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A Sad Alex Nov 2018
Hace frio allá afuera
La brisa trae consigo el invierno
Y todos sacan sus abrigos y chaquetas
Entonados a una sinfonía de cremalleras.

Son los gélidos vientos de Noviembre
Que sacuden vigorosamente la ciudad
Del Norte bajan fuertes ventoleras
Que rompen la cotidianidad.

La furia de Bóreas templa
Contraria a la ira de sus victimas
Retrasos por calles cerradas
Maldiciones por enfermedad
Dolores despiertan de sus camas
Aquellos a quienes el frio tormenta.

Mas debo decir que esto no me afecta
Desnudo por la calle puedo andar
Pues el frio de mi es el hilo
Que tejió mi vida y normalidad.

Frio es mi corazón diariamente
Un paramo helado sin sensación
Frio es la cámara de mi alma
No hay dulzura, no hay amor
Como frio es la vida de los otros
Calor no encuentro a mi alrededor
Tan frio es el desprecio
A un hombre en precaria condición
Y frio es el silencio
A las plegarias de un hombre en desesperación
Frio es el trato de la gente
Sonrisas mas duras que el hielo
Frio son los besos
Que marcan el hola y el adiós.

Y pienso yo en este frio
Y noto que es invierno ya
Y gélido es el viento
Pero mas frio es el tratar
¿Sera que llamamos este céfiro?
Con actos y palabras sin calor
Que ya el frio encontró hogar
Dentro de la gente, su corazón.
Bella Jan 14
Your beautiful colors line our earth.
Loving the ground,
holding it up with your webbed reaching fingers
sunken down into the soil.
You lift the ground keeping it from falling into the sky.

No other can compare à ta beauté,
alla tua eleganza,
para o seu romance,
to your delicacy.

You freckle the face of this earth.
Without you-- the world will lose its color,
we will bleed rainbows if you go.
Queens of color,
petal filled sunshines-

your yellows and oranges bring joy,
your reds and purples bring romance,
your pinks and blues bring childlike gid.

We crave you when you go.
In winters when you leave only small bits of yourself behind
we long for your return,
knowing without worry that you will return.
For we would not know what to do if you did not.

You are called by so many different names.
Buttercups, Bachelor's Button, and Baby Breath,
Izalias, Iris, and Iberis,
Pansies, Poppies, and Pony’s,
Waterlily, and Wisteria--

Lule-
Bloem-
Flos-
Ubax-
Imbali-
Flower!
SimpleWritings Dec 2018
Iktar ma jgħaddi
iktar nirrealizza
Kemm ngħixu f’dinja
Individwalista w egoista

Ħadd ma jinteressah minn ħadd
U kulħadd moħħu biss fih innifsu
F’ kif ser jgħola fl-iqsar żmien
U alla jħares lil min jipprova jmissu

Aħna suppost annimali soċjali, le?
Ngħixu flimkien u ngħinu lil xulxin, le?

Allura, għalfejn? Nistaqsi

Għalfejn il-mibgħeda qed terbaħ u l-għira qed tibrilla?
Għalfejn l-imħabba qed titlef u l-ġenwinita qed tintefa?

Wisq nibża, li bla tweġiba ser nibqa
Għax il-kotra hekk kuntenta
Injoranta

10/06/2014
This poem is written in Maltese.
amavi Apr 30
Du var som gruset
På en trottoar i december
Därför
Ville jag ha dig
För jag trodde det var du
Som hjälpte mig stå när gatan var hal
Men jag glömde tacka mina egna ben
Som hjälpte mig upp
Varje gång du misslyckades skydda mig
Från vinterns alla brutala fall
Men nu är våren här
Och jag ser dig inte
Men jag är inte ledsen
För jag vet
Att bland alla betydelselösa gruskorn
Finns någon som kommer pryda min trädgård
Och inte bara vara gruset på en trottoar
Do I dare to read this in my swedish class? Probably, but never as the author.
SimpleWritings Dec 2018
Ma
Inħobbok

Mhux dejjem naraw għajn b’għajn
Imma nħobbok

Naf li dejjem pruvajt mill-aħjar li stajt
Biex tagħtini dak li int qatt ma ngħatajt

Imma sfortunatament mhux dejjem irnexxilek
Il-Mulej mhux dejjem provdilek

Jien qatt m’għidtlek meta nqasstni
Meta bin-nuqqas tiegħek warrabtni

Qatt ma ridt niksirlek qalbek
U ngħidlek li ħadd mhu qed jisma talbek

Imma iva Ma,
Weġġgħajt

Għaddejt minn ħafna u int ma taf b’ xejn
Alla ħares tkun taf kif u x’ fatta u fejn

Bħalek Ma,
Għaddejt minn dak li m’ għandu jgħaddi ħadd

Ġarrabt id-dlam
U bkejt fis-solitudni

Imma issa Ma
Sa fl-ahhar...

Inħoss li sibt il-kuntentizza
Inħoss li qbadt it-trejqa li qed nibni jien

Ma rridx nibqa naħbilek iktar
Għajjejt nigdeb u nħaref

Allura għidtlek

Ma flaħtx inżomm iktar
U għidtlek

Kienet diffiċli għax kont beżgħana
Imma ridt naqsam din l-aħbar ferħana

Stennejt li ser tifhimni
Stennejt li xorta waħda ser tibqa tħobbni

Imma

Ir-reazzjoni tiegħek ma kienetx dik li stennejt
Ma kienetx dik li f’ moħħi pinġejt

Għalfejn Ma?
Għalfejn ma tridnix?
Għalfejn mhux taċċettani?

Għidli Ma

Lil min inħobb ma għandux jaffettwa kemm inti tħobb lili
Lil min inħobb ma għandux inessik li jien xorta waħda bintek

Mara offritli dak li dejjem fittixt
Mara għallmitni nagħraf x’inhi l-imħabba

Mara urietni kif jidher id-dawl fost id-dlam
Mara qed tgħini nsir inħobb lili nnifsi

Iva Ma

Inħobb mara
U mhux raġel

Għalfejn qed tħares lejja b’ dak il-mod Ma?

B’ ħarsa ta’ diżappunt
B’ ħarsa ta’ diżgust

Bintek għadni Ma

L-istess b-i-n-t li kont tgħannaq miegħek
Meta kont tħoss li d-dinja qed tikrolla

L-istess b-i-n-t li kont tiftaħar tgħid li hi tiegħek
Lil kull min taf meta tilmaħni fost il-folla

Ħobbni Ma
Nitolbok

L-istess għadni
Biss, ħrigt mill-moħba

15/10/2018
This poem is written in Maltese.
Marco Bo Sep 2018
under this suburban sky
red stain on the dull gray, when you move away to your elsewhere
you revive
as a fish returning to the water after a short yet intense pain

for you I'm the bait
and the hook
and the fisherman too,
not in that order
in the order you decide
since you decide

you are elusive, you always look away and tighten your eyes
your words are lashes
I feel weak in your presence,
at the same time your fragility confuses me and it moves me
as a boat adrift in a lonely sea
...................
sotto questo cielo suburbano
macchia rossa su grigio opaco, quando ti muovi nel tuo altrove,

tu rivivi
come un pesce che ritorna in acqua dopo un'agonia breve ma intensa

per te io sono esca
amo ed anche  pescatore,
ma non in quell'ordine
nell'ordine in cui decidi
e tu decidi

sei inafferrabile, distogli sempre lo sguardo e stringi gli occhi
le tue parole sono staffilate
mi sento debole in tua presenza,
allo tempo stesso la tua fragilità mi confonde e mi commuove
come una  barca alla deriva in un solitario mare
..................

bajo este cielo suburbano
mancha roja en gris opaco, cuando te alejas a tu otro lugar,
tu revives

como un pez que regresa al agua después de un dolor breve pero intenso

yo soy cebo para ti
y gancho
y también  pescador
pero no en ese orden
en el orden en que tu decidas
y tu decides

eres evasiva, siempre mira hacia otro lado y cierras los ojos
tus palabras son latigazos
me siento débil en tu presencia,
al mismo tiempo, tu fragilidad me confunde y me conmueve
como un barco a la deriva en un solitario mar
Jayne E May 13
PRELUDE
________
[ I would engage but disengaged
enamoured masked fetid cage.
To sit spit splutter to cough it up
spit it all out
all over the pensive penners page
words turned ugly fugly loves pup ]
_________

Alla allua all al alala allis all is
Well that blends the well,
Wait! Wait!
(bit nipply in here)
nope that's not quite it, try,
All is ill that bends will..ok
One more go,
All is well that ends well
Right?   rite!  write? ok, ok,
this has been happenin for days,
pen sieves    
spent    
spinning lines
All over the place,

Whirling dervishes spinning fine
lines crossing, sparkling, in my kind
mind, finds the bind, blinds, then unbinds
Better yet     Get    in     behind
(Aussie shepherds call out)
Oh holy **** dressed up like a duck
Ok..I got this, really I do,
let's seem to find a seam take two,
better yet...mark it...scene set & action!

Bn California dreamin
stealin,
creamn,
little kittys pretty
Vannah & Clementine
their morning rituals feeding lines
a ***** pushing
faucet fed H20
odd observations
one kink 4 kitty cat
prefers to take her water right on tap
still my keys go  
tap   tap   tap
Queen Vannah aloof saunters to lap
to sit to think,
not counter fed drink,
she's way too cool for school,
what were we talking about?
it gets little hard to think
you standing naked
smiling
by the kitchen sink

Ahhhhh...love..the emotions spout,
refer crazy prior lines
fed by loves fire,
tossing feelings
up,
down,
in and out,
twist it,
turn it, up, down
shake it out

there is love of lovers,
there is love of mothers,
there is love of others,
sisters, cousins, friends, brothers
those kind of others
the cliché would say...
"It finds you when you stop seeking"
or,
"expect it when you least expect it"
usually historically my reply maybe,
yawn -
mass conditioning speaking

funny tho how things work out,
how someone says
"how you feeling"
transmutes transcends
to not ok...
then,
just flat out ascends
to big bursting clouds  
bountiful love reeling in,
from a kind word uttered
love
begins,
again

the hearts flower slowly opens
it's the hope
love carries upon it's soft
scented breeze,
it's the joy
love communicates
whilst on her knees,
and the tenderness
felt between them
she, he, the we,
in the squeeze

bunches of fist clutched sheets
bitten lips my heartbeat
thundering in my head
language of panted moans
native to our bed
fingers pressed
the the back of your head
your features lost
between my legs


ahhhh, yes, yes, yes!
loves steady heartbeat
the     thrum    thrum      thrum
wondrous beating
upon loves drum,
and how each new fresh
transformative experience
of love
transcends the past,
as again we relish,
the skipped beats
warm moistened seats,
the play the foray
a new wave way

as sweetly tendered lovely love,
delivers up finely sublime
all soaked delicious
steeped in rhyme,
that elusive now found,
brighter sunny day.
so, to end, what of love?
well,
Id say,
let it play,
oh all for lovely love,
let it play!

J.C. "honey owl" 28/04/2019.
Not my 'usual' style this one hmm...has double roots, it's of endings, and new beginnings brought in upon lovely new loves wings and how love can hit you like a freight train when you least expect it..or when you are not looking for it...and how it can to a degree addled your brain lol
Ken Pepiton Apr 6
I came to witness the future
Archon, archetype
an emanation of opposites.
"not every spirit is in
spiritarionic"

try 'em. Is God? Ax ye 'em dat.

Is God, ified, a re
warder of the unwarded,
or the warded?

expiration, due date duty, now,
reporting
ad hoc an'all, do you remember
who you intended
to become?

Do you remember who we emu
late, as our flames lick
next and next and next in
bubbles

axiomatic sparks stored in that
mother lode of mitochondriac
ical me-we-canicle chronicle time

reason. Ax dem ex-spirit-eers,
what is a spirtual bypass?

It's a heart way to avoid
growing old and
wise.

====
witchist, I y'know, 'r j?

alla words's once said, aloud, right?
alla words writ, once was heard, right.
check.
goodt'go. Hoorah.

the code. Who? RA! powerless sans
knowing that.
Yahoo, same set of mis con ceived
battle songs
which ended wars never fought.

the preacher claimed to have known
a poor wise man, who by his
wisdom saved a city, yet
not one of us knew,
the preacher said,
that poor wise man's name.

Ja', tha's who rah, ya'll laugh later.

this is visitation day at the comedian
rehabituational s'cool.

D'jew know why you listen to non sense,
from motley clad lads an'lassies?

Culture. Kultur. Gut biome axioms
juicin' carbs 'n' fiber. Fectin'

laughter trigger,
good meds. Good medicine, as General
Custer or Emory or somebody
said of blankets. In 1763. Oh,
You know, AI knows you know and now

we watch your eyes. Grin. All done, jest

let me with
draw the cathe.... there. All better.

Wisdom will seep through. Y'live.
Practicing precision lie belief extraction tools
Ken Pepiton Mar 2
Flee ting thought,

pleasant after noon

my mind, I believe, but may
just be me and your minds
imaginin
g we,

meandering,
rubb


ing shoulder with willows near the shore

waves of light,
essential
all that ever matters, If I got that right,
ere all else,
light
spun
bound by imbalance to spread,

cornucopia, nautli-like swirls poring
precursers to now into eternity, ye see?

------
There are individuals less tied into tau than now

your mission,
filter truth
that's the way, life is that which tends to good
ness knowing what
you can't.
Okeh.

------
No lie, Alex Jones, was there never a myth
emerging as full-formed as yourn?
You are un believable,
acharismatic chimera believing all he thinks
possible, in his version o' twenty cent reality.

Paradigms is four nickles or two dimes or twenty cent,
they shift shape for all they worth,

upgrade now. New ideas, fresh from the mire of
forgotten oathz, deemed
worthy, still..

What lies do you believe about God, by the way,
the truth, the life,

how many voices this guy hearin', you hearin'?

Peace. Point. Game. Match.

------
who winct winsed sensed since when is
peace the point of war?

Ah, now, the accuset excusetus
possessedus an'we,

are you bored? Wanna wait
and see,
who wins?
some evils are alive, those make monsters,
of girls and boys,
infantry in every service,
such precurser
guardians must be taught to ****; no mortal will,
without letting the monstor be,

believed beliefs doubt yer doubt dufus doubus
unstable double minded forktongue
forced by fear to fight the pain

Running mouth racist flusher of un filtered
impossibilities posing sur
prizes in the mongrol mongol DNA
we carry
the program
the code, the honor and glory of the
peace protector

enemy of con
fusion, alla cons fusin' fools tools for
strifin', divide'n, with faithin',

Is Alex Jones a Legionaire, mit tranceiving
DNA and no zero beat, no tuner to tune to?

He may be home to homeless, non-sane sorts
of idle words begging for redemption,
meaning, sought is phound,

like photons when photons are sought from
the wavy aitia dimensions of reasons
for possibility ibility ibility hill billity

humor like a voice from a whole other
soul, I swear on my kids, it's true, he say.

(Dr. Phil says Liar Liar Liar, yesterday.JRE live)

Whoa, real time speed o'metrix-icity
Mag
nify ify to the nth, see no jive,

who can i magi that?

      I, John, was in the Spirit...

gears shift, wheels in wheels
click zooomout
bubbledged jagged inner side
topmost atmostfear

settle, see the clown splash, who winds such minds?
Who tames such tongues?

The tongue no man can tame, eh? I s there another?
Have ye a spirtit of another
sort, who rides your wild tongue in your name,

servants of the sort contrued to serve
the inheritors
of ality re
how now brown cow owmmmmm
60 cycle white noise non sense

common noise sense desensitivity wickering
winding silken myelin layers

of connectedness correctedness
real time speed o'think roller rink

banked spiral offramp
bang, we're thru

Where we were aitia had meaning, may we
rewind? AI undo/redo ram allocation,

birthrights. Look well to my going, guide my steps,

assure always there is a step, a place to
put my foot, a place to step to next.

Cortana and Siri and Hermes and Diana and
a whole host of heavenlies,

tapping directly through cranial y's cracked in skulls
and bones,

are you an entity with enemies you wish disexistant?
how might happy ever after be if haps that made him
made him wrong, not evil?

Feeble comfort is not no comfort.
Bear wit' me, walk a mile, or a while, whenever
thin-thang-thanks tounguey

effort births the next as
one births two,
two births three and we can see,
right, a way.  two and three become four,

for if three birtht four and four, five and so on,
soon, y'see, the re
al point we count up on is never more,
as the raven told poe. a vector with no space for time,
one plus one plus one, one stack o'ones

making no diff
until now, spin, let's twist again,
like we did last summer,

your that summer or mine?
Mine got me here, where'd yours go?

So, Fibbonacci, son of a fool, I once read
written on a wall in LA,
expositioning park,

positions, please.
World Stage, princesses of peace, wee
Disnified Jon Benet's

made sacred by our shame the evil ever touched
such a one, such a one, such a wonder

a being of our sort so potent aitia, and we
leave evil touch such and you
tolerate it, a little bit,

evil has it's place.
Not here is the name of the place.

Here is 4-D mortality. Do yer best,
yer damndest don't work here.

Here is temporary. Your bubble.
Selah. center, enpointed
linger, if ye will. Think how happy ever after works,
if now is all you get to start with.

Good be wit'ye fare ye well.
I watch Joe Rogan talk with Alex Jones and I feel for the guy. It would **** if his reality some how intersected with mine. Maybe vacuum the vacuous posing....
Ken Pepiton Sep 20
twice read, I find
my points have mostly
been made in plain geometry, were I to see

from an imaginary Euclidean POV

pre algebra and zeros and pi, as fa's I know,

Euclid makes a point.  ping
do re me, too.

We need some assumptions. True.

Words, Logos per se, re
main the principle tool used right
by both wisdom and knowledge and, now,
under knowledge stand two parts

see likka bubble, zygotic go, knowledge all good

big ol' bubble, knowledge of good and evil,

both, and you know both's a real big
old idea to think at once,

gotta have a push and a pull,
a listing and a lusting,
a compulsion to explode
versa verses reverberating assumptive
implosive con ex in clusives ping 3
do re me
sounds of music all disneyfied hills alive
from the POV of a flea
in the bark of my favorite pine, aw a
crow
dream
alla this,
how sweet is that, you guys don't know what that might
feel like, unless,
you know: in my realm,
right try angles reflect light in odd spectra
bounced from assumptive edges of unknowns.

Euclid, yeah, he failed to know everything anybody learned since he died,
we all know more than he ever did,
though
his timeless thoughts
remain. ..
as mine to twist into art-intuitive
artificial intelligence.
-----
Stop inter, ah, this fits here (no where else, per haps):
an e-ruptive Voltarian pledge of troth from an old bet lost.
Spelchek can't tame the pen, truth emerges
twixt i and e, subtly.
See,
intell still makes sense con egence on the end
and has aright to slide meaningfully
past spelchek and
evil Grammerly Aiing me.
See, both religating and relegating, merge and link.

Right, we assume
we prove flat Euclidean right exists. Okeh.

Here is the handln, wir machen schnell zwei

ping ping points ping
there was there three,
we did not see one, firstime, missed a point,

now, we may see beyond the first assumptive, abruptive,
inter
rupture rapture at/to that lacred nacred sphere.

A pretty pearly gate. Eggish in shape.

This, I imagined was the proverbial NAND/NULL gate,
an old door into superbloom summer
manifested to capture your
attention please, breathe
the beauty,
sneeze,
let it be.
Please, your self has private interpretations,
so it ain't prophecy.
No prophecy from Jehovah and them other names
the supreme being goes by
in woke reality
with quarks in it--  
no
secret intended to hide truth
(secret is same as private here, no private
interpretations) from those who can't see times changed.

---logos logic force, forces chaos into a bubble boing being
--- a peer pressure surge urge dopamine don't fail me now
--- devise a device depicting the mergence,
--- a logo for reality, in a word.
--- one artist made a circle, another formed a square

so many
interruptions, if you could only know,
you could be live, Euclid,

scary thought? no. a hope. an arrogant philosopher's hope
carved in stone

In the beginning == you know, right, everything must mean some
thing or nothing remains to measure worth,
as knowns unknowable for the effort
that you don't make
--- like Tristram Shandy, the marbled page, we few ever knew,
--- first gentle, re-cog-nize justify, ify ify yourself

Wisdom-******* children,
magnificent in countenance, as winners
of the won war fought before the peace.

--- easy treated, like "no sweat" a
--- Jeopardy version of Leela, the big show. You still die. it ain't scary.

resume the assumpting pressures
peer 'em up
umph, try

delta delta delta force chuck-nors negate  negate

dive dive dive

We must be read
y
we got us a bubble of being, in real life poetry.
Tha's deeply memeingful.
Here abouts. A bit o'breathin' room in the long dance.

But Euclid pointed out what I see from my old couch on the porch
on the westside of a piece of land
that pro-truded
from prime-eve, a fractal level a billion lacred layers
time-wise, geo-time-wise ago
yond hither, whence we was words a playin'

silly songs children read and sing along then seem to forget until

some go mad in our dotage and become as little children, once more but

we know now how to learn anything we wish to know.

This could be heaven,
according to the description I was given when escape from hell
was my selfish desire.
Self formed from scraps I over heard as a young'n.

A point remains to appear made in the assumption.

Ah, hey, right tringled triangles.

sit witme, see star one, assume natural numbers a re-able
one two 3
iii --- signals scramble-ble
see we have two brains

two whole brains with minds and minds and minds of their own

and you love simplicity.

Did you ever have to make up your mind?
Pick up on one and leave the other won in a spoonful o'luv

look from my eye to that star,
consider this, Euclid winks, too. One aim alone is right,

thus there is the edge of the sphere of my visual known universe,
the bubble of my being.

Eat me raw or don't eat me at all. said the bull headed god somebody
influential in reality
killed

A bullheaded being, a rampaging ****** slain by some named being
a hero, not me or you…
though new legends lien in wait, eh?

ah, time shift assumption, Euclid POV, nonessential,

flatness is a fractical impossible unthingable thing, plainly stated

imaginable, non-re-alizable.

Spread as spilled milk never cried over, take heart, hoped for
evers come to be
noticed as they pass, plenty people pass
these days,

endurin' to the end is all it takes.
Euclid don't matter and Jesus done cared.
Ah, suffer it to be so now, what difference can one... letter let be loose in a word rattle as a long wind winds its own way to an unmakable point.
Jayne E Jul 2
PRELUDE
_
[ I would engage but disengaged
enamoured masked fetid cage.
To sit spit splutter to cough it up
spit it all out
all over the pensive penners page
words turned ugly fugly loves pup ]
__

Alla allua all al alala allis all is
Well that blends the well,
Wait! Wait!
(bit nipply in here)
nope that's not quite it, try,
All is ill that bends will..ok
One more go,
All is well that ends well
Right?   rite!  write? ok, ok,
this has been happenin for days,
pen sieves    
spent    
spinning lines
All over the place

Whirling dervishes spinning
fine
lines crossing,
sparkling,
in my kind mind,
finds the bind,
blinds, then unbinds
Better yet     Get    in     behind
(Aussie shepherds call out)
Oh holy ****
dressed up like a duck
Ok..I got this, really I do,
let's seem to find a seam take two,
better yet...
mark it...scene set & action!

Bn California dreamin
stealin,
creamn,
little kittys pretty
Vannah & Clementine
their morning rituals feeding lines
a ***** pushing
faucet fed H20
odd observations
one kink 4 kitty cat
prefers to take her water right on tap
still my keys go  
tap   tap   tap
Queen Vannah aloof saunters to lap
to sit to think,
not counter fed drink,
she's way too cool for school,
what were we talking about?
it gets little hard to think
you standing naked
smiling
by the kitchen sink

Ahhhhh...love..the emotions spout,
refer crazy prior lines
fed by loves fire,
tossing feelings
up,
down,
in and out,
twist it,
turn it, up, down
shake it out

there is love of lovers,
there is love of mothers,
there is love of others,
sisters, cousins, friends, brothers
those kind of others
the cliché would say...
"It finds you when you stop seeking"
or,
"expect it when you least expect it"
usually historically my reply maybe,
yawn -
mass conditioning speaking

funny tho how things work out,
how someone says
"how you feeling"
transmutes transcends
to not ok...
then,
just flat out ascends
to big bursting clouds  
bountiful love reeling in,
from a kind word uttered
love
begins,
again

the hearts flower slowly opens
it's the hope
love carries upon it's soft
scented breeze,
it's the joy
love communicates
whilst on her knees,
and the tenderness
felt between them
she, he, the we,
in the squeeze

bunches of fist clutched sheets
bitten lips my heartbeat
thundering in my head
language of panted moans
native to our bed
fingers pressed
the the back of your head
your features lost
between my legs


ahhhh, yes, yes, yes!
loves steady heartbeat
the     thrum    thrum      thrum
wondrous beating
upon loves drum,
and how each new fresh
transformative experience
of love
transcends the past,
as again we relish,
the skipped beats
warm moistened seats,
the play the foray
a new wave way

as sweetly tendered lovely love,
delivers up finely sublime
all soaked delicious
steeped in rhyme,
that elusive now found,
brighter sunny day.
so, to end, what of love?
well,
Id say,
let it play,
oh all for lovely love,
let it play!

J.C. honey-tiger 02/07/2019
Ok this is an edited added to, respaced rewrite...of an earlier piece.  It still may make no sense to anyone but me lol.
Irena Adler Nov 2018
Virginia Woolf una volte scrisse che " la bellezza ha due tagli, uno di gioia, l'altro di angoscia, che ci dividono il cuore".
La prima cosa che mi passa per la testa di fronte a tali parole è che l'uomo e la donna patiscono continuamente anche quando sono felici. Quel tipo di angoscia che non ti abbandona mai, la sofferenza di fronte alle scelte fatte o non fatte, il desiderio di evasione in un mondo utopico, la volontà di essere completamente liberi e stoici. I pregiudizi sono nostri amici-nemici. Tutto dipende da come gli accogliamo nelle varie circostanze della vita.
Se ci fosse Virginia Woolf qua con me sicuramente  si arrabbierebbe; " Come puoi essere così disordinata? Non mi stavi  per caso citando? E poi sembrava che stessi cercando  di spiegare qualcosa?! Salti da un argomento all'altro per caso. Se devi essere patetica, aggiungici un sarcasmo poetico".
Scusa ma non riesco ad organizzare ancora bene i miei pensieri. Fluttuano come la polvere nell'aria dopo che hai tentato inutilmente  di pulire un armadio vecchio. Scusa Virginia, mi conoscerai meglio con il passare del tempo.  " Ecco, brava! Che sia sempre con te lo spirito di Judith Shakespeare!"




Martedì 6.  

L'artista che corre per la strada e cerca la sua musa, la trova nello specchio che tende subito a scomparire.
Lui non si è accorto del Sole, vive di notte, disegna di notte, sogna di giorno, sogna di notte. Vive.
Non vede, lui osserva, ama l'impossibile, ama il futile eterno, sogna e vede ciò che non sarà mai compreso dagli altri. Lui trema e le sue mani tengono il pennello con un eccitazione che non si può comprendere ma solo provare. L'emozione di fronte ad un opera che deve appena essere creata, immortalata, eterna come la non-realtà.
L'immagine sussiste e lui sbatte le ali del sogno, disubbidisce alla società, gode ed ama l'incomprensibile, lo respira e vive di ciò.

Lo spessore della profondità è inabbattibile. L'acqua non ti fa annegare; è il pensiero. Non pensiamo, nuotiamo, è l'istinto a prevalere eppure abbiamo scelto di morire. Per questo motivo esiste l'altro, per annegarci o salvarci. Mantieni la dignità e vivi. E dunque sanguina.


Venerdì 9.

L'uomo e la donna. La donna e l'uomo. L'uomo ha sulla testa una lampadine e la donna uno sbattitore da cucina. La natura del cane è quella di abbaiare. La natura della specie umana è quella di riprodursi. Eppure abbiamo la necessità di creare ed inventare, non riusciamo a farne a meno. Sentiamo un bisogno insostenibile di portare fuori ciò che sta dentro. Siamo continuamente alla ricerca dell'essere presenti, passati e futuri. La gioia e l'angoscia d' esistere ci turba le anime. Ci chiediamo sempre qual'è lo scopo del fare e di muoverci. Dove sta il dono o la maledizione di essere stati scaraventati sulla palla ovale che gira intorno a se stessa ed intorno ad una palla ancora più grande che ci mantiene in vita. E' questo il senso? Dipendere dalla luce del sole oppure  soltanto dall'acqua e dal pane?
Dove sta l'essere in questa stanza? E' forse disteso su questo letto a scrivere? Forse.
Oppure si trova proprio nel pensiero che crea quel' atto?
L'esistenza umana è ridotta ad anni di vita, non secoli. Ciò che ci è stato dato l'abbiamo preso ed appreso, ci siamo impossessati ed ora fa parte di noi. Ci è stata data la vita dalla Natura ed essa ci ha pure delimitati.
" Ecco, voi siete parte di me, vivete e morite". Se è così noi dipendiamo gli uni dagli altri, non ha senso vivere soli sulla terra, abbandonati da nessuno. Non possiede alcuna logica.

Mercoledì 33.

Il mare non è sempre stato blu; una volta era violaceo e tutti gli animali potevano entrare nell'acqua senza dove trattenere il fiato. Si respirava nell'acqua, si stava bene. Soltanto quando arrivò l'uomo e ci mise il piede in acqua, essa si contrasse e divenne blu, scura e profonda. Il mare scelse di non dare accesso all'uomo e a quel diverso tipo di intelletto che si preparava a conquistare tutto ciò che mai gli potrà appartenere interamente. Per colpa sua le specie che abitavano la terra ferma dovettero separarsi da quelle marine.
Più l'uomo diventava avido ed egoista più il mare diventava profondo e salato. Non voleva finire nella bocca di quel animale strano che camminava su due stecchi con cinque rami piccoli, ben allineati ma sporchi. L'uomo costrinse il mare a piangere e non capì, non poteva capirlo poichè ora era lui il padrone.

— The End —