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#perpetual
One scrapes germinated seeds from the odd places, every where words appear, from a writ of yours, a message piece phrase provokes, invokes, evokes, and quick planted in a spare flower *** to rest, to blossom, all at their own good time… those who create, create, they do not play, and their internal motion is perpetual, till natural fuel of consciousness is exhausted continuous creation never ceases, only pauses, eyes dim, yet see, the sturdy legs, carries you for decades, till they say here, I rest, no mas, no more, dayenu! it is/was sufficient, but art beats, and you cannot stop until even the heart surrenders nearly true perpetual motion, for the seed is a work, and a work spits seeds that then need their own tending and others come along, provoked, evoked and invoke your planting, and the color of newness populates, and perpetuity becomes eternal, and art, holy in its way <nml> this concept was seeded to me by Steve Reimer 11/23/25; who creates, and thus earns his survivorship
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Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 6:45 AM UTC
Art begat Art, Poetry births More (the only true perpetual motion)
Suffering is the secret tongue spoken only in our sleep as we break bread over the loss that covers every bed we find ourselves in. The trees shed their skins in a damning disappointment of the betrayal they witness night after night. The stars rearrange and dim rejecting my begging eyes hoping to catch a glimpse of an enduring brightness. I'll close the curtains to protect the guilt that floats in air saturated by the sweat I've gathered for years. It slowly feeds on by body until no skin is left to receive the porcelain touch withdrawal entombs in my head.
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Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 2:35 AM UTC
Suffering
the silence doesn't just deafen it cuts the skin straight to the bone etching a figure of my head bowed at the thought of needing to fill emptiness with emptiness i don't know who to mourn so i'll bow my head and grieve that silence i've never known
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Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 2:23 AM UTC
Silence
these dreams are a symptom of the stillbirth lingering deep within me of the sickness that eats me piece by piece that sees these jaded images through glassy eyes that speaks these empty words falling weakly off the edge of my tongue to their deaths in the desperate draw of a foreign breath so eager to be one with that which is still yours
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Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 2:20 AM UTC
Symptom
for reasons unknown to me, the urgent need to commence this one with the words: Oh man, this is, this be, challenging, but these words were found on the drying rack in my abattoir, my nickname for my unending Draft Day filings and kept poking despite another overnight splash, the product pool is full of creativity's synaptic junctions, a wild night of up~writing, from god knows when, and here it is 7:18, there are obligations, needs that a demand a face to face meeting, tho the troops are in their boarded beds, gently snoring…                       so quick, to the sizable task at hand the search is perpetual, not eternal, for no one comes forward, willing to admit, they have been around since King David's time, practicing this verbal chicanery game of using words to guide the perplexed, unless, of course, unless someone you might know might be a big fat fibber right about now, you're exasperatingly seething, "where the heck is a poem gonna show its face?"      well, and now,      some struggle mightily, to ascertain      who and what is their uniqueness,      oft turned and twisted, caught between           competing entities, asking quests that            take lifetimes to resolute, and when            you look at the typewriter roll silently            choking the white cloud surrounding it,           you, you want to cry/pray out aloud, who, who shall I be, to make a completion between the person inside of me. the person I think                    I want to be, dream of be-coming, and yes it is too, eternal, for as long as humans can think dream, create and anticipate, we all will nonetheless perpetually search for the other someone, sometwo in us…
0
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 3:46 PM UTC
the eternal search for the someone else inside, who me?
for reasons unknown to me, the urgent need to commence this one with the words: Oh man, this is, this be, challenging, but these words were found on the drying rack in my abattoir, my nickname for my unending Draft Day filings and kept poking despite another overnight splash, the product pool is full of creativity's synaptic junctions, a wild night of up~writing, from god knows when, and here it is 7:18, there are obligations, needs that a demand a face to face meeting, tho the troops are in their boarded beds, gently snoring…                       so quick, to the sizable task at hand the search is perpetual, not eternal, for no one comes forward, willing to admit, they have been around since King David's time, practicing this verbal chicanery game of using words to guide the perplexed, unless, of course, unless someone you might know might be a big fat fibber right about now, you're exasperatingly seething, "where the heck is a poem gonna show its face?"      well, and now,      some struggle mightily, to ascertain      who and what is their uniqueness,      oft turned and twisted, caught between           competing entities, asking quests that            take lifetimes to resolute, and when            you look at the typewriter roll silently            choking the white cloud surrounding it,           you, you want to cry/pray out aloud, who, who shall I be, to make a completion between the person inside of me. the person I think                    I want to be, dream of be-coming, and yes it is too, eternal, for as long as humans can think dream, create and anticipate, we all will nonetheless perpetually search for the other someone, sometwo in us…
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42
~for George Harrison~ Very *soon George, I am bound for a stilled shaded land, a tiny isle, which knows the all encompassing fog, hurricanes wrath that days linger, and though memorable, never the first image recalled, but a mind's eye video of a perpetual sunset, agonizing silenced colored fantasies of farewells, each unique and alike though all things must pass, a benign benefit comfort suckled this old man's never fully at rest visions, for the sunset is perfect perpetual, always setting, never settling, ever bound to surprise, our farewell is another's welcoming, and each of our days an A-1 slicked continuum, a sliding circularity and we sigh, ooh & aah at it miracality, its genteel reawakening we admit with pleasured honesty, yes, sunsets are a corridor edged, somewhere it is always sunset, nevereverending, and its farewells are truly truthful welcomings* <*> Shelter Island May 2025
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May 30, 2025
May 30, 2025 at 1:54 PM UTC
A Return: Perpetual Sunsets Do Exist
~for George Harrison~ Very *soon George, I am bound for a stilled shaded land, a tiny isle, which knows the all encompassing fog, hurricanes wrath that days linger, and though memorable, never the first image recalled, but a mind's eye video of a perpetual sunset, agonizing silenced colored fantasies of farewells, each unique and alike though all things must pass, a benign benefit comfort suckled this old man's never fully at rest visions, for the sunset is perfect perpetual, always setting, never settling, ever bound to surprise, our farewell is another's welcoming, and each of our days an A-1 slicked continuum, a sliding circularity and we sigh, ooh & aah at it miracality, its genteel reawakening we admit with pleasured honesty, yes, sunsets are a corridor edged, somewhere it is always sunset, nevereverending, and its farewells are truly truthful welcomings* <*> Shelter Island May 2025
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May 30, 2025
May 30, 2025 at 1:48 PM UTC
A Return: Perpetual Sunsets Do Exist
Deep within her stare value-laden eyes bare Thou liketh compete with disciplined man Prim proper equanimity assembled as plan Serve glory to God; begone any despair Grasping thy reality of excellence profound Access vast depth of emotion- drowned Dangling medals reaching out to touch Through tranquility, stand by your ground He pushed me open like a book untold Words of the gospel used by mean Daring as His veracity He loved me as bold By sworn duty, I shall perpetually convene
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Jul 20, 2023
Jul 20, 2023 at 12:01 PM UTC
hi, i’m back.
Happiness so hard to reach Now more than ever Question that haunts my heavy heart "Will I stay sad forever?"
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Jul 24, 2022
Jul 24, 2022 at 7:50 PM UTC
Perpetual Sadness
So you're happy now with another man at home with our son I will always be his dad you told me and I thank you Just so you know I never stopped loving you I never stopped being **** but I never stopped loving you when your skin is liquid and your teeth rattle in your skull I will still love you When the earthworms use your eye sockets as tunnels and when all men have either forgotten or are too scared to speak your name I will still love you you deserve to be happy and you are right to move on if you feel as though your dreams with me are truly dead and gone just know that I still love you love the father of your son
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Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 3:37 AM UTC
The Father
I wish I could have— (Whispers to myself) On days like this when light feels absent. When even the grey begins to fade. How easily the mind slips into descent— (Deaf & Dumb these screams are silence) Fickle imaginations and unkept dreams, The empty spaces where sunlight gleams. Forgotten places where darkness looms. How often is there such clarity— When self awareness is acknowledging the chaos. Questioning sanity. (The Quiet is Echoing) Lost but still somehow following— A break in thought that seems so endless. How, suddenly, the mind can bend. (Mute) Taut and out of shape—bent toward reality, The darkest shades of anxiety. Absent of color and stuck in perpetuity— How infinite a moment could be. With every sound. (Repeating silence) Each touch that’s felt and every taste. This pain that remembers— This soul that has witnessed how seamlessly time is replaced. (Still, I wish I could have...)
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Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 11:52 AM UTC
—wishful.
Perpetual Motion The aerodynamics of your words slice through the atmosphere effortlessly. Their succession is perpetual, reaching each listener that your voice can touch. Your words are like the steady hands of a surgeon, operating—opening old wounds or closing new ones with precision. Your words are unbiased, unable to detect any and all human nuances; their only desire is to be heard, echoing in the silence, leaving a mark on every heart they find.
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Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 8:57 AM UTC
Perpetual Motion
Incognito was my game, until no one could remember my name. Drama free all of the time, until lacking attention became a crime. Crushing on a star in my eyes, until it came and broke my skies. Wishing everything was well, but left alone in a forgotten hell. Shedding petals pretty in color, defined in their detail, make art as they hover.. No tie to each other, although they're connected, one moves, all move, cause they all get affected. A part of the tree living life as a family. But some fall and go shedding the tree, what a tragedy. To time cometh their woe and to woe comes great wisdom. Some petals great, others harsh, but all are a part of the kingdom. I held on to the foreshadowed results of a life without fun, but all it took to change my mind was the warm light kiss that came from the sun. Sometimes I focus on perpetually inevitable doom, but often the time that's stolen by the trees, petals, and life around me that may bloom. So if my woes are petals, then so are my joys, which some may shift and change, and sometimes appear coy. Because life is a place plentiful of joys and woes, know, like petals, what comes will and eventually goes.
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May 20, 2019
May 20, 2019 at 1:57 PM UTC
Petals
_it ***** doesn't it? feeling like you're not good enough, no matter how are you try._
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Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
perpetual despondency (#3)
_i've spent my whole life making other people happy when all they did was leave._
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Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
perpetual despondency (#2)
_just close your eyes you'll be alright_
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Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
perpetual despondency (#1)
If One can dance With the beats of Their own heart Never have to fear When to stop
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Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
Fearless
with the opportunity to fly, heaven-bound with relentless cadence, over unbound oceans of endless thought, i still prefer to glance ashore from a shore, Standing still with normative idealism, bound to false securities of pragmatism, and perpetually doomed to drown, if ever setting foot in water.
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Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
still.
an incorrigible boor now delight in noir till she goes down a hoax if I make jokes still let her sit behind the kind that modern love might catch her in such a smear
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Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
smear
some kind of perpetual motion perpetual motion this movement took this what a strange love strange disgust where did all this come from what a strange light strange moon and stars where did all this come from what a strange night strange strange shadows where did these shadows come from oh my mind oh my mind oh why do I say it all why there is all this why the torch burns on fire why the blood runs running where did all this come from why disappearances why is nothing to us all never reach why there is all this 13.07.18
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Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 5:22 AM UTC
Perpetual Motion.
Every ten words there will always be ten more words
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Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 8:30 AM UTC
Perpetual (10w)