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Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Drunk, we staggered home.

Aware of having been
some
other where
a while

That woman, she could answer

any question rebbi axt,
Ohhhhmyyy

she laugh and say, Dude, I got the Intent-net,
in my hand

That's more than a list of numbers, this
accounting idle words going on, on going, as fast as

lightning, at the scale, of, say

cat-ions ifiying an-ions
at random,
seen systematical, from a distance
zoom out
at the scale, of, say
Great Deep Field.

Center you, I'm no matter.

synchro
now

zoom out
Use that steam program
Universe Sandbox,
you gotta see that to imagine this, right,

and next is what you keep saying is unbelievable,
but its not.

Good things come to them
to whom
good makes more sense.

Earth from the moon POV

Confusion flux, spurtual,  caused by the solar flare of all solar flares,
one side

Whooshing the Ice left from Patton's flood
into steam, the stuff, not the app,

which swooshhhesssssssssss smack
into the freezing repurcussions
from the daark side…

The Noah event, that was bad,
This one, the last one, this just previous one,

was spiritual. Magnitudes incomparable
(save in parable and example, exemplar gratis,
says the bodiless being, with a roll of  my wrist and a bow)

At that very time on the side away from the flare,
the daark side of the planet, this one…

a Donald Patton nitrogen snow ball
that nearly breached Roche's limit,

too not nearly enough,
dis -integration
The atmosphere freezes
to the quark level, snap,

the cold
explosive
forward momentum
booms a nitrogen bubble now
minusminusminus
solid nitrogen
melting

any heat locked in flare fired steam,
what was once the water
that washed away the gods and locked their cities
of ivory under the ice

on the sunny side,
where now, then,

a solar flare like legends build empires upon
has passed, fires rage

there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Only miners survived, gold digger mostly,
few alchemists who knew the mystery in mercury,
Lost was all knowing but to a very few,
who truth be told had been the owner's
well kept servants, ministers of this and that
they perished with all the fires touched

we diggers, we only marvel

How bits of time, exact as ours, can be seen happening
all in bubble of Mercury. Cooked out red rock like these.

"Blood o' the gods of old, swat I'astold."

Messages from the gods, grandma, said, "Mercury calls for gold, gold listens, when fire's hottern fire can be,
unless
the breath of men blow on the coals", we all said that last part and blew out the light. G'night


but a story told a wee bit here a qubit there
here a little, there a little
line upon line,
precept upon precept,

'cept no body knows what I know about cept,

capere, a story starts, a provisioning tale. Wait.

it means grip. like a tool. rock breaks nut.

Paper covers rock, but scissors are so far in the future
that now, my time, my mind wanders after whys

this authoritative telling of the story, in it,
none know the terminal tale.

As in times past, there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Tho' here's a clue.
Meek's not bad,
stupid, for no reason, is.

Living long for the sake of a song heard once,
in dream luring me on, promising right now, I'll

know what it's like to see, oh

POV I made this clear some time ago,
time is less predictable than any imagined, before 2018
when, you know…

Even those tales old drunk Hesiod sold
in the Hittite tavern at Delphi,

Chronos thought wrong in those,
he ruled but for the merest gleam o'

Time, then a bubble gen erated by the thought of
opposition to transition,
nothing to something,
pushing /pushing back
stretch/snap/spark
that takes power, pulsing power, throbbing power

push/stretch
glow/snap
you know, imagine, glowing - cheat, think 2018 CG
glow/snap
Planc time,
each time the bubble pushes back
a ripple
imagine a clock, later, if you believe then, you must.

Now, see the bubble of all men have imagined,
since the time when such a bubble was only evil,
continually.

It went viral.
Noah we know for sure, almost, survived, ? Cushites kept records. In Africa.
Akkad kept record, too.
Some Hopi survived somehow and they have a tale.

They say they know the story is ten thousand years old,
I've been to a crossroads
on their journey,
stories
tell of it, still, today.

Holy means marked for good reason.
Marked with clues, not riddles, maps

Sacred means secret means hidden away for use,
not common, every day, quotidian use, right use.

Time, the opposing force, is precious to us all.
In time, we do all we can and die,

in ever, we expand, in no time at all. I imagine.

You fill it. Now, Your expandable mind's time,

time pushes from the outside,
wisdom pushes from the inside,

And so it goes, life goes on and music grows on ya,

Amusing how they do that, teeny muses dancing
shiva on the tip of my tongue,

singings songs in tongues I've never known
if they
are words on tongues
or sounds on tongues,

notes,

Baysian Binary Cross Validation
still ends with some people thinkin'
"it is finished" left them with a ton o'weight,
that's wrong, insist resistance.

Some, heavy duty, leaders of lambs, they claim
power in their mouths, spoken from fixed hearts,

but fixed upon, is truly the song,
said, words are only
little bits of whole sym ulacrum of re-ify-ing

where broken things re-pair, and life goes on…

"fixed, my heart is fixed",
no, your heart is machine of the most magnificent design, perfected,
a time at a time.
Flexing, pacing time itself, faster slower,

try some time
alone
be still, pond still

I know the story broke,
I could not hold it.

In the night, bitter cold
Frozen fragile...

There are pieces scattered every

where, everywhere
there is time, there is at least, a point

a story may stand upon and ask an angel
to dance.
Dance, give it some flare, what do we care?

Nobody's watching, but that fly.
This is read, by me at http://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton
Life is good at my house, thankyou. A reader is needed more than words can tell. My posts are a book now, few stand solidly on their own. Thank you if you spend your time perusing them please tell me where I muddy the flow, or break the story.
K Balachandran Jul 2015
The soliloquy of the night,
what we think as
falling stars and meteors,
make time and space immaterial
in the transmission of pain across light years.

Sitting here alone, a sentinel
to pain's interplanetary travel,
and witness of it transforming
in  to other forms, eloquent,
I hear them when my eyes,
acquire a sense, primordial
receive the dark waves
of pain in my veins
a volcano palpitating to blow up
in to  fireworks of emotions.

Everywhere eyes could travel, is filled
by night, thick, gooey, agglutinated;
then the meditative darkness,
dreams up a beam of  gentle light,
out of its deep transcending yearning,
to speak to itself,to get  an alchemy work on that pain
then, the pain itself becomes a haunting journey with words
this ,is how  my love, my songs
in the midnight of my lonely soul, are born.
To boldly go where no mind has gone before.

We are soul-sailors,
Navigators of the spirit.

In altered states of awareness
we will explore consciousness
to the limits of our understanding
and beyond.
We know not
What we might find.

Were existence a sandbox
and the psyche, our playground.

We charter the ever-renewing realms of mind
in our perpetual journey
to define this phenomenal life. The true psychonaut
can weather Absurdus, accept it
and venture on.

Life is chemical;
Welcome to The Entheon:

In transcendention we become
champions of the empyrean.
Our purpose is entheos,
For in our very being
the greatest of discoveries will be made.

We would travel to the hallowed temples of beyond,
A metaphysical pilgrimage (some with use of the compounds).
Our places of worship have no words, we name them:
The Empathion,
The Psychedelion
;
We pray to them, with them, in them.
They are processes, places within which we can comprehend,
A modulation of mental activity, configurations of mind.

Please remember these two things: choice and ceremony.
Dedicated to Shura & Alice Borodin.
Jayantee Khare Jul 2017

The fume

A thick dark fumy cloud
Dormant it lies, but often loud
Precariously overhead, it flowed
The sunshine of the life, it swallowed
It rained, challenged by the mighty peak
In the heart, It pained, to see it weak
The cloud was small but heavy
However dusty and floaty.

The doom and gloom

Embracing in its shadow
In desert, plains and meadow
Eclipsing the days, sunny bright
Dreadful, with the darkening night
With me, always  hanging around
When noticed, nearby it's found
Haunting me with a sadness
Flaunting its darkness
A lot in the cloud explored
Then consciously, It was ignored
But dancing at the back of the mind
Past  hurts and  pains, it  put to rewind

The boom and bloom

And then, letting it flow across, I got immersed,
In fine tiny droplets, the cloud
dispersed,
Now each droplet addressed
separately
Was dried in the shiny sun
completely
All of the cloud, dripped to
evaporate
Condensed eventually, as
distillate
My pains, by that elixir,
cured,
Alchemised me
into
24 carat gold

Our worries and regrets we carry unnecessarily.. so long and heavy
Can be harnessed into insight...
The hindsight
Gives foresight
When you fight them
and
grow through them
Thnk you Sarita for suggested edits..
Really valuable...
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
A person goes out to town to cure
Boredom or loneliness
Often looking to conquer both

Even an introvert wants company
It’s taken six years to go search

I found a coffee shop
With a black box room

I took a seat
And waited for the host
To start the show
Improv comedy
Never been to one of those

The host asked
What’s inside this invisible box
Answers came out from the audience

I said a can of worms
Not loud
I hate attention
But the host heard
And chose that can of worms

Someone listened to me
And now they are making
Me my own personal joke

I got to admit
I was jealous
Each member has conquered
The fear of people
Of being in front of people
Of speaking to people
Acting crazy in front of people

The show was great
We all had a laugh
One day I will thank them
And maybe one day
I’ll join on that stage

Just one foot in front of the other
Next week is a poetry reading
And that’s where I’ll be
Sally Tsoutas Nov 2017
It's that time again.
When rangey youth
in wounded utes
are sent to pick up tin.
Eyes peeled for
shiny mangled bikes
and steely bits
of thing.
I want to see
the crucible
they put it in.
Behold the pearly
metallurgic
mess unfold.
A gleaming steaming
mass of brassy storm
So cooked
and cooled
and coaxed
and clicked
and jewelled
into mercurial form
Then moulded
bright and fine
once more.
This is the
Copper loop
of life we mine.
Eternal
Circulated
Alchemy
Divine.
Council cleanup in my neighbourhood this week. A scavenger's delight.
Give it a hunch of happiness
See how gracefully
It blooms

Give it vibes of pain
See how carefully
It hides
Genre: Observational
Theme: Examined Life
Hayley May 2018
This time I'm going to do the hermit thing right
Inner-work and self-love from morning to night  
Awareness of all my woes and insecurities  
Connecting with universal flows and obscurities
Going into my depths, no human interference
Focusing on my soul, not my appearance
Transmuting all my deep pain into sweet pleasure
While turning these dark coals into beautiful treasure
This focus and expansion is serving me well
Returning to my inner heaven, away from this hell
annh Sep 17
They spoke to me of evenfall and dayspring, the solstice and the equinox. They sang of eras, epochs, and eons. On indigo nights, they whispered in the owl light of alchemy and enchantment, wreathing my cot with an iridescence which illuminated my dreams and begentled my slumber.

At Hallowtide, they scribed lyrical pathways in the air and sculpted rainbow arcs. They celebrated the vernal majesty of April and October's autumnal reprise with moonglade pageantry and sunset flourishes. They conjured blackberry winters and gypsy summers, and laughed at my amazement, as if to say: ‘Told you so!’

As the years departed my second decade and encroached alarmingly upon my third, I began to question why they had chosen me; why we walked together apart and apart together. I wondered where the magic ended and I began, and I realised with the bone-breaking chill of the unwelcome inevitable, just how lost I would be without it.

‘Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars?’
- Nora Roberts
i am a poet and still
i can’t comprehend these symbols
these missing heartbeats
and hours spent counting thimbles
i am perplexed by love
shall we seek herbs and remedies
lose ourselves in cures and compounds
must our inner territories be colonized
while we remain captivated by inconvenient theories
struck down by doubt and insecurity
the mind wields no ammunition
and yet its cavalry has desecrated the land
without the slightest sign of inhibition
or a trace of empathy, justice or compassion
will we make a new peace treaty
will the blessed earth be forgiven
and can the sweet essence of her children
comprehend the innocence of spring
oh how our hearts yearn for dancing
still you spend your dollars and your pennies
but give your emptiness to the king
i eat oats and honey cooked upon the fire
while you distill golden nectar from the garden of desire
in the ancient inside-out alembic of your will
and imbibe spagyric liquid that eradicates all pride
and confers wisdom, truth, beauty and longevity
upon the already immortal nature of your mind
Chicken Dec 2018
Look here, to the East, the South, the West, the North....

Instruct:

Trust thy inner knowledge,
Power is placed within,
Take any which direction you choose,
For when you end, you will always begin.

And So,

Goodbye from the parts of you,
that do not know the soul,
They may choose to meddle a while,
though no longer can they control.

Your path unique, in divide dual,
an individual task,
Not one may interfere too long,
Not even those whom are masked.

So Forth,

Take some air and not hurry then,
Knowing you are on thy way,
Be eating foods just as mother Earth,
See the brake of dawn each day.

Take some water gradually, yet
steer clear of the water of fire,
firewater be the end of thee,
instrumental of setbacks, tis' dire.

Onwards,

Placing thy feet upon thine soil,
Souls of yours, not Nike,
Connect in self to the nature of hertz,
To calm a forlorn psyche.

When ye be ready, take flint and oil
Fuel your athanor fires,
Take the elixir sure to come, and,
be not afraid of the mires.
This is an epic by my standards. Enjoy, or not.

Firewater = High Proof Alcohol
Athanor = Furnace
Jaycub J Jan 30
Time slips silently,
gracefully, without warning.
And at times storming
through the vacant
lots of moments.
Once home to potential,
now up for rental.
So cold in the winter.
When does the young leave,
And the old enter?
Reckoning with
the recklessness
of youth turns
scars into truth,
passions into muse,
lost love into old news.
The heart heals and
reveals a new story.
Time is an alchemist,
Manifesting wisdom
from youths glory.
ottaross Nov 2018
Melt into me
Caramel and salt
Pine sap into quicksilver
Fog dissolving in volcanic lava
An alchemy discordant and electric
Makes an ore of iron sing into steel
A green copper ingot shine into bronze
But discarded I am left as detritus and debris, a cold abrasive ****
Among the twisted forms of the ideas never formed
Far away from the shaping hammer and anvil
The bellows there that only draws
Pulling away the last of the heat
And unidentifiable melted figures
Are each there somewhat me
But are incomplete alone
Chicken May 1
Air be like a cesspit
Before the other side of the moon
The draining of the drudgeries
It could not come too soon

And someone else hath wrote of it
Where it glittered, it festooned
They wrote about the silver lining
Of that moon shaped pool

Come what may within the cycles
With each fleeting side of the moon
The knowledge that it does not change
Tis’ no folly of the fool.
The solid, true self, it never changes... because it is the truth.

Therin lies the gold, which the fool sets upon in his journey and stumbles across, shining so brightly that it cannot be missed, no matter how dark or light it gets.. the golden inner truth is always there. Unshakable. Always present. This does not change.
For once
Inspire me
While crossing my mind

And guess what?
You will
Turn out
To be an unapologetic
Masterpiece

Remember that
Genre: Romantic Inspirational
Theme: Nothing beside Vibes
jayebird Jun 4
After all i've earned them
the subtle pull
and swift replacement,
    the golden gain gifted
     from a soul dentist
I accept the strange medicine and sense
Suddenly my core forever
chasing the great
sulfur in circles as I fall adrift
    The wanting sleep which
     closes all eyes after end of sky
Behind mine observes a screen of
Out-knocked teeth and offput blood
Pft out in a porcelian sink
The glass just above
displays swollen
  tears and my
Soul transforming from
Learned lead and
cold iron into
August and
Nothing bleak like my
Now unique two front
It takes awhile but
I have a new smile at me
Twist the
Brass doorknob upside down
on it's axis and
Walk away from the abuse cycle owning
The tired metal middle
of earth cracking
Outer mold revealing a
Levitating ball of God who
Now unbound
Seeks six-thirty post midnight
High plains and
Holy painted solace
With bruises yellowing
I scream drive
into tunnels where the
warm streetlights racing in
my periphery
know I am the glowing go of life
And will never grow old despite
Losing a couple given ones
This is a vague story about someone who had their two front teeth knocked out by a punch from someone close to them, and now has two golden teeth. It is a poem about accepting their self as beautiful and worthy after an abusive relationship. It is about renewal and resplendant transformation. The subjects perspective has also expanded past their story and looks to the sky and universe for their source of love. I hope this inspires anyone who has been through physical abuse and knows the struggle of finding their peace again.
Karijinbba Aug 2018
Be Lost In The Call
Lord, said David, since you do not need us,
why did you create these two worlds?
Reality replied: Oh prisoner of time,
I was a secret treasure of kindness and generosity,
and I wished this treasure to be known,
so I created a mirror: its shining face, the heart;
its darkened back, the world;
The back would please you if you’ve never seen the face.
Has anyone ever produced a mirror out of mud and straw?
Yet clean away the mud and straw,
and a mirror might be revealed.
Until the juice ferments a while in the cask,
it isn’t wine. If you wish your heart to be bright,
you must do a little work.
My King addressed the soul of my flesh:
You return just as you left.
Where are the traces of my gifts?
We know that alchemy transforms copper into gold.
This Sun doesn’t want a crown or robe from God’s grace.
He is a hat to a hundred bald men,
a covering for ten who were naked.
Jesus sat humbly on the back of an ***, my child!
How could a zephyr ride an ***?
Spirit, find your way, in seeking lowness like a stream.
Reason, tread the path of selflessness into eternity.
Remember God so much that you are forgotten.
Let the caller and the called disappear;
be lost in the Call.
The mirror of reality. A wise human
Gathers a persons ***** laundry out {as a man gathers sticks and laying them on the fire a viper might show up to bite {so might an angry person whose ***** laundry is out in the open he might let out his inner peace or wrath. We all are steered by something an idea or belief that might be our triumph or our demise.. Careful what you say in anger control it or it will control you...speak no evil hear no evil see.no evil . Mirrors have hidden camaras live as if all is viewing you with a microscope let it become a habit but dont freak out be transparent ..i know it happened to me and i lost more then my temper.
P E Kaplan Apr 2014
First I spied the neck, sagging innocently enough,
one might even say blissfully, reflected in the glass laptop.
The phrase "whodunit" came out of nowhere,
and a low, silky, voice whispered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The villain left a few clues; the wispy hair strands;
some scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles,
listless, crinkly, skin pale, lightly pimpled,
and a weird, wrinkly crevasse teased,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

Totally hooked, curiosity piqued; southward I spotted
where a once perky treasure "chest" was hidden,
two solemn, half-empty grain sacks, laying sideways,
basically lifeless they lazily muttered,
"Aw, don't stop before the good part."

The final chapter, the mystery solved,
no crime, no villain, nothing stolen, just flesh alchemy.
Where once a taut, flat, plateau of supple skin, resided
now a lumpy, bumpy, flabby belly, murmured sweetly,
"Boston Creme Pie and a cup of tea would hit the spot."
The past is a flash,
The present is eternity.
I've been waging a war
on temporality.

Come, save me
from the thoughts that eat me.
That's all we are, after all,
Thoughts and a body.

Eight-day weeks aren't bleak
when there's another day to party.
Got nothing better to do with our time
than cook up the cure to lethargy.
It can't hurt to be well-versed
in the dark-arts of alchemy.
Black magic best-served
with a pinch of anarchy.

A flash of eternity disrupted temporality.
Do you know me? Essentially.

Ecstatic eyes dived into the foray,
They finally realized
today is tomorrow's yesterday.

The past is a flash,
The present is eternity.
Take some time to come get lost with me.
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
Clay

Not one particle of me
Dissolves readily
I am so immune to Love
These days.
My outstretched hand
Stirs but does not penetrate
Enacts but does not generate
Indeed Un-differentiates.

I have made
From deeper word-clays
Superior thoughts of you
And have thrown
Better pots upon the wheel
But daily life these days
Must take what it can get
The potter must ***.

This is not mere wrestling
With images
This talk of alchemy
And artifice
In the absence of you
I am forced to ply other clays
Toward lesser ideals
On my stage of words

That is to say
You were for me
Something seen into
More than friendship's patina
More than the creation of space
Something seen of imagination
Unbelievably
More than the clay itself.
Bows N' Arrows Feb 2017
The wave that crashed
my soul
The seashells bedecked in gold
The mess I couldn't erase
with every trace of constellations
pulsated a face
And the day gone black
under a bedsheet
Wine spilled on a cuffling
The longing for drizzle
and rain
The levitation from the
Earth like tripping windowpane
A watchtower showing you home
You are the well I'm crawling
down
( To float in the clearlight )
The alchemy and sigils in stone
A voice that mumbles
in my sound ears when I'm alone.
I blame Lord Byron for my romanticism, he often wrote on laudanum.
Tommy Randell May 2017
(one)

i wish to tell you about my cage     shadows for bars
the vestige of faraway things      a fractal miscellany
meditating the while      on the dancing of spiders
the tracery of wings      the passage of tongues over bone
the noise of a pool thrown into by a stone

this is what Longing is made from
that it does not wear out!

(two)

the night pivots on a point of light      i have long known myself to be
the skull of a white bear      on a white page      dreaming
with each cranial line, each graph      a past migration to distant lands
but not that such free body diagrams      without text were
a way out of the cage

in the track, grooved, music begins.
in the bone, smoothed, a polar bear dreams

(three)

held in the curve of circling shadows      dark and vacant sockets
ancient enacted motions      enfolded images
unfolding the forging of a lasting alchemy
that with my tongue i call memory      a scrimshaw
of the catalogue of days everything has served to further

to come, a journey down the narrowing path
towards those rumours of things true
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