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#phylosophy
There are dense days, when a second weighs like a stone in your pocket. And there are liquid days, that slip away without memory. Time is not linear. It settles. It remains in the things we have touched, in what we have lost, in what we almost were. And, slowly, without asking permission, it becomes us.
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Apr 11
Apr 11, 2026 at 9:17 AM UTC
A Stone in the Pocket
Life is a casino, you’re a gambler there; You put many efforts, efforts of despair; Poker chips are pieces of your lonely heart, And while spending you have to be smart… Many people think one chip is for one person; The vile roulette of love they carelessly spin, But, every time loosing, their lives only worsen; Because the only way here is to risk and go “all in”! Yes, it can break your heart into many-many pieces, But if you win you will be left forever with endless hugs & kisses! Other people choose in vicious circle to be stuck, And then for all their failures to blame mighty luck. All poker chips I once gave to my chosen one, And this way in the roulette of love I happily won… A pair of kings or a pair of queens are poker combinations very strong! Once again read this poem along: it’s not about gambling or slot machines…
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Jan 20
Jan 20, 2026 at 1:08 PM UTC
Roulette of love
"To know to think, not think to know." Formed at spin into a vase holding the flower of spring that says: "Instead knowing to dont know, not knowing to know" like fields after winter do ..just remember.
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Mar 13, 2025
Mar 13, 2025 at 12:06 PM UTC
Chewing on hemlock
The irresistible force paradox. When an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, they co-co-opt a new loving universe. extraordinary claims extraordinary evidence elusive question evident answer COCO
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Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 8:57 AM UTC
COCO
Supressed feelings, this is unimaginable pressure. Roaming around with happiness, with the greatest treause, Though I'm showing it slightly, that never lets me get as loose. Hiding it and hiding it, unintentionally and uncontrollably, Creates the biggest void, and maybe leaves you wih some ruins of what you used to be. It's hard living in a world where I'm not like I want to be... I need some screws, a little help, to put myself back together, And I have to be careful, to not make myself sadder. I know, I know, somewhere under These layers I won't see a void, But I'm going to be complete as I used To be.
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Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 7:14 PM UTC
Reborn
Imagine your life as a train – Endless road and no more unbearable pain. Now you are passenger, put troubles behind, That actually twist your brilliant mind. Landscape by landscape, sunset by sunset, “Freedom is here!” you cheerfully said. Others might think you must be insane “How dare he exist unlike a last soul in the rain?” Stay focused and do not be absorbed By spoiled people whose troubles were not even solved. Take reality easy, follow these words, Now they are would be my final chords.
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Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 11:48 AM UTC
Passenger
I am     am          m          am I?
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Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 6:55 AM UTC
Questioning my existence
he was lost but never knew. life existed with no clue of what to do just the same routine run around and find new things. all he knew was he liked to eat, but never knew what eating was just a good feeling of fullness when taking another life but no worry what is life besides him. he ran across the forest floor and only he could enjoy the soothing patter of his feet across the leafs. he never knew about the world no matter how much he explored he just saw it as reality. never knew who he was to others or what he was. i am me but only known as a feeling for words where not a learn-able traite. unaware of knowledge but does he mean to be unaware. what if knowledge is pain? what do we gain besides a pointlessness when we have knowledge i wish i could follow in his footsteps but i cant imagine it. id like to hear the patter of leaves under my feet and live in thoughtless serenity.
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Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 6:06 AM UTC
Manny The Lizard
What marvellous creatures those biped ants, Inhabiting the terrestrial little dust sphere, third from its star. A naturally social animal “living in a complex social colony, with one or more breeding queens.” What organised creatures those biped ants, Arranging themselves in a hierarchical manner, to follow Rules and be protected by their chief, whose interest is The survival, wellbeing and self-enhancement of all. What ingenious creatures those biped ants, Drawing, inventing and building that which their mind can imagine, Creating words out of nothing to tell each other stories, Hand their wisdom over and down to their heir. What intelligent creatures those biped ants, Engaging and toying with thoughts and questions To find answers to sentiments they spontaneously recognise, Driven by curiosity to understand their potential and universe. What extraordinary creatures those biped ants, Capable of love and caring, so unusual and rare on other planets, Believing in strength and justice, freedom and equality, Marching for their rights and for them be willing to give up their lives. What fragile creatures those biped ants, So vulnerable to greed, arrogance, fear and complex, Self-commiseration and self-loathing, punishing themselves With self-destruction. What paradoxical creatures those biped ants, Dividing in colours, red or blue, black or white, Unwilling to acknowledge that any idea is a good idea If in the best interest of humanity as a whole and its home, Regardless of who gives birth to it and casts the seed, For it to grow.
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May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 5:44 AM UTC
Social Animal
What marvellous creatures those biped ants, Inhabiting the terrestrial little dust sphere, third from its star. A naturally social animal “living in a complex social colony, with one or more breeding queens.” What organised creatures those biped ants, Arranging themselves in a hierarchical manner, to follow Rules and be protected by their chief, whose interest is The survival, wellbeing and self-enhancement of all. What ingenious creatures those biped ants, Drawing, inventing and building that which their mind can imagine, Creating words out of nothing to tell each other stories, Hand their wisdom over and down to their heir. What intelligent creatures those biped ants, Engaging and toying with thoughts and questions To find answers to sentiments they spontaneously recognise, Driven by curiosity to understand their potential and universe. What extraordinary creatures those biped ants, Capable of love and caring, so unusual and rare on other planets, Believing in strength and justice, freedom and equality, Marching for their rights and for them be willing to give up their lives. What fragile creatures those biped ants, So vulnerable to greed, arrogance, fear and complex, Self-commiseration and self-loathing, punishing themselves With self-destruction. What paradoxical creatures those biped ants, Dividing in colours, red or blue, black or white, Unwilling to acknowledge that any idea is a good idea If in the best interest of humanity as a whole and its home, Regardless of who gives birth to it and casts the seed, For it to grow.
Continue reading...
30
*Sweet pliability of a woman’s spirit That can surrender itself to its own illusions Somehow to cheat sorrow of their weariest moments. Had I not trod upon such enchanted ground I would have not known the smooth velvet path Fancied by those rose-budded petals of delight. When the evils of the world wear sores upon me And there seems to be no retreat from them – I take upon me 'your' course and leave this world Of fit and anger and find that it is only with 'you' That I have a clearer view of the Elysian Fields Upon which your womanly heart depends. I see those evils wave their ugly heads in defeat Even unto their own thoughts as you cast out the shadows. I lose myself in you all those ill wills finding That it is only your affections worth living for. Surely this is not walking in a vain shadow Nor do I do injustice to you by walking with you. A man walks in any direction because he claims to Walk with the issue of his commotions – for no good reason. But in woman, at times, she walks in the direction of her Heart as she conquers any single bad sensation of That heart as decisively as that of reason - often sorely Defeated before there is a fight to be fought. They say that a woman thinks more with the left side Of her brain while a man thinks mostly with the right. The journey between right and left is but a few centimeters. That distance between those quadrants can at times seem Light years apart as if the universe is turned topsy-turvy. Neither is more intelligent than the other, or so they say but Science also says Men tend to do better with tasks requiring more localized processing Such as mathematics which is attributed to the white matter of the brain. Women are better at integrating and assimilating information from the Distributed gray-matter regions of the brain, which aids In language and communication skills. This is a generalization and is not true of all men and women. So how is a man to ever understand a woman or a Woman ever to be able to understand a man? I can only attest to my own case. If a man subscribes himself upon such an injury That he incapacitates that masculine routing of reason Then his mind is forced to regenerate itself creating different Avenues of his ability to be human. If by accident or injury he somehow disables some of the White matter of his brain then over time the gray matter Takes over what the white matter no longer can perform. In essence there isn’t a left and a right anymore. When that happens a man is open to communication In an entirely new and different way. What once was a bullheaded ***** thinking mainly with Parts of himself that were more important to him than anyone else, Now he is forced to see both sides of every issue. Words are not the same, music isn’t the same and Neither is anything else, not even a single breath. So whenever you read something from one of these mutant men – Remember what has happened to get this one to that place. And remember always, hope shortens all journeys By sweetening them, so sing my little stanzas As I sing them – as with the devotion of a hymn. If you do this every morning you will arise And eat your breakfast with more comfort for it. Make no mistake of it – I am a man in every way That a man can be a man. It’s just according to science that I think more like a woman. For better or worse and Whether anyone likes it or not. Personally I think I'm somewhere in between.*
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May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 11:43 AM UTC
Woman?
*Sweet pliability of a woman’s spirit That can surrender itself to its own illusions Somehow to cheat sorrow of their weariest moments. Had I not trod upon such enchanted ground I would have not known the smooth velvet path Fancied by those rose-budded petals of delight. When the evils of the world wear sores upon me And there seems to be no retreat from them – I take upon me 'your' course and leave this world Of fit and anger and find that it is only with 'you' That I have a clearer view of the Elysian Fields Upon which your womanly heart depends. I see those evils wave their ugly heads in defeat Even unto their own thoughts as you cast out the shadows. I lose myself in you all those ill wills finding That it is only your affections worth living for. Surely this is not walking in a vain shadow Nor do I do injustice to you by walking with you. A man walks in any direction because he claims to Walk with the issue of his commotions – for no good reason. But in woman, at times, she walks in the direction of her Heart as she conquers any single bad sensation of That heart as decisively as that of reason - often sorely Defeated before there is a fight to be fought. They say that a woman thinks more with the left side Of her brain while a man thinks mostly with the right. The journey between right and left is but a few centimeters. That distance between those quadrants can at times seem Light years apart as if the universe is turned topsy-turvy. Neither is more intelligent than the other, or so they say but Science also says Men tend to do better with tasks requiring more localized processing Such as mathematics which is attributed to the white matter of the brain. Women are better at integrating and assimilating information from the Distributed gray-matter regions of the brain, which aids In language and communication skills. This is a generalization and is not true of all men and women. So how is a man to ever understand a woman or a Woman ever to be able to understand a man? I can only attest to my own case. If a man subscribes himself upon such an injury That he incapacitates that masculine routing of reason Then his mind is forced to regenerate itself creating different Avenues of his ability to be human. If by accident or injury he somehow disables some of the White matter of his brain then over time the gray matter Takes over what the white matter no longer can perform. In essence there isn’t a left and a right anymore. When that happens a man is open to communication In an entirely new and different way. What once was a bullheaded ***** thinking mainly with Parts of himself that were more important to him than anyone else, Now he is forced to see both sides of every issue. Words are not the same, music isn’t the same and Neither is anything else, not even a single breath. So whenever you read something from one of these mutant men – Remember what has happened to get this one to that place. And remember always, hope shortens all journeys By sweetening them, so sing my little stanzas As I sing them – as with the devotion of a hymn. If you do this every morning you will arise And eat your breakfast with more comfort for it. Make no mistake of it – I am a man in every way That a man can be a man. It’s just according to science that I think more like a woman. For better or worse and Whether anyone likes it or not. Personally I think I'm somewhere in between.*
Continue reading...
69
On mornings hence I'll forget to forgive this callous blow That left me broken on the field where angels hearts don't go ____________________________ As to the scar left there upon I'll hide it best I can For fear they might see my pain and think me not a man __________________________ When in future I'll be asked to say this was my fault Why open this tender heart within to the unending pain of assault ___________________________ As future bears witness of my life and deeds inscribe Descendants will think me as kind for the life I try to describe __________________________ In life I took much less than gave I walked the good heart line Carried the hopes of the small held theirs as they held mine _________________________ But to God, I say through it all I was true to his design Gave my heart in earnest love for a life, sweet, gentle and divine Tate Original poem with music and self portrait http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/446689/
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Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
My Life ( The first poem I ever wrote)
Near the road a cemetery bloomed in the ancient noon day light An old man stood to his task of tending graves each night He had spent his youth working too afraid to spend emotion Took all he could from everyone but gave no love to the devotion Romance was not his forte he practiced disdain for mankind Hardly giving love to another closed away his heart and mind Thinking life to be a race he had pushed his way along Took from the world no pleasure he whistled but heard no song Now retired and long lived he thought himself to be paid To have outlived all the others was reward for plans he'd made As he looked to stones he tended for all those he'd known in life An old dream ached in his chest for words written to his wife She had once been his true love the only one he had known Lost to another in his youth he was aged, but never grown Now his tears water her grave stones of family, oh so few The dreams of lost love fading wonders of life he never knew Called to rest some time ago he lies cold among his peers A shadow on winter's night walks the graveyard of his tears Tate Original poem with accompanying music and pictures http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/447411/
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Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
The Garden Of Tears
We come into life as innocents no prejudice upon our soul Washed clean by a new beginning not a single debt, nor a toll We have two choices most of us codes of fathers we just swallow Or blaze a path in loneliness others wonder but don't follow It is that rare one we may find who chooses to go his own way These are the ones we all admire not for them but us we should pray Fearless souls unafraid to di they the ones bucking convention Who teach us all our life's follies by adding a new dimension As life progresses onward to it's predestined conclusion We learn then teach the least of us to see truth not the delusion Don't fear the ones with their own ways for they may know what we do not He who turns toward forgiveness has discovered what most forgot Tate
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Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
Knowledge
What have I learned in my trials so far I think all I need know for now Been broken,tattered and forlorn then beaten and made to bow ______________________________ I have gained a glimpse of life few men have ever known To see the futile-ness of man only humility in grace be shown _______________________________ As I walked the long winding road that led away from there to here I find I am no different than most that have held their own soul so dear _____________________________ With time our life so gives then along side it must take Carving character as it goes a better man of us will it make ____________________________ As I no longer ask the question God traded me wisdom for truth Teaching me the meaning of life in exchange he took my youth Tate Original version with art work and music http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/533249/
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Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
Why Me
So where does the love of God go when the days turn minutes to hours Just whose house has God been visiting when followers hurl rocks not flowers What do we teach our children so well precious lessons of Christ, we all follow Condemning the young that chose abortion so God's teachings will ring out but hollow Where are the mighty gifts of forgiveness shoulders to cry on, for families that fail Instead they cast stones of the malcontent on the lord's children that they assail Perhaps it would serve us all better if we could call a ***** a ***** Then point the finger of hypocrisy at the army of heretics they've made Take a walk to the washing basin look to the mirrored reflection of pain Soap will never wash away the ignorance or the ugly hatred and stench that remain Shame be on us for these things as we shall reap what we do sow You can't teach love and tolerance with every gun and with every blow Tate Original version with music and photos http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/537288/
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Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
The Martyrs
We are architects of our fate working within constraints of time Some mens lives do seem so blessed while others seem riddled with crime For each of us stack stones of life from our yesterdays we borrow The blocks from which we build our days are foundations for tomorrow Build your dreams with greatest care don't think on life's great sorrowed past Create a world so wondrous that through ice and fire it will last Your child’s future held in your hands go from failures cold darkened din Show your son where you are going not the tale of where you have been Tate Original poem with music http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/538310/
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Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
Days to Remember
I hear the rhythm of the rain wind- whipped drops falling 'round Tapping on the kitchen window pane I love the music in that lonesome sound Walking through to morning's shower daisies covered by mist in the dew Calm and warm tame with power life springs forth all fresh anew Watching the world's sins melt away anointing life with a chance to be Feeling the sun light up the day washing the blues away from me So like the man built solely from tin with a chest full of broken dreams Rain falls softly on my skin nothing quite the way it seems As I watch the drops of rain falling on the glass by and by They run down from the window pane there before the grace of you go I Tate Original version with music http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/555096/
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Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
Tin Man
The water's edge rose to meet me while either side the river lie Across the bridge and path I ran past tall fields of both wheat and rye To the meadow where my home sat there childhood dreams were born and died I followed the path that life led my guarding angel at my side Here were crafted my hopes and dreams from hence I’d come to test my skill To find the place where I belong perhaps upon some distant hill Coming home from where I had been retracing steps from here to there Has brought my life full circle now teaching me the lessons I share I had set out to find my purpose only my own life did I see But finding love in coming home my treasured soul had found all three Tate Original musical version http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/557123/
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Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
Home
With pride deposed and passions slain we hope, aspire and then on trust Beneath vaulted skies we attain to master life before we're dust Then take the gifts that we have earned and turn out surcease from despair To reap the pearls others have learned echos childhood calls to be fair I crossed over a young boys path who had stooped and bent for hours There he escaped to love from wrath while he tended to his flowers In him I saw myself one day a cold spirit needing tending And in his face I saw the way to happiness he was rending Simple things from a little boy do the same for old and new Bringing to all wonders and joy a smile he shared with me and you A little thing from a kind child who then shared with me his treasures Taught me the virtues of the mild exposing life's greatest pleasures Tate Original version with music http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/604858/
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Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
Love Child
What if loves I once ceased to know were just my own mistakes to blame How can I then tender a hope when all my excuses go lame Then all the stars would fall to earth as the lights went out in the sky Leaving me dark and by myself to then ask of my god but why The breeze picks up what's left of life as it cleans the lost slate away The four winds then come whisk and blow memories of a finer day At times I am my own worst pain not the way I wish it should be Failing to recognize problems not in others but within me Tate Original version http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/631791/
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May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
Paper Moon
When I was young through beauties gaze winds blew by me as if to sing Their songs of love to me were praise that lifted me upon their wing Rich did the spoils of time unroll an empire's trophies I would raise And write my name across life's scroll to earn the laurels of friend's praise Can anyone know what will come when the wind blows us cold and gale Or what direction it be from when finally we set our sail But now those days are tempered dear time's winds no longer sing for me For now the quiet hush I hear makes life's truth so easy to see Tate Original musical version http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/618398/
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May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:53 PM UTC
The Wind
It takes of a man some courage to admit when he has lost Then swallow back his hard won pride which had come at such high cost All men know of their own weakness for the temptations of life They fight themselves to no avail unhappy without life's strife For a man is here to suffer to stand up fast to the gale To struggle against all life's odds to either win, lose or fail Men who feel this innate desire tempt the will of unkind fates To write their names upon lifes wall as one of the worlds true greats Only when a man has fallen does he reach his true, found, worth He knows of nothing until then for the reason of his birth A man can always take comfort in the things he must abide To gaze in the mirror broken taking heart from that he tried Tate Original poem and music with pictures http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/629199/
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May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
****** Pride
If our faith can move a mountain then it should save a soul To have untapped faith in oneself is life's great gift and goal Within all children lay a dream to be more than their parts To open gifts within themselves warming their tiny hearts Ask a small child this question "what do you want to be" Always it's seems there's something grand through their minds eye they see So where do all the lost come from who find their dreams have died Who see their hopes all washed away as if cast on the tide No one can say with assurance what happened to those souls How all their dreams in life were lost or for whom the bell tolls If asked of me I would just say truth is hard to admit The mind is not a vessel filled but a fire to be lit Tate Original poem with pictures of my granddaughter http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/634176/
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May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:36 PM UTC
Childhood Dreams
If size were what life was about then we would not matter a bit Not to the thoughts that man can dream nor all the sins he could commit Our mind is what gives us value sensitive beyond its design Compassion and love will endure in our children both yours and mine This little blue planet of life the only home that we know of Holds us in it's loving embrace as here was born every love No matter what life can collect nor how long life grants you in time Why would it matter to the earth or to heights of mountains you climb Humanity won't remember the man who commanded his friends Only he who gives hope and love so that life on earth never ends Tate Original larger than life version with music http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/647092/
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May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
Love
We come to terms with our mistakes to strive, to try, then fail, to win Seeing what bitter food it makes tasting the tempting fruits of sin Looking back along the past succeeding through our strain Makes us value life at last with its unending strife and pain Who once failed, find triumph sweet where once stumbled, cry beware To the other unaccustomed feet victory comes to those who dare Are we but images made of God his work in labored progress Made from the dust and the sod our one sheer moment of happiness What strife encumbers, the soul awakes learning the errors, of our troubled route Through sorrows, of our sad mistakes come truths, we could not live without Tate
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May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
Our Mistakes