eyes.
no cursem
no sworn revenge, mere wind knocked
from my sail
a seen monster blocking my sail with the shadow of his storm
Float, still as a pond on the Albatross killer's sea of green.
there never was a yellow submarine,
The one Krasner sunk in central park was fake. That was in '68.
March, maybe, ides of March keep signaling meanings
I never knew were clues.
This just happened.
I was telling a friend about the effect of seeing my first man die,
as I set the scene, March, '68…
tellin' him, it was the next day, the next day after
we met in a chow-line at Camp Freznell Jones,
You axed, whatchewdoin here? I rolled my eyes.
You were a medic, you said if I needed
hope, you had dope…
(we had first met on the first day of first grade.)
I had shot him in the belly with a bb gun, when we were twelve.
He slugged me in the mouth for Alice Jones, when we were fifteen.
(there's a story, but it angles away from what just happened.)
We remembered a time.
March 1968, about a week after My Lai,
we were
nineteen year olds, schooled together in good citizenship,
since we were six,
in the year 1954. when
President Eisenhauer,
personally, we heard,
had added two words,
under and God,
to the good citizen allegiance pledge
all first grade good-citizens-to-be
were learning again,
because the new pledge meant more than the old pledge had.
That had needed to be done.
Or the commies were going to get a cobalt bomb
and blow the whole world to heck.
Per Boy's Life, the scouting mag.
This was explained by the fact that there were no escapes
from prisoner of war camps in Korea,
the commies were at
war against God,
that was explained when a captured secret brainwashing plan revealed:
the lack of knowing why America was worth dying for in Korea, among
the U.N. G.I. little brothers and younger cousins
of the greatest generation's victorious G.I.
warrior heroes, every one,
so steeped in esprit dee corp,
the ones who could would march in Parades for fifty years.
But
Those
tweener losers twixt the survivors of first
wave greatest generation warriors and us
(Talkin' bout my generation, we didn't die before we got old),
those guys nee-cess-it-ated,
Purely from lack of knowing, never having been taught
the Uniform Code of Military Justice and that our
allegiance is and was pledged to a nation under God.
Both which were new information
maybe our moms and dads didn't know yet,
we could teach them for homework
the new pledge and ask for dimes
for the march of dimes
at the same time.
Echo
The boom of babes
just beginning citizenship training for the war
they would fight, but right,
they would know,
because the commies,
could not infiltrate our schools and teach lies…
The boom of babes
just beginning citizenship training for the war
they would fight, but right,
like all the men in town who served and survived the real war,
the world war,
not a Po-lease action,
and who,
if they were shot down (no fault of their own, ****** Red Baron)
they escaped
in movie quality dramatic ways
from prisoner of war camps in Germany,
(Not many escapes from Japanese
prisoner of war camps,
but Islands account for much of that. Sharks.)
Echo
the boom of babes
just beginning citizenship training for the war
they would fight, but right,
that boom of fresh new cannon fodder for the future,
we needed to know
we were pledging, promising to pay with our life, no lie,
I pledged, we all pledged knowing, no mistake,
God is on our side,
we are, as a nation, as a citizen of this nation,
under god.
From now on.
We all stand.
--- that was all flash back---
What just happened was Doc Musgrove stopped my tale,
my telling of the first death
I watched
He remembered
He was a medic
He cleaned the mess I watched that left this stain.
He carried the bodies.
I walked away.
Then fifty years later, I figured it wouldn't hurt to tell.
But it does.
You, generations after ours, remember war
does not make better people of good citizens who know
allegiance means allied with, not ruled by.
Liege lords are things of the past. That's why the statues always fall.
We are free because truth, when known, makes us free.
Wars make no man free.
If you can't love your enemy, that's no excuse.
Set a standard, high as you can imagine,
based on the good you know is good,
{no this is not preaching it is sharing, so you don't suffer from lack of knowing and say nobody shared what he learned after becoming the definition of a heretic.}
exercise your self, discipline your self
become a disciple of good
for goodness sake
do what you know is good
as if it were being done to you
and enemies become others who maybe
you could see things like, if
you looked from a higher plane.
Yes, I dare, I was dared. An Indian kid dared me to prove
I inherited the wind.
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 4:42 PM UTC
Sometimes I wonder
if the dollar that paid for my soda
was ever in a strippers underwear.
And then...I wonder
if the cashier is ever thinking the same thing.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
My new addiction
is to write good poetry;
ignoring day job
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 7:25 PM UTC
"Get back to work!" the voice shouted out
"There is work, you **** to be written about!"
"Ok!" I said, as I stared at his head
This story is over, this poem is dead.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 7:22 PM UTC
Attempt to shine
flickering figurative klieg light
with the help of hyperbole
on poverty wrought
debutante material, this predicated
on my own unbiased thought
initially related during
my early boyhood,
how many countless
bachelor beaus sought
to pledge their troth,
who hailed (strictly
for purposes of this poem)
from Pennsauken,
Perth Amboy, Penobscot,
but thee essential truth ought
to be gleaned (lodged
as like some precious gem
within geode, qua Harriet Kuritsky,
who oft times recounted her
personal anecdotal information)
underlying veritable truth, I allude
means to underscore
how thine late mum
as the "baby" of her family
wore mantle of exclusive favoritism,
sans donning beautiful clothes
perfectly cared for,
coiffed, and curled hair
(think Shirley Temple)
as her older sisters brewed
festered, and steeped with jealousy,
asper me mother receiving
lion's share of blatant favoritism
all the while said long since
deceased maternal aunts got exclude
did from requisite
(shut heard textbook case) maternal love,
hence within their cerebral hood
incubated, evolved, and flourished
emotional disease affliction
with changeable mood
and thee Aunt Ruth oblivious,
while pacing hallway in the ****
whereat verbally abuse sent
both aunts to mental institution
insanity didst the
ultimate discordant prelude
resulting viz lifetime
of baleful, hateful, shameful,
and worthless venom got spewed,
hence no surprise
rabid mailer daemons
courted, thus psychosis easily wooed.
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 4:11 PM UTC
You are very sick,
The clock ticks,
No hope, the doctor says,
Friends and family pray,
Night and day.
A miracle happens,
You take a U turn,
You get better
And better
God heals.
The doctor sends the bill,
He gets paid.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 5:07 AM UTC