#senescence
Oh dear! Oh dear! What is this?
Something seems to be amiss
Before so sure was I
But now am left to wonder why
For what compelled my short sojourn
Has left me now in but a turn
For in the span from there to here
All thought for naught has disappeared
Apr 30, 2025
Apr 30, 2025 at 1:02 PM UTC
A weizaskid ax me what I mean,
I say, you know,
what I mean.
You always wishtto go my way stretched out,
expanded,
as a bubble to be in, all ways, as in nine
more than you imagine,
I guarantee.
-- war was a bad idea.
-- corrected it at the finger print of intention
woven into the complexity
code-wize and wiring wize and interpretation
wize domain of all the tells,
signals heart and brain call true,
the health of my countenance, word spikes true
needed to play the game honestly,
sharp, intentionally, prickly oblesky thingy do
symbols seen in places related to DC
ideo game eatery franchisees
owned in a golden archetype,
rock candy mountain
- pop -
poke a point into a slit anticipating just
a wave,
we made a ripple if you smile, non one else need
gno unless
you imagine they al- stretcheit- all read
y'know
y known now is deeper than eve imagined
when she saw she knew everything about nothing,
tricked, ****** been guiled, guilty, you know,
this would really help Atum get his kuriosity collection
performing useful
suggestions for more good than we knew.
We, in Eve's Ish-aww mind, mitomom of us all, we
the survivors of the most recent
common gene pool reduction event.
We share the plan that forms the batteries we
use,
and reuse and restore and replace,
at a maddening pace, thus the commonsense
allocation of most awareness to
soul or spirit, consci used autopoeisish awwtyahll know
-- the y must be evil beings who have power to fuggup ever
and you know this
how?
We can imagine no reason to just allow war to ify as a proud
child takes credit for burps and farts
- we won, cut the **** about being offended, be good
- or die a miserable loser being 1950's mean.
-- eh - where's the dichotomy, is the y's no reason to form a duality of
opposing forces,
honest'godas I write, it thunders over Long Valley Mountain.
I realize you must have read this far and I am home again.
Standing under the viaduct at Exit 45, I-8 East.
And it feels like 2020-real happened.
And it is cooler than it was
And
I wonder if meandering old men mean peace
in the valley and my idea of the long
valley,
you know, the one you think you gotta walk,
even if you don't wish to,
even if you wishtnot to,
you transverse it from one end to the other,
one direction flow, like 1-d DNA,
unmazing engineering on par with the intention
displayed in the hook of heart field and mind fields,
genius, knock-knock jokes are a natural, deploy them
who is there, let them ask?
Thunder in the mountains in August.
This is totally good mohkus, my friends.
At this point. All is well enough all we can pay sharp
focused, non default scatter brain meandering old
white head, my my my myelinated
brain allows a thought to age,
as bourbon in charred oak,
the longer the systems have been on ever after
time when time shall,
not will, I see, shall
I say, be no more. Null set was imagined for this moment
to arrive. Selah.
Aug 21, 2020
Aug 21, 2020 at 7:06 PM UTC
Seems the spirit ever mends,
though the light behind it bleeds.
Poor lamp am I…how strange
that the mind should sharpen
while the maggot feeds.
Each day the world grows older,
yet her face remains fair, her view serene.
I’ve seen the way she jades her young,
and watched her fields rush green.
But only as the sight grows weak
can at last these old eyes see
what waits the clear, unbroken pools
in wide eyes peeking back at me.
You children play, and don’t mind me.
The sun lies full where I drift, content.
If I seem to be brooding
on happiness spent,
then forgive me, I’m grateful
to not have to brood on sorrow.
So you children play. Can it truly be!
Did time once bend, could slights once heal…
it seems so long—seems scarcely real,
that I was a creature of yesterday
who could not see past the morrow.
And where is that child now?
Is he dead, was he dreamt, is he lost for good,
or is he only sleeping?
He would run, he would leap, he would laugh if he could.
He has savored his life, has drunk it to the full.
Why then is he weeping?
No, you children play, and don’t mind me.
Embrace this splendid, fleeting day.
Look away.
Cling to the cup while the taste is sweet,
and bask in the light of your youth.
Ah, what is youth but a longing for age,
and age but a longing for youth.
Watch the blue dream resuming,
feel the moth in the fist.
Taste that warm promise tendered
in a child’s first kiss,
grown cold in the arms of the hunter,
matured, developed to—
This?
No, you children play, you children play.
The leech has yet to find you,
let your blood sing while it may.
The rabid angel’s eyes are bright,
her loving voice is lying.
Her ***** heaves, but the heart is cold.
Season to season, her black shadow clings.
Lamb after lamb, how pleasantly she stings.
All our lives we look to things. I tell you, by my eyes,
there are things behind things…stirring bashful children,
spiteful children—the angel drives her docile prey;
herding awkward children, skipping children,
skipping their childhood away.
No feat of man, no higher hand,
no will can hold the years at bay.
Alone, I watch them, day by day,
growing, slowing in their play.
Okay. NOW CUT AND PASTE THE LINK BELOW TO READ HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent, soulful readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders
Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.
contact:
[email protected]
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 5:43 PM UTC
Blood foams out of Mary’s mouth.
Grass on her skirt.
Grubs shift beneath her, trying to breathe.
Pink foam runs down her chin.
Jeremiah hasn’t moved in an hour.
Lying on the grass with his hair rotting.
Bathtub flesh tangled in senescence.
Jesus, where the **** did the time go?
It’s Autumn approaching Winter.
Little nooses run down tree branches and settle round all the leaves.
Hugging them until their necks sever like Isaiah’s.
Eve shakes his shoulder to wake him but his head just rolls further into the gutter.
A dazed expression of absolute revulsion.
Whatever.
I pick up a stick and pierce Eve’s flesh.
Over and over.
Because I’m bored.
And she’s there.
Barely perceiving her own existence.
Shaking the headless body of Isaiah.
While Mary collapses into a black hole.
And Jeremiah sinks into the ground.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC
like men in parks
let us
greet the oriole-filled
morning with an ineluctable smile
and go merrily with argenteous waters and their rustling freedom,
be as flowers are, thirsty
for life, quenched by sweet ambrosia from the Earth's
hermetic vessels,
sojourn and watch slender fulminations of dawn ******
against the oleanders, the cypresses, the children tawny
with laughter, and the sparrow swift in wind's deepening hush
sing with the string of birds
and wait for women for us to
gaze at in their lush pelisses
as the heavens gather a mound
to graying, reckoning rain through
sills imperatively shut
as rain slowly announces its arrival
like men in parks
treading gently are
the passing flight of herons,
their unnamable wings
truncating their
journey as the day closes
its wide eyes and sleeps!
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
Another sleepless night is over
To her kitchen, she rolled herself
Took her meds from the lower shelf
and smiled
Her family is coming to visit her
She made them a delicious strawberry ****
That her diabetes cannot handle
Loving them strengthens her weak heart
For joy
and for their comfort, she'd gamble
The drawer where she hid for them the candy
is now a box for her meds to lean
She searched her memories for a fun story
Old adventures
to avoid boring them with her present routine
No one can swim against the stream
We're all just victims of time and disease
Golden leaves of autumn as precious as they seem
Fall down
And remind us again of our final release
~Epic Monkey
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC