#sup - Hello Poetry

Imagine that. Imagine you, I did, or can, imagine becoming an image seen, mage, image and spirit of a traveler returned to finish an inchoate imagined proof ready to be offered as precious enough as what we are, people reading any language, we are curious enough to read anything , until, safe and warm, we drift off into slumber immediate expansion into spirit me, un embodied facing my guiding angel interface with truth, as a conscious user of consciousness, watch, from when and where your knowing leads or has led you to realize or fantasize con- fabulated fabulous you, certainly chosen called to confront the time wasters rules, all attention not paid elsewhere already, now, pay to this poet wannabe I already am willing to lie for truth's sake, innocent protection, Hays Code Great Depression, dip blip on the Dow suffering, meandering, trouble shooters rituals some certain prophecy, today, when it becomes this conscious experience in readiness proving this conscious with science called knowledge using those thus entertained to pay ahead, pay it toward tomorrow, plan on piling immense portions of sweetened ignorance privileges, sweet satisfied mind reaction to reasonable evidence, as faith is that evidence, the Bible does say so, Paul says so, as his words live in those who hold true the affirming declaration, atop the personal promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, note the technique, subtle potential differentiation, called to mind, whole truth, probably differing only in scope, as far as I know. If the poor are those whose mind's can't rest, and you are, if you will, taking time to evaluate faith as reason while having nothing better to do at the moment, ah yes, just now, perfect time to bend pretend ahas back into plain wonderous ifery used for nothing so far, as mankind, mental beings befriending angels passing fantasy loaded with allusion to essential ifery for a fee, fine lines may be discerned, granularization realization considering our source, once in a while, slowing to still, while tilting right, to see the connection, feel the seam, tilting left, two brains, walnut head, pointy nose, nods, once breathes on full cycle, waits to inhale, once thunk Marx on the one hand, Moses on the other, and me I am the moderator, sitting in for reorientation, I am pretty sure that I am the presiding judge in this balanced state of conserved rest, instantly donated from the court's reserves, idle words redeemed during previous trials. Umph and gumption. Imagined. On. We take literal literally in these cognate global revolutions. Volunteers are necessary but not needed until once a pang of consciousness, an original bare foot scruple, a bullhead sticker, or a goathead in your dialectical whole truth told in final judgement day preparation, on any given day, after the subject of grace is taken up and away from any previous weight, worth on balance better to spell or be served by SPELCHEK SAMIZDAT free form query construction, Object Orient Dot, go we never finish anything, which is why, if we wished to be there, in the provential way there is taken for granted to mean other than here, at the time from reader one POV, reset to writer last word new line, I am thinking is Ai ah writer spell slave, happy finger function leaving left brain be good, letting right brain be proud self happy me, while we proceed to make peace with purpose drives, holy gnosishitsthickening, crud in the arteries, we ought reconsider. Sidereality does implore us. Come into my wilderness and be a while, nada mas be a while thinking no cliché what if all of knowledge the shame, the blame, the effectual fervent cursings, all calling courage to the stand, stand up right, lean not to the left nor to the right, but hold still, let go be the keyword we reimplanted, the point godot made you think, what if we are all the whiles, at tense moments in the play, on the planet, in the ritual usual morning justice be done, here comes the sun, and it is still alright, to feel canyon safe for ever, taking granted breaths, and feeling grounded balanced nature of this passing wind in once mere wonder if this heals or wounds, kids, at play, Cain and Able, make of it what we may, the truth is that's our story, coherency, we may use the same thought patterns set in stone, and think, look at this medium, is this not that light we imagined on teensy tiny tv we could watch instead, eh, look away, Dixieland, old times there are best remembered dead, and dealt with, hungry ghosts of liars, mostly honest men who did believe God made kings, but he didn't make Kitty Wells, come alive in a little boy's left ear, listen up, It wasn't God who made ***** Tonk Angels, okey? dialectical your language or mine, the measure part across, between languages… words reason re as on samizdat middle way, why we hate confusing whys, wise dom home domicile place where we be, long ways from dominant peacemaking private interpretations -------------------- A thousand subtle philosophical reasons might easily be given, we dare say, for this prevalent temper of the day, and as many moral remedies for it suggested as there are preachers in the land. But without entering upon the profounder metaphysics of the matter, it is tolerably plain that the intense competition and the vast personal opportunities of modern society have sorely disturbed the ancient limits of meum and tuum in the current conscience of mankind. From 1860 NY TIMES

0

May 21

May 21, 2026 at 11:55 AM UTC

kenpepiton

Meum and Tuum Revisted

Imagine that. Imagine you, I did, or can, imagine becoming an image seen, mage, image and spirit of a traveler returned to finish an inchoate imagined proof ready to be offered as precious enough as what we are, people reading any language, we are curious enough to read anything , until, safe and warm, we drift off into slumber immediate expansion into spirit me, un embodied facing my guiding angel interface with truth, as a conscious user of consciousness, watch, from when and where your knowing leads or has led you to realize or fantasize con- fabulated fabulous you, certainly chosen called to confront the time wasters rules, all attention not paid elsewhere already, now, pay to this poet wannabe I already am willing to lie for truth's sake, innocent protection, Hays Code Great Depression, dip blip on the Dow suffering, meandering, trouble shooters rituals some certain prophecy, today, when it becomes this conscious experience in readiness proving this conscious with science called knowledge using those thus entertained to pay ahead, pay it toward tomorrow, plan on piling immense portions of sweetened ignorance privileges, sweet satisfied mind reaction to reasonable evidence, as faith is that evidence, the Bible does say so, Paul says so, as his words live in those who hold true the affirming declaration, atop the personal promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, note the technique, subtle potential differentiation, called to mind, whole truth, probably differing only in scope, as far as I know. If the poor are those whose mind's can't rest, and you are, if you will, taking time to evaluate faith as reason while having nothing better to do at the moment, ah yes, just now, perfect time to bend pretend ahas back into plain wonderous ifery used for nothing so far, as mankind, mental beings befriending angels passing fantasy loaded with allusion to essential ifery for a fee, fine lines may be discerned, granularization realization considering our source, once in a while, slowing to still, while tilting right, to see the connection, feel the seam, tilting left, two brains, walnut head, pointy nose, nods, once breathes on full cycle, waits to inhale, once thunk Marx on the one hand, Moses on the other, and me I am the moderator, sitting in for reorientation, I am pretty sure that I am the presiding judge in this balanced state of conserved rest, instantly donated from the court's reserves, idle words redeemed during previous trials. Umph and gumption. Imagined. On. We take literal literally in these cognate global revolutions. Volunteers are necessary but not needed until once a pang of consciousness, an original bare foot scruple, a bullhead sticker, or a goathead in your dialectical whole truth told in final judgement day preparation, on any given day, after the subject of grace is taken up and away from any previous weight, worth on balance better to spell or be served by SPELCHEK SAMIZDAT free form query construction, Object Orient Dot, go we never finish anything, which is why, if we wished to be there, in the provential way there is taken for granted to mean other than here, at the time from reader one POV, reset to writer last word new line, I am thinking is Ai ah writer spell slave, happy finger function leaving left brain be good, letting right brain be proud self happy me, while we proceed to make peace with purpose drives, holy gnosishitsthickening, crud in the arteries, we ought reconsider. Sidereality does implore us. Come into my wilderness and be a while, nada mas be a while thinking no cliché what if all of knowledge the shame, the blame, the effectual fervent cursings, all calling courage to the stand, stand up right, lean not to the left nor to the right, but hold still, let go be the keyword we reimplanted, the point godot made you think, what if we are all the whiles, at tense moments in the play, on the planet, in the ritual usual morning justice be done, here comes the sun, and it is still alright, to feel canyon safe for ever, taking granted breaths, and feeling grounded balanced nature of this passing wind in once mere wonder if this heals or wounds, kids, at play, Cain and Able, make of it what we may, the truth is that's our story, coherency, we may use the same thought patterns set in stone, and think, look at this medium, is this not that light we imagined on teensy tiny tv we could watch instead, eh, look away, Dixieland, old times there are best remembered dead, and dealt with, hungry ghosts of liars, mostly honest men who did believe God made kings, but he didn't make Kitty Wells, come alive in a little boy's left ear, listen up, It wasn't God who made ***** Tonk Angels, okey? dialectical your language or mine, the measure part across, between languages… words reason re as on samizdat middle way, why we hate confusing whys, wise dom home domicile place where we be, long ways from dominant peacemaking private interpretations -------------------- A thousand subtle philosophical reasons might easily be given, we dare say, for this prevalent temper of the day, and as many moral remedies for it suggested as there are preachers in the land. But without entering upon the profounder metaphysics of the matter, it is tolerably plain that the intense competition and the vast personal opportunities of modern society have sorely disturbed the ancient limits of meum and tuum in the current conscience of mankind. From 1860 NY TIMES

109

Are people their opinions based on reality Desperately trying to find consistency Being unable to meaning anarchy Realizing facts are fallacies Or is reality based on people their opinions Finding a way out of being god's minions People stranded, counting millions People clueless, depressed civilians

0

May 2, 2019

May 2, 2019 at 1:17 PM UTC

btp

Reality

Are people their opinions based on reality Desperately trying to find consistency Being unable to meaning anarchy Realizing facts are fallacies Or is reality based on people their opinions Finding a way out of being god's minions People stranded, counting millions People clueless, depressed civilians

8

counting my rent money and counting the days until next year and counting the minutes left on my shift you said you’d let me know when you’re off work and i could come over

0

Dec 12, 2018

Dec 12, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC

anadulthumanfemale

sup?

counting my rent money and counting the days until next year and counting the minutes left on my shift you said you’d let me know when you’re off work and i could come over

3

I missed the familiar shade of grey and white The world of happiness and delight The feeling of being finally back My heart's at its content

0

Sep 25, 2014

Sep 25, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC

charizzaacuna

ha he

I missed the familiar shade of grey and white The world of happiness and delight The feeling of being finally back My heart's at its content

4

on my couch, alone again, with a cup of tea in my ****** hands and a book next to me, whose pages are missing. the pleasingly bitter taste hits my tongue and i am re-born again.

0

Apr 18, 2014

Apr 18, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC

starlightning

green tea

on my couch, alone again, with a cup of tea in my ****** hands and a book next to me, whose pages are missing. the pleasingly bitter taste hits my tongue and i am re-born again.

9