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To get to Anywhen,
be Here
first.

Then,
proceed forward
in any direction
whatsoever.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2019
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
1:48 PM

Vows made to men
Vows made to men with wombs as well
Are binding,
Those bonds unseen can choke or
Smother thoughtlessly as a
Mother may overlay a babe in her sleep
With no purpose or reasoning at all.
God knows.

Pause
Are these allusions too cryptic
Or too occluded or, per haps,
Seen through a glass darkly?
Be aware be yond here
Be dragons.
Word by word, thought by thought.

Sensing of any sort of bond is awe worthy.
Imagine, do it, imagine building
The very first strand of DNA.
Imagine designing the code,
Then optimizing the code,
Compiling the codeā€¦
Before anything at all existed
The idea of the programmer exists.
(Genitive case, lost to English ere 2018, fershur)
Pause
We are getting ahead
Sync up do not loose this thread

Imagine imagining life, then
Life needs a place to be then
Life needs
Something like actualization realization
The word for that is what I am thinking
Is needed.
Life needs to be needed or
Life can never be.

Pause
Be cause
Next is too soon for some to follow

How many drafts of Genesis would we
Need to get it right?

Heady stuff, eh? Imagining
What God was thinking.

God knows, that's been done and
Done right once.

Imagine the mind of Christ.
Imagine an authority saying to you
"You have the mind
Of Christ."

Headier still, no? Imagining
What Jesus thought.

Seeing eternity from the foot of the cross
Is a less revealing perspective
Than seeing eternity from the cross.

Pause
I came back here then when I said then for than
Than is such
A powerful word properly honed,
Then, quick, cut through time
To make the difference. Then is a time word for past or future,
never now.

To prevent a future pause,
Try and do anything is non-sense and such
Shan't be tolerated
Trying to do is sensible and encouraged
Trying and doing will be forever frustrating, as doing is never done while trying.
Go yoda!

So, seems we go no further into the night.
East, we face, I reckon, seeing light along
The edge of night

Pause
Thoughts you think link to
Daytime TV in the 1960's
May be valid later and pauses
Beyond here
Shall be bookmarks in the role of landmarks
As a nod to seeker sensitivity tolerances
In the future.

Vows made to men and wombed men are
Original idea things shaped from
Original thought
Wow, right, knowing that gives you no clue
To the God thought, but
You can imagine what he meant, right?

When two are bound to be one,
Naught's t'be done to make that null
While life's in the whole.
Should life be left half minus one
The life left must be lived
Within reason.

A form ula. There is a form from
Which a sim ula crumb was made to
Fall from the master's table and
The dogs
Licked it up. Suddenly,
It all makes sense forever.

If you can believe that, you are
Bound to find bonds that bind
Without any restriction at all, once
You know such bonds are
At all. Such bonds are the substance
Of the idea of a vow.

All that's been before is before.

Wases were is a some what, odd, time-no-more state, which is
pertnear unthinkable in Post-Babel pidgin grunts and
Gestures signifying, states of being in contra-dictionaries. Some,
An amount un specified of
A thing I see, touch, taste, smell
A thing I lack it's name
I want some what/ What is that?

Upon that time, or just before, all ya'll knew ever words ever ones known ever since
til now. Now, no word you say can make me agree with your barbaric jibber. Got that?
Growlish.

Take, give, okeh, take, no give, no, okeh?
Deal.

Imagine how long it would take for a family
to become a tribe, then a tongue, then a nation.
Now, get this, that was --- remember we was
Plaining time down to all is (izzez being the phonic plural thereof,
But if I said ises or isis you would go all nutso meshigna Egypyoid and miss the point).
Is is pluralable.

Was is all that came before now. It is.
Then can be anywhen, but was is always before.
Was and before are one thing inside everything, time-wise.
Right? "same yes ter day to day to more oh, yes,"
Crazy good, insanely great, awe
Some id I ate ergo ego sum

Babel. Are we no longer clarifying. I feel like I am
Right out in the open. Can they see me?
This is, aha, I get it.
This is confusion. When adamkind no longer shared
One tongue ( imaagine thaat)
Agreeing wrong became less productive.
Two or more could agree on nothing
Without true effort.
So taking became easier than understanding.
Tect de tect pro tect infront to cover tegere

Integrit. Grit. Imagine you are so old you could have sold Grit.
If this were a chapter in a book would you read it? 60 chapters?
PJ Poesy Apr 2017
Presence finds itself least expected, yet underscored
Anywhen, somewhere, a bus rolls into aurora, at wee hours
Though not on oceans
That's the place where cargo ships do
Together with airplanes, these larger escorting
tempos and times, clock shifts
Pulling sun along with them
in motion intrinsic as sustenance
Workday begins for some pre light
Bakers and bus drivers know this best
Two noble professions perhaps glamorized, perversely
by this poet
but not without recognition of
their elemental indwelling of us all
Scorch'd Diana Feb 2021
Somberness, see it sanctuarily swearing
sword-tongue worded spellspeech secretly sunder a number
apart from another,
no ear so keen just to hear the equation
crackle into informal shatter.
No regrets nor bother
among preachers nor hypocrits,
so same as it's sad, their chatter
a masked creature
that fits this disordered scripture
of us.

Aware of a far-reaching freedom
each of them fathomless to their undone dares
to fail becoming one;
they,
all feature a familiar pattern
which matters even less to them
than a fantasy's thorn to their first thoughts, frankly;
they,
who share the same history they're enacting
their manifest destiny of a doom chosen
their fair share of despair
so spectacularily reflecting through
their fleet tranquil escaping
from those fear-forsakened frail bone-marrowed
branch brittles they've rosen
so fro as they are, frighteningly awake
fleeing those fractures so alive
in fashions gorgeous fractals alike
no grit, no wit capable of constructing such a lit, yet aesthetic scene of delight.

They,
each afraid of their boundaries beloved
to be breached apart so badly
only for captivity and nothing else
as they beg
counter-intuitive measurements taken
caught from under the counter countlessly
those captives, their algorithms split, entwined;
so better, better don't mind it;
undozens of them
all death-grasping frozen
from just a slightliest rattle
of the crispy pages bearing a poem
or a *** pinched by a laddle.

Falsely do they believe revolving
advancing their middle
however, with its Forever forgotten
prayer by prayer
for the sake of a splendid soil
oblivious to the seed that is rotten.

Oil-devouring tumoil tactically targets their entire toil
pouring visions filling each stare
for each one to chisel only another
effort-evaporating Escheresque stair
for ground and ground apart at the borderline
they are,
the sharp scraping of the air
gnashing winds under the ice of a somber sunshine.

These crystalline brimstones
spacelessy stranded;
vile ambers, yet of beauty unspoken
sparking like cider, from apples royalty-branded
perhaps even prickling, peach-flavoured honey wine
reminiscing silent lovers' moans
ones a satyr favours in folly
in gayness he eaves his hallowed shrine.

Without answers
a riddle is meant unbroken
shards of their failure, silkenly sanded
faintly, a filthless spirit's essence,
so fine.
Some insight may have been awoken
perhaps this and not another time.
Just the right questions
painfully born from the sublime.

In and on,
however a retrospect away
a new future rises from the ashes of fallen hells
mere memories of an old fiend
darkness encountered
for each delusion you slay
and eventually
even you, as well, will listen
listen to the bells from the yondersome elsewhere ringing, wailing
hailing their soul-crackling harmony
somewhere from above us all.

Cardinal numbers are breathless,
while we,
so proud to appraise prime numbers
so wishfully down to their core,
rather dream unparalyzed a dream
of an unclaimed nowhen
stuck in a less corrupt algebratic behaviour than before;
error-ridden operations so holdlessly scaffolded
our somberness
submerged and suffocated.
Down
down we swam to see sunken cities of sorcery;
suicidal endeavour, hive mind agony
our race means for the next galaxy
yet still a race meant for parsimony.

All in all, ****** in brickly rubble
what once was wall, popped much like a bubble;
crumbling, stars burst our skies apart
fates laughing the madnesses' mirth
no hand unscorched, suddenly so much to win.
They listen, scent, and see,
the ones they miss, and what they've lost;
gasping, gazing up ahead
wings spread, glare brightly
flame-feathered doves of rebirth
released, everyone's dignity
finally freed from the heart.

We're not, not mindlessly suffering a somewhere
but this time, facing this inquiry:
What else is there
reality or not
modality or possibility, probably an actuality;
as we learn to sincerely care and to feel
the current breath, the nation, the spot
they all are our responsibility
doubtlessly and definitely real.

Thus, secondary to me
each second that ***** my spirit dry
throughout a minute
anywhen
as we spire from hour to hour
honestly, far, far too often
and not from now and then.

Primary, however, is
my mistake which I'll hold me dire
I would rather not anymore, ever
divide zero by itself again.
What I learned like so many before
cannot count in this realm of some foreign heart
- now, for me -
anymore
which is indeed my problem
as I'm burning these pages I tore apart.
01011001
Clare Coffey Nov 2021
My body is growing cold
My blood thickens in my veins
My heart is no longer beating
I have taken my last breath
My brief span in this moment is complete
This human vessel of flesh and bone
Has served out its earthly purpose
The passage of linear time has taken its toll
Old now and weary of living
An existence weighed down with pain
It is ready at last to be returned
To the universe that gave it life
As each atom slowly dissipates
My mortal soul is translated
Poured into the dish of immortality
Sharing the sum of my experience
Spinning spiralling singing
Reunited with the choir of the spheres
Part of a greater whole
Reshaped and remade into a new energy
So until the cycle of life begins again
Do not mourn my passing
For I am always with you
I am in the leaf you catch in your hand
In the snowflake that melts on your face
In the wind that ruffles your hair
Till the instant I am chosen to be a new life
Reborn anywhen in the time stream
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
one's wise to fear a bear robbed of her whelps,
as well a big brother, the good one,
who watched
eagles act all menage d'three

and proved, to all who see,
we can see you anywhere,
anywhen,
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Olivia Jan 12
I like to think that Death came for you gently, at six am on a Thursday.
As you lay there, nestled in your sheets; the light in your room was green.
I like to think that He looked like your father, and that He reached out with a sparkle in His eye.
When you touched His hand, it wasn't hard for you to move; you could finally see him at your side.
I like to think you glanced out of the window together; aren't the neighbors so peaceful?

I like to think that Death came for you beautifully, at six am on a Thursday.
As you lay there, the rest of the world sleeping; just two other souls by your side.
I like to think that She looked like your mother, and that She pulled you into a warm embrace.
When you held Her close, nothing hurt; you could finally look up into Her eyes.
I like to think you stopped by the Christmas tree together; aren't the lights so beautiful?

I like to think that Death came for you joyously, at six am on a Thursday.
As you lay there, your eyes clouded over; the dawn not too far away.
I like to think that Death looked on you kindly, and offered you a Coke for the road.
When you took a sip, the universe exploded, and you might go anywhere, anywhen.
I like to think you chose first to rest by our bedsides; aren't these people you made so wonderful?
My grandmother died yesterday morning. I hope death was as exciting and magnificent as she hoped it would be.

Thank you, Grandma Jean, for the love you gave.

— The End —