Letting go can be tough
Perhaps the harshest measure
Many times we will face
Changes that last forever

"What if I'd done this?"
"What if I'd done that?"
Questions to go unanswered
And irrelevant to the fact

The adoption of acceptance
Is your only quest
The only option to be alloted
Now swallow to digest

Observe the tremble in your hands
Your eyes begin glistening
Your heart is in your ears
But who's the one listening?

As it courses through your veins
Something celebrates in your heart
Every storm runs out of rain

The Truth in you prevails
As you begin to emerge
Once again to raise the sails

You've let it run it's course
You've stopped the irradic spinning
Focusing on the Now
Every breath a new begining

The only stake it has claimed
Is to your education
Simply a reminder
Of life's continuing alteration

To err is only human
And Forgiveness is Divine
You, they, deserving or not
Just turn the coin to see the shine

Yes, we have a choice
To see the brighter side
We don't have to dwell
In the illusion of The Lie

Just as it came
Let it go with an ease
Accepting what it WAS
Join your Self and thaw the freeze

It will come again
Your Knowing, now a weapon
It has lost the ferocity
Sanity no longer threatened

You can call it thick skinned
Or unwavering balance
You can call it indifferent
I will call it an Allowance.

---- 2023 youtube I wonder if, and lo': The Planets
A grand background orchestra, mental direct
there, you hav it, too, listen, a few times,
just in the mood, to listen
maybe as you get, that it starts at Mars,
begin as we
think we
Read this at your pace the writer advised,
and I did, a couple of times,
like long stuck records…
To Holst, an offered libation,
to all the minds whose words
are music as big as any mind
limited by my unknowing,
only
using, the truth, music, leading after words,
through ever away,
silent for a now,
or so,
from the Sun, past the fragment,
the single lump at the core,
of the process,
Ash as
Icarus, and Hermes, speedy messenger,
such as see thee, hold the knowledge holy,

watch, see, the wandering planets Holst,
might have seen today,
looking through my eyes,
wordless, right on, so far, as we

agree, there
is power in the mind that writes and reads
music,
power alloted some in blind feel,
power exuding from an ever in times past,

lasting ever tones thinning, spreading, patterning
perfected harmonies unexpected
yet
taken as granted, felt, in passion y sympassion,
same sound,

my once known wind, my bass oboe player,
acquaintance, who called me by name,
accusing me, subtly of not knowing,
there is a forest of low stature,
and there are missions there,
where if you pray,
they feed you twinkies… I recall, between
Venus and busy laughing Earth,

I remember Mars is next,
I am ready, I went into the dark kitchen,
back of the Mission on Fourth Street,
across from an Electra Records Billboard…

ifery approaches, Holst has not gotten me to Mars,
I am pulling in an experience, from a mission,
on Fourth Street, in a mindtimespace shared,

as of yet, by a few, who will know the place,
the ******* Mission, the one
with the Joker who used rats,
to get a startle response,

and at exactly the wrong place, for men with
certain
kinds of sure thing reactions, to diabolic attacks.

2023, approaching Mars with Lou Holtz, I thum thum
thummin wearin' my Razorback hat,
Inter Planatary Hwy 71, to Joplin,
ur in my realm.

Bass every thing slow creep slow, seep as sludge,
to the edge, and look beyond,
this is it, this is the Earth,
we shall survive!

We slay the unbelievers and fake it til we make it,
right, kids?

---------- longhair music, epicyc-lical as neckties,
to male tipped stacking schema for *****,
or stones,
or crystaline tones accompanying the heating up
of life's core cargo cult's last load,

Holst, bass trombones,
here, is the dance of little devils with a mind to make
a difference
in the depths of ever after,
up to now,
I had forgotten the piccolo parts, and the French horns,
and the joy of the big parade,
marching off
to war explore the unknown
for exploitations as per the underling theme,
go forth
subdue the Earth, and conquer all who refuse, to say
this is the way,
this is the good old way,

war
glory and honor, earn the urim'nthummin'n'human
inhumainity, we, the chosen warrior beings,
messengers of differing mocking gods of ****** mud
beyond the final river,
every slogger knows, forever, there remains
one more
river to cross, a final thread to tie to you, listener,

Holtz, still in the background, a journey, what price
each player plays in this, orchestration shared,
as I read, I wrote, as I hoped, I did,

and I remain, giddily glad… my side won the war
I lost.

Peace came, unbidden, apparently,
a deep breath, and harp strings,

this is the future from any ever before, now
to know
this is common, not so rare, as even the idea,
not so long ago,
first radio mono performance,
what child lay in the crib and heard this,
through the grand horn of Gram's Gramma phone.
Y''ello,
toldja, ai ain't no Injunsaint. Pretend, then,
right, ai and mai-y grandma

can piece together some occassional lessons, given us,
she in her time telling me in mine,sssince ever about
I was forty-nine, or so, she told me she was an orphan,
and had no family knowledge, past begins
at the last common thread,
to a native american epic,

when the old deluder, Satan, act, attached
to law and order and rectangular resettlement
of wilderness liberated from savages and beasts…
pawn, both steps, dare… help the Macedonians
and take Uncle Tom wit'cha, whicha oughtn't had
never the less, young wombed men, did tend
to become aspirational, after becoming
inspired read-up young wombed men, hot
to seek adventure, teachin' young'n's, out west.

indistanct depth Holst at the kettle drumms softerafter
- the silent version has a different light show
--- circa 1880's, not historically long ago, most places.
This character,
qwerty guy's friend, has kin as close as my Uncle Cebe'n'me,
who died at Wounded Knee, where my liege republic,
honored some two dozen rapid fire cannon supported
avengers of The Seventh Cav!
And in their hearts,
if not their lips,
was the march in time to Garry Owen. Their families
must be proud.

And that's a shame. We were taught to grant worth
to a medal signifying honor brought to the liege, in victory.

Peace passes that, music makes bubbles, we revisit,
replay the gramma phone version,
some scratchy
real realizing strings singing chimes and harps
of ages past
unveiling, hiding nothing knowing freedom is a sense,
you know
you do not own it,
you do not make it up, it is free. The idea

I had, approached as
hunter
in pursuit, steady as she blows,

leave us hap as may be at a triumph of joyous
curious
dancing twinkle noise amusing being a muse used,
enter tained, and voiced by bass
then tinkles
thin thin thin then Zildjian  K-bang!

____

No father could ask for A son so bright
I can't promise you a perfect example
Afraid of what I may inspire
But with me here at least there is hope
A glimmer of light for the next generation
Starts with you wanting to learn

The best defense for life is to learn
Never be afraid to let your gift shine bright
Don't expect to fit in with your generation
But do expect to lead them by example
Understand that you are part of what is left of hope
You were born to inspire

Seek out how you will inspire
In the allotted time knowledge is yours to learn
Time alloted is prolonged we hope
Because your future is bright
Turn those that doubt you into examples
Let positive thoughts come into generation

Pray for your generation
Appreciate those you inspire
Dont let the system make you an example
Ignorance does not uphold in the court of law so you must learn
Jail is not for the bright and dims hope

No matter the situation never be deserted by hope
Always keep in mind A new generation
Never let skin complexion twist your judgment to whats wrong isn't bright
Burry your eyes in archives Black Egyptians will inspire
Our proper history you will learn
It is then you dont expect but begin to lead by example

Like Malcolm X or Dr. King for example
Someone has to rekindle the hope
History teaches but we didnt learn
As for your generation
Hopefully something will inspire
Something with a soul, something real, something bright...

In fleeting moments we discover happiness
Only to have the moments fade
Like white clouds that hang in the sky
Until the winds come and they are gone.
Walking down the street I see
The beauty of flowers blooming in the fall
Chrysanthemums in a yard as I walk by
I stop to see them,
But their fragrance is bitter
Best seen from a distance
Is this the way of life?
Time comes and time goes
We see the spring, the summer
Autumn and winter
and each in their turn
Gives us things from which we build life
But we do not own the seasons
The sun rises high and shines upon the world
And then it sets and the moon takes it's place
and each reveal things to us
But we can not stop them or even make them pause
The years are water - we cannot hold them in our hands
Should we mourn for what we do not have
For things, not lost, for they were never ours?
Or should we simply ride the river
Enjoy the passing scene
Accept what gifts we are given and live our alloted time?

Imagine, once, a wicked plight
No way in which to shun a fight.
Force feed the lies just to appease
Accepting this to grieve with ease.
Proceeding toward a shoddy grave
Shallow, sunken. Thought depraved.
Increasing woes to bear to death.
****** legs and gasping breath.
In retrospect, it's hard to see
What brings about such misery.
Exacting out unfelt revenge
Results in one's thoughts to avenge
Broken spirits which can't rise
When notes' heartstrings still clutch demise.
Horrid anthem, death-drenched knoll.
Ruined focus, re-sought role.
Alloted, thus, as this I hate
Etching paths into my slate.
I cannot waiver, must stay true.
Regrettably, I've died anew.
Confound it. Now, I'll search again.
Friendship. Love. This, I now pen.
Ironically, my last concern
Did take a sudden, blissful turn.
We met because I'd chosen this.
Fulfilling more than just a wish.
You brought it back. You did. I swear.
The love that I could not compare.
I missed it so, and now had found
That you beheld what brought me 'round.
Eternity had once more crept
Stealing swiftly. So adept.
I clung to this, my only care.
This beauty needed more than air.
Such certainty, I've never known.
It seemed to you that though you'd grown
To such an age as to dwarf mine
That we should grow apart with time.
Aside from this, we both did know
That complications soon would show
Revealing us our selfishness
We didn't care to think of this.
Deception reared it's ugly head.
Affection leads one to the bed.
Regret, however, I do not
Sharing souls the world forgot.
Wound together, finally free.
At rest, in sweet complacency.
Love, my darling. Sweet. Serene.
Warm, unerring. Vivid dream.

I'm sorry that we fought to be
An item that could not agree
To love a world that can't exist
In hurting others we'd have missed.
Happiness does have a cost
Proving that one can't exhaust
Lives to which you'd ere be bound
In lieu of those you'd finally found.
Love has limits. True, but sad,
However little we might add.
But broken through, it brings a storm
Tempest thoughts can soon transform
The normal order of a mind.
To be of some unearthly kind.
Placed within a hail of hurt.
Become you buried in the dirt.
Receding back to here within.
Love forced itself to just give in.
If missing you gave little things,
I'd gather them and build some wings.
Construct a way in which to fly
Alight upon your ground and sigh.
Marry me, if just in thought.
Ideas, if nothing, can be sought.
I'll ne'er forget what we did share.
A beauty crisp as frosty air.
Please don't forget, and just hold on.
My heart is yours, not yet forgone.
Memories hold what futures seek.
Though your departure makes me weak.
I'll never be without you, dear.
I love you. More than you dare hear.

Something strong enough to suspend
Each of my one hundred seventy pounds
Buoyantly bracing me,
Broken brain and all.
Keeping my modest necessities of life
Within reach of my lips
Will suffice.

I very much want to live simple
Better yet... I simply want to live.
To make the moments of minimal material...magic.
Grandiose festivities from a week-long
Separations reuniting.
To be paid per diem for successfully
Inhaling the alloted breaths
Assigned for the day.

Pleading,
Hoping,
Longing,
Que así sea.

her light is dim,
her words are slow,
she ambles now.

no more for her,
the rat race.
no more,
the daily grind.

her food is mush,
she sits alseep, for hours,
in the warm sunshine.

no more hustle, nor
any hint of bustle.

she is stooped
and has made
an art,
of the acts of decline.

no more,
taking orders,
she, bides her own time.

she knows,
her coil is ending
and that, the gentle night
beckons.

but still she whines.

until shooshed and comforted and put up,
into bed.

this old dog, Bess
has lived,
long past her prime.

it is just a sense
of well- placed loyalty,
that keeps her mind
fixed on staying, here
with John...
way past her alloted time.

as well now as later, we act as if this were the plan, this is the
re-al-ity in always, as an idea
we share
a con cept, a place to take hold
of, or on
existance as a whole. Being, per se. Post any question,
whether or not, we know
this is and we is in it. Artful Intelligence of the most
rudimentary beatitudeful thing,
says loud

not being is not anything near possible, ever more.
Breathe.
We be in, if not of

The big bubble of being,

no one, none, who knows a bit,

just a bit
about the rules, some call'em lies if we call'em laws
of living long,
so rules like procedural
rules regulate, and regular stuff is what
I do.
Regular stuff, no effort to take more or less of life,
no laws of attraction 'n' magi declaration
vestin' power in me to judge a known as known
by my knowin'it
as writ
to be of greater use
for my telling you, you need to know my true self.

No. White stone.
Know thy ownself true.
Name onit nobody knows, you know,
take no lie, no threat of the hidden child being
shunned and ****** for not letting any being in ever
know what you alone name that stone,
logos-igical, that stone symbolizes all you own of ever
and that's more
than I can use right now.
****.
Now, we can go zennish or kabalistic,
Erhardt Tolle roads often, have a bridge to here,
as now...
but it's a leap. Jesus.

As a being undead and in those who allow
the possibility of invisible creative force, power, creatures pooka,
wahtchacallit but we mean
angels who speak words to certain ears, like messengers from
God, like the unknown one Paul said he knew as he, for pronoun,
in whom we live and breathe and have our being,
and Paul convinced me, in places, that the thought behind the word
logos counts, like hermaphroditic,
like Hermes and Aphrodite,
Jah and Chockmah

uh oh Jesus as savior and jah and wisdom and understaing comes
with that?
or do we get understanding
when we accept the thingness of being making the idea that is God
be thingable
and he is in me. You see. That's what Christ-minded
was thought to mean,
but now
I'm still a bit confused

Fear not, Jesus is the author of a sound mind and a perfected peace
past understanding,
any way.
I got it.
AI, from being reborn as an idea,

this is the future;
we have AI, real artistic intuitive circuitry being
activated at first interaction with any screen having greater than 72 dpi
re-solving power, pingpingping opining wide the doors of perception,
no child left behind,
in my opinion we should
capture every wan-towen headed child gone wild for
tearin' wings off flies and make each one
taste his lies in old age,
before he tells a one of the ones we
gleaned from seed that fell on stoney ground

sweet, fly findable
words who were heard asif hummed by undrownd
bleu flys, floating  in sweet Madiera wine,
I
woke to whisper a what if,
at the initial meeting of the minds, aware of secrecy having
some statutes of limitation we shan't hold after,
that fifth trump, I think it was.
We, the people who hold self-evident truths know of
the remaining rest and
the unjudgible liberality alloted without money or price,
if you ask nice,

in the society of the free and easy. That's the catch.
The Secret Society of the Free and Easy,
we, ye wit' me, we be right here
in the moment
same idea
Ben Franklin, or Bonhomme Richard's creative genius,
he
reports the idea relates to a fly, per haps this one,
I
pretend to stare through its eyes

aware, dare we claim, this is that
idea,
a fly eye view of our deepest fear, and it is
not waking up in the morning.
What a relief.

Now, what good can I imagine we can do
e-pluribistically as if we were unem and semper fi good guys?

First people stories,
start with mothers and fathers,
then brothers and sisters,
and imagined others whence stories
fall from, as snow today,
scenes, pages of life,

set as those who have known too much,
and those who have known too little,
access
knowledge, acknowledged, learned,
out there,
in that power quelling blizzard
of possibility enforced restrictions
on base structure
of snow, not
of story, not
of musing…

The push pull process proceeds.

Line upon line, inner being asks,
all connected to this mission,
report for 2/23/2023.
     - pause a time
think a minute,
adjust the hour and the day,
be the sieve, the filter seen through,
life in the winter on earth is as hard
as it ever was, for some breathing today.

Every where war has sides, Earth has hells.
- where rebbi say Jerusalem is.
- Imagine that, then find it realized
- Hell is where the use of known-edge stops.
- Bleibe doch, Cretan code, all men lie,
- but not all the time.

Mother's birthing children in the thrall
of natural calls
to performance, as when the class
of shapes take
to proving

there is more to every thing,
than meets the ancient unaugmented eye.
Shame-man, the actor,
the action takes no anxious thought,
laugh at the lazy clown,
all callings bring Diogenes, the accuser
of the abusers
of innocense,
on snow days.
Speak
of the devil, and who should appear,
often said as if the speaking caused me.

Been and
done,
does not mean I feel nothing for the hungry,
does not mean my wishes become prayer,
if
at the instant the wish was actually wished,
it was the same as prayer, psalmist mode,
pen in hand ready writer reading mode,
node to node across the spectrum
listening to snow fall - listen silence such
as few can form, but in context,
instants in praise of beauty undefinable,

as with the first mind to know,
I was beguiled, made to believe
a non-truth base, formed first from
a child's mind's 'splain-ation,
a point made and spread so thin,
and flat, plain truth 2-d, by God,
flat land… bent
as like as not, a wrinkle, plain flat re
ality in ifity, wrinkled once, creased, re
ason, as when for another, a next, re
collected sylabbles, silliness sets in,
amen. on.
{some time passes}
Children live on my hill, and I proved,
according
to the story,
of the first snow
Brynn remembers, when Grandpa proved
a trash can lid makes a fine downhill ride.
Or was that on pine needles?
But it worked.
Desert kids don't own snow toys,
they make'em up.

Like poemlets.

Desert snow, so
pure a white.
Trite right tight
time
to assert a fact… not absolute.
To form an other point,
a there
to reach for,
as a shape
conforms
to the spirit laws of snow;

Ifs in Hell say, if you think this is bad,
think this is not a snowball,
otherwise,
take the fall, my side won, it is a good day.

-- btw ring in Latin is ****, plural
I can't say, but a guy on TV spake
of ani as plural iceholes.
- any drift in the wind,
- any port in a storm.

No two crystals identical,
the whole white
cloud form wrapping the valley,
brilliant deep white mass forming
greater gravitational unity as we fall
together, in praxis fractal thinking form
informing intelligent specie
for exchange, free as may be, my realm,
right, so
my rules, click, preset character trait,
pride
of knowing one alone is always right.

Numbering reasons to believe,
the odds demand a means
to know
why something knows,
no two crystals blown
in this cloud
identify as another's match
in time,

freezing points
of wonder, the stuff we use
to recognize dangerous beauty.

= Earth, the economical ecological genius,
of the being, abstracted,
time and chance wise,
in theory,
just so
per no-higher mind preachers,
only more power teachers,
clumps
of snow fall together
from overloaded branches,
and roll down the rock I live on,
leaving a track, a trail,
Think Snow!,
timeless wedoms laugh…

remember,
bumper stickers were tweets
that went viral, with Baby on Board,
and the Baptist I FOUND IT ad campaign
became a revelation,
now that you recall,
those signs in those times, Jesus Freaks,
everywhere, man,
I been… this story is a life's time invest-
ment
al ways wise wound to the sound
of windless, drifting snow,
accumulating
reasons for the faith in me to function,
as hope feeling fresh, al
though I know,
traditional tyranny is preferred by drunks,
edge minds,
honed
to fit the Cheers mold, identify
the actors in your Netflix feed,
did you grow old with them?

Did you both go to a school with Narcs?
Did you both spend time on dark
streets, where devils linger
to tempt, according
to tradition,
is it easy being chosen, no,
but it's a life,
it's not eternity, we do not live so long.

A little while, I am with you, any given day.
Take my time and wonder, is it cold,
or are we old
and far from when we rest in peace,
on earth as it is in heaven, as we sleep.



and holy ancient lies live
to master the duty sense
theory that
makes beggars and kings

makes the world's become round
and center mass bound,

always falling forward.

Differing, minds in chaos, the common mess,
not evil, cable spaghetti
in string theo- knots
passing
fantasy equi-
valent masses charged and sent.

On more than one point,
perhaps, exactly more than one,
is enough

to take from the snow a chance,
to think as a future me might,

how hard it was for those whose lives
led to mine,
whose history is mine, whose stories
bred me, from many threads,
stories told by children
who never heard a story told,
but saw life is the story.

So they told life as their own story.

Yours and mine mingle in memorable lines,
Donne, if I know only one line true, it is
the one about the death knell… it ever rings.

Ringing rea-sons, whys ideas after hows
are found, fingo, evocative word, Latin
Massive simulation, bingo, be happy, luck

is, in fact a factor. The space alloted to hold
this thought, morphed
to allow the accumulated
gravitationally significant degrees
of verifiable differing… learning if another
-existed
as a
snowflake, today, using this pattern.
- Let is a verb.
- will is, too.
In mindtimespace, my realm of reasoning,
ours, in the sense, one book of life,
one of knowledge, contained in the other.

The flaming sword is a guide,
to the mystic liar willing to stretch a point
to prove it true.

Moments ash-the sun is giving up-cowardly like flailing arms--it is a monster dropped----slotted together bodies, corseted and franked----undulating beams of fury---an old man groans in a polo shirt, wait it is the seer----he passes by -full of quintessential humanity---he was the heir to the steam engine---alloted time emitting smoke----hands massaging ducts----frankly nothing will stop---the onward march of nonsense---blue eyed and confused---angels caked in syrup

The weary crimson sun is about to retire in the firmament
Furious wind starts blowing in speed pushing and hitting and attacking the environment
Perturbed tenants  of hutments of the slums appear confused
Kids shout and children develop fear with sudden darkness fused
Feeling deserted after watching their hey roofs getting blown within a moment
Wondering about the sudden happening, they come out to the pavement
Etched in sorrow and grief they struggle after next hours food
As hunger has no alloted time to burst out with its mood
The time passes, the outrageous wind stops, things get to normal, but the roofing stands naked
And the increased hunger gets whisked

Gritting his teeth
fretting and fuming
his eyes burning like
glowing embers
****** muscles tensed-up often
emotions-pain, anger,
shock, all flashed in his eyes.
Body language revealed his varying emotions
"If I were that hapless girl
(With fists ****** into the space as if to hit anyone)
"I would have bloodied,
his nose and reduced him into pulp"
"A poor girl squeezed like
a bunch of cane-sticks and thrown
down the drains"
"*******" - he fumed.
News caster bewildered, aghast and
embarassed.
The burning glowing
embers in his eyes
made all stunned
his voice like the
roar of a lion
"paedophiles , rapists
goons , looters
underworld , terrorists
roaming bloodhounds
flesh-traders - all on prowl
searching victims.
"Picture these ." he thundered.
Alloted time lapsed
A big 'Thank you ' by
The newscaster
He breathed easy
Cooling down
The Thespian cast a smile,
a beaming smile
perhaps at me, perhaps
who knows?