"attendees" poems
At the Bernie Sanders rally on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in Alabama, a middle-aged woman in the crowd fell to the floor from illness. The entire rally silenced. All 7,000 attendees turned their focus to her welfare. When the medics arrived, the crowd erupted into cheers, a heroes’ welcome. The people then applauded the ill woman once she regained the ability to walk out of the event.
Two weeks prior, at a rally for the authoritarian populist Donald Trump, three white men stomped a black man. He’d worn a t-shirt that read 'Black Lives Matter.'
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
The shoreline bites at the toes of attendees,
watching the little appendages curl up together.
The footprints there have been etched into fossils,
the sand crunching together and sounding like
echoes of war cries and whispered endearments.
The raft is loaded. The time is traced.
A caterpillar in a chrysalis hums a love song,
glows with the light of ‘vita vita vita’ as
the gathering crowds taste dead languages.
Children eat from lunch boxes carved with runes.
Sometimes a glipse of twenty years is caught,
a journal is forced open by the wind; it’s pages
creak, the voices from the world's coffins
that have been wrenched open start a hymn
and the songs pile up in our ears as dust.
Those who are do not mourn titter respectfully
as men in white coats try to push the raft
into the water, but you were so lovably stubborn.
You always returned and even here you knew it;
your final laugh was filtered through sign language.
I step forward and push, float you off into
the water, put my fingers over the candle and
over the lips of dead kings as masses shoot the sky.
The match roars and your raft gasps as it burns,
old things being laid to rest and new ones kindling.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 6:28 PM UTC
right now i'm thinking
about angry older gals
at the supermarket,
i'm thinking: shave the bush,
start a razor "wildfire"...
let's see your neck and your
chin, shave off that beard...
the crazy much older than
your supermarket attendees
are dropping the word
viking while you shop
for whiskey, onions and
tomatoes,
even the security guard is
looking at you funny...
your excuse of:
i became bored of shaving
is not going to work
on these women,
in their late 50s,
making all the talk the talk
and the talk being
small talk and
trebling in: i really just came
in here for a purchase,
i don't have the ***** to
do the small talk...
of course that's always besides
the point...
viking?!
how about a
zimmer frame?
god, small talk kills me,
i don't know how to make a chair out
of it to sit on for much longer than
feel comfortable longer
than 5 minutes on it...
and there's always one of these women
in the supermarket,
she just knows small-talk -
kleinsprechen...
while i know the großsprechen -
alternatively: stille (silence);
but she just insists upon
her solipsisms,
and she does so perfectly,
she talks, and even manages to reply
for me...
at least a monologue of
a madman is less claustrophobic
when you spot a solipsistic woman in
her antics,
at least the madman in his
monologue feeds you not claustrophobia...
given he's so self-engrossed in
imaginative cursor workings...
a madman's monologue never
morphs into a solipsistic claustrophobia
intimidation, notably within the guise
of women...
i'd prefer a madman oblivious to
me in his externalised monologue,
than a woman in a supermarket,
oblivious to her solipsistic take on dialogue
intimidation by restraining the other
in a pseudo-claustrophobia;
that famous echo chamber...
please, throw me into the cushioned
room with a madman, i'd rather hear
his monologue,
than her attempt at
a dialogue in a supermarket!
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 10:33 PM UTC
We know it by the
Huge blinking lights
From rides that
Tend to make people
Throw
Up
Dairy Queen.
We know it by
Those big, intricate
Winding tatoos
That snake up the arms
Of half of the attendees
That have a message
That I can't read.
We know it by
Little children
Clinging,
Terrified,
To the hands of their
Irresponsible mothers.
And we know it
By inhaling so much
Secondhand smoke
That we're almost positive
That a little lung cancer
Has invaded our privacy.
We know it by
The Herndon Festival.
And we love it.
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
The attendees are told, in a manner befitting a high mass
You have been finally set free,
(Although, in truth, free is a very large and entirely vague word),
And the message is sent forth from all comers in all corners:
Vendor and visionary alike,
German socialists who left university to ride boats for Greenpeace,
First lieutenants doing their level best
To appear at ease in civilian polos and khakis,
But no matter the vessel,
The message is still the same.
The tyranny of cables and storage space is dead,
It is all but shouted from the lecterns,
(Although it is noted, in small print and sotto voce
That there are certain requirements
In terms of hardware and licensing)
And it is stated by Those Who Know
In tones which neither brook nor invite contradiction,
That they have surmounted, all Hadrian-like,
The alpine divide separating mere data and magic.
Two or three blocks down the street from the convention center,
In a narrow storefront housing an exhibition of ether-only comics
Which have broken the nettling constraints
Of editors and syndication,
There sits, under a somewhat opaque
And slightly scratched piece of plexiglass,
A yellowing comic strip of uncertain vintage,
In which a frowzy cat,
Free of the constraints of panels, gender, and standard grammar,
Is the recipient of a mouse-tossed brick
Whose flight, unfettered by physics, probablility, indeed time itself
Ends striking its mark right between the x’s of the eyes
The projectile itself an inexplicable alchemy
Of confusion, mirth, frustration
And the impossibility of an undeniably pure love.
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
“Ah you hate to see another tired man / Lay down his hand / Like he was giving up the holy game of poker”
Leonard Cohen
<>
“Will I remain within God's house at night as shadows drift through dimming my light?”
written by Weeping Willow, gifted to me, by Edmund Black
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I,
***instant understanding, perhaps in my experiential possess,
some answerings perhaps...product of late night, many, many
theological arguments over poker games, with coarse men,
tough women, and ethically-challenged Gods, all faithful regular attendees
With a little bit o’ luck from an occasional guardian angel, even
I possess an occasional winning hand.
now we all commence with a passionate uttered blessing,
for the good beer and salty pretzels, giving thanks for having
reached this act-exact moment of being, here and now, in God’s house at night, plus a holy add-on variation, a swear-to-god (we all snicker) promise solemn, no cheating, no absolutely divine peeking/spying in soulful futures, no fun in that, sanctified & sealed with hearty amens and ****** noises offered for emphasis.
hear you scratching you head, wondering what all this to do
with a whispered prayer of soulful, on-shore drilling deep,
product of a drill bit cutting the black quietude of interstellar voids internal, where there is no censorship, lying an impossibility, and the only questions are super hard, so some never return with an answer truthful
so, I remain in God’s House, playing poker, with deities who
jealous guard their moments as human facsimiles...cherishing humans who guard with care, an ability to see that they and gods differ little, when making honest truth a shared primacy
in the intimacy
of an overnight stay
in God’s house at night,
all our coming-led light dims,
when my/their need is greatest***!
(written sometime this year, Jan. 2021, Manhattan)
~~~~
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 6:36 PM UTC
my reincarnation is that of a treasured cup
i’m almost entirely certain that my death will play a role in the cup’s creation
whether it be the clay I molded my alien hitch hiking signs into
or its maker lays back and reads in a hammock the same hours I do
just half way around the world
once my soul has leaked and drained through hell’s piping system
and what’s left escapes through condensation
the clouds will carry me to a bazaar
where the ceramic painting class is struggling to use oils
with rainy weather
in ******* up the work of most attendees
several of them will hide me in backs of cupboards
until they move or my soul dies of dust
one, if god allow two
painted mugs
are repeatedly stacked with layers of sediment
coffee, *****
tea, *****
coffee
tea with *****
a cigarette accidentally
my father should feel proud to know
his son’s vices followed him through the afterlife
that i got a nice home
that i accepted leaving parts of my soul in old cupboards
(Dad), i didn’t mean to contact the aliens so recklessly,
and i feel like I have to get off my *** if i read too much
i’m sorry i thought smoking was non-conformist
you’re right, i lied a couple of times
it cost just as much integrity as you said it would
i know i will do much better as a treasured cup
Jul 17, 2020
Jul 17, 2020 at 1:47 PM UTC
Awake still...sipping coffee this
unholy hour...i wonder how buried
moments can easily gatecrash into
my sober flow of thoughts, flipping
like pages of a book, blown by a
strong wind...i could smell dried rose
petals pressed between the pages.
i could also smell mottled pages
holding mottled memories...they
should have crumbled, be forgot,
but, bravely, they flash back, clear
as the rustling of bamboo leaves
right outside my window.....ahh,
the devil never sleeps...he creates
a stir at the unholiest of hours,
drops it like a bomb, disturbing
my calm universe;
suddenly, it's 4:00 am
i blink a few times to dismiss what
should be forgot.....then, suddenly,
it's 5:00 am.....more coffee.
the eyes watching bubbles from
curling, crisping bacon, strayed,
far from the skillet, but, focused
back, before the pieces got burned.
6:00 am now...breakfast time
for online class attendees.
in my universe, mornings are a
mix of sniffs...of coffee, fried eggs,
fried bacon, sausages, fragrant
gardenia blooms...not to forget
whiffs of good and bad memories.
::::::::::::::::::
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::
:
Good morning everyone!
sally b
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
July 13, 2021
Sep 6, 2021
Sep 6, 2021 at 1:14 AM UTC
____ Little leonard Lion, decided to attend the Upcoming Town meeting with an Open mind about the Subjects that were to be Discussed. Many Times in the Past, Little Leonard along with others of his Thinking, Especially, Anthony Ant and Roxanne Roach, Went to the Town Meetings with the Attitude of "Cautious-Listening".. MANY Times the Town Meetings, conducted by the Town Upper-Layers and their *Chief, Wendall Waglips, had NOT stuck entirely to issues , BUT rather Modified them. SO, that the Credits due to the *Proper Provider, were Instead directed to Themselves ! Waglips and his Upper Layers had announced the Upcoming meeting would be a *Revelation of NEW Ideas and Plans ! Needles to say, Leonard Lion, Anthony Ant and Roxanne Roach Could Hardly wait ! As they sat on the edges of their seats, to hear the Proclamations that Wendall and the Upper Layers would be SWEETLY offering up to the Audience of " Fully Attentive" Listeners . Waglips approached the Podium of Announcement, Stood behind it, Grabbed both sides at the top, Leaned forward toward the microphone,____With a Self made Smile and his Attitudinal Voice, Began the Ritual of Proclamations; #1= A Decree you will accept with Glee. #2= When I Condone and accept it as the Known. #3= Should you disagree, DON'T bring it to me ! #4= What is Laid out, ACCEPT it or get Out. #5= The LAWS are on the Walls in the Halls,,BUT__DON'T Loiter in the Halls. Waglips continued His Finale , "These are for Your benefit and I am sure You agree, That each of you they will fit ! These NEW rules we've SPOKEN for your Wellbeing for the Residents of this Town ! _____Leonard, Anthony and Roxanne Looked at each other and glanced around at the 2500 attendees ! As a Megaphone was Placed in Leonards hand! He Repeatedly Shouted out ! "JOIN ME IN THE HALLS "... So, whats in store for those who stayed in their seat and "DID-NOT" heed the Boldness of the VOICE ,calling them to the Halls ?
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 3:35 AM UTC
there's this purple
gala at the end of time...
which never seems
to begin.
the moon goes thru
all her phases in the
blink of an eye.
which makes the floor
feel like it's ebbing and
flowing.
attendees break out into
soul-stirring croons about
shedding lifetimes of
loved ones.
water goes to wine, wine
goes to water...and desire
is a food continually served.
though one night my nerve
stuck to me, and rattled.
i began overturning and smashing
everything in sight.
everyone smiled...and the damage
was cleaned.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
With sandals and a robe the power of the message was passed.
They didn't decide the higher authority was better than those with less.
They was during what was requested?
The minister's preached.
While some seated reacted to the message.
He glanced.
He complimented those in the pew.
But with a firm tone, he stated this message was address to who?
Who?
Turn up their nose to the homeless man or woman seated next to them.
Without understanding these lost souls have came for the word.
Who?
Sit and whisper about clothes that some comes to church in to attend.
He pointed out Christ saw the lost souls as friends.
And not basing it upon church attendees apparel.
But we know many people that the minister speaks about.
Especially when some leaders cries give the lord your best.
Then long before fancy clothes enhances anyone image.
God knows your heart.
After all He alone is God.
He states, and with truth.
The treatment of others says a lot about you.
Church dress codes is nothing but what you see it to be?
Those with a sincere heart to live accordingly.
Doesn't need expensive suits and dresses.
Doesn't need to drive high price cars.
Cause back in the day.
A mule got many to many places.
Anything God placed upon here with love for another.
Must always remember not to judge their sisters or brothers.
If you judging them according to clothes.
Cause false prophets dress well and fool many constantly.
He took off his suit.
He took off his tie.
And removed his shoes.
And asked, what makes him better than the ones seated next to you?
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
I became stunned by the roaring cheers from the townsmen.
The men and women herded together like cattle for this long-awaited celebration.
Countless faces known and unknown encircled me.
I had finally received my much-needed recognition.
I had become a phenomenon whose story would be passed on from generation to generation throughout the entire nation.
I noticed my cheeks had become soggy, stained with a salty residue.
At last I was someone, someone who attracted immeasurable admiration.
I eagerly looked around for my family; I wanted them to join me and take part in something so great, but they were not present.
This slightly saddened me, but it was rather short-lived seeing as how there were multitudes of attendees there to honor me.
I suddenly became distracted by the beauty of a young woman who possessed emerald eyes, red locks, and tiny-dotted freckles.
She came forth and put daisies before me and then quickly disappeared into the boisterous mob.
I called out to the woman, not knowing her name.
I wanted to run after her but I could not move.
I rapidly became frantic.
I was screaming, begging, and pleading, but no one bothered to help me.
They all just stood there staring at me; I felt pathetic.
Then there was a tall, broad man - a giant to be exact - who stood towering over me.
I noticed his freshly-polished, black boots were stained with crimson that trickled down, staining the ground.
His shadow blocked the sun and my view.
I looked up at him.
He started to slowly arch his back and descend towards my face.
I recognized him…
We recently had a brief encounter with one another.
A peculiar man he was - he just stood in the corner of the stage, staring off into the distance without muttering a single word. He was motionless, almost catatonic-like. He didn’t even have the gall to face me during my commemoration.
He was clearly an insecure and paranoid fellow.
He hid under his blackened hood and guarded himself with a glistening, silver
axe.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
on the table sat
a lone cream bun
everyone at the party
did of it shun
they were cautious
not to be tempted by it
as it contained
a huge cholesterol hit
the attendees
at the party
were a health conscious crew
and didn't wish
to be caught up
in an arterial blocking slew
so the bun
ne'er got eaten
a mold grew on it
as all those
at the party
wanted their hearts
to stay ever fit
but exercising
a little moderation
in what is ingested into the tummy
would have allowed
a little cholesterol
which is ever so yummy
how sad the party day
was for the cream bun
everyone felt the need
to exclude its tasty fun
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
His little lover drowned downtown the
Emotions little lover found through sound he
Didn't know were too deep, little lover wasn't found but
Little lover sank and drowned.
Her little lover drowned on the highway the
Feelings in the songs little lover played were
Too heavy, even on a good day so
Little lover sank on the highway.
Little lover couldn't swim through pain
Little lover couldn't float on the thoughts from the brain
Little lover couldn't get a single break
Little lover just sank, sank, sank.
And he's crying, and she's crying
Little lover wasn't dead, little lover's dying
No one even saw lover's head above the waves
So little lover's somewhere rotting in the lake.
The funeral had only two attendees that
Weren't paid just to weep and look sad and
Little lover would've hated everything about
That funeral if little lover was still around.
Little lover didn't get a pair of wings
Or fly to heaven to forever sing
And little lover isn't burning in hell
But little lover isn't alive and well.
Little lover disappeared in a second
Little lover ceased to exist then
And little lover didn't tell, not a sound
Little lover just drowned.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
Sacred blood of mine
Lead me to my resting home
Down your crimson painted path
Where I’d meet some of my very own.
I’d meet my cousin
a proud man in his twenties
with a wide grin and a wound
that listed him as one of God’s attendees.
Mark my thresholds with your scent
so people smell death for long to come
a picture perfect dream is painted red
A family of 11 has carved down to one.
The mother that raised me
and a father who was proud
Never had a will to fight for
a childhood that I wasn't allowed
They came with their guns
I came within sight
None was shot down but the one
that couldn't put up a fight.
The heart stopped beating.
The soldiers did not,
they fired their bullets through
with an ounce of life I hurled a rock.
I greeted death with smiles
knowing that rock would be my last.
As a kid I had aspired.
A martyr met his fate alas.
On the bridge between life and death
I pondered upon and felt quite lost
Do martyrs really die as mortals ?
One way of knowing,content I strode across.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
You’d be mistaken if you said the stones
didn’t feel hotter than the sand beneath your feet.
Casting circles along the ground, light
shimmers between the trees. Flowers
reach up to it, along the way shedding petals.
I walk on, gathering about me my dress.
I’ve found recently that I’m happiest in a dress.
Reminiscing memories of prom, I imagine a floor of stones
instead of tile and a corsage of intricate petals
And a sea of feet,
Swaying to a slow song, like flowers
sway into the light
in Sanibel. Imagine our venue as Sanibel where light
brightens every picture and blesses every dress;
where the appearance of flowers
isn’t just a corsage or pretty weeds poking through stones;
where sand adornes feet
and wind means a breeze of perfumed petals.
Twirling down from the trees, petals
blink with color in the light
and stick to ocean-water bathed feet
shaded by my dress.
Days are spent winding along stones
of Sanibel’s flowing garden of flowers
And it becomes captivating. I find elegance in flowers
like prom attendees. They bat their eyes like petals
alight softly on stones.
I see so much light,
I would twirl and twirl and twirl in my dress,
spinning on feet
And if my feet
never touch the ground, at least they’ve danced to lush flowers
and at least my dress
has spilled out around me, meeting petals
soaking light,
cloaking stones.
In Sanibel, I dress for bare feet.
I let myself not be heavy as a stone, I let myself flower.
And I collect petals, to remind me things wither without light.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
Ivory lad,
Ivy grad;
Tell me,
Why is it that you're so slow?
Behind the times,
Stuck where
Even your parents have outgrown.
What eccentric lessons,
What bombastic professors!
To say it is one school
Would be an insult
To the whole of the institutions'
Asserted goals & aspirations.
It would be a disservice
To their alumni,
The attendees,
And those to be admitted.
Prattle off your dissertations,
I'm genuinely interested
To hear of your perspective,
But I won't hold my breath
So keep the air honest
Lest you share a foul stench
Like dioxide so sulfurous.
What hand is up your ***
To puppet the controls as so?
What stick has been stuck
Through your rear-end
Which parades you around on?
What pike has been found
Deep in your bowels
Rendering detachment & disembodiment?
From which war & what battle
Do you think you're taking part of?
Which side & which force
Do you swear allegiance?
What little league team,
What playground do you call home?
What duel with duality,
What fight with nature!
It would be entertaining
If they had only stuck to playing in the mud.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 1:29 PM UTC
Since its inception, Aarong has been determined to bring about effective changes in the lives of artisans and underprivileged rural women, by facilitating and advertising their handicraft. Today, it has become the foundation of independent cooperative groups and family-based artisans. Now, it is known as a contemporary life outlet, among people not only in Bangladesh, but all over the world.
This wedding season, you can adorn yourself with one of Aarong’s festive looks. On November 17, Aarong launched their latest product line – the Wedding Collection.
Aarong has introduced a series of looks and styles to try out this wedding season for brides, the bridal entourage and the wedding attendees. What’s more, they are promoting Jamdani, Muslin and Katan sarees as the choice of outfits to wear for the bride and her close ones.
The line is introducing bridal wear in some uncommon hues, moving away from the routine “red” to peach, pink, purple, blue, green and beige. These unconventional colours can also look grand on the big day, and this is the idea that the creators of Aarong are attempting to establish.
Jamdani saris will be incorporated with remarkable embroidered and printed blouses, helping ladies look regal on their special day. The wedding entourage also has a lot to look forward to. This special compilation includes Katan and Jamdani sarees, paired with embroidered blouses, ideal for any reception soiree. Katan sarees can be worn in bright or bold colours and contrasted with multi-layered pearl jewellery and complementing blouses. Furthermore, the collection also includes Jamdani saris in light shades such as light pink, peach and white, and these can be paired with frilled petticoats or dupattas.
Along with gold, the creators encourage the brides to try out silver jewellery with complementing stones, layered pearl neckpieces and hair ornaments. Hence, the looks are a mix of modern and traditional, and are not only advised for the bride, but also for the close relatives or wedding attendees.
This collection also comprises of saris, appropriate for the bridesmaids, the cousins, the sisters, and even the parents of the to-be-weds. Aarong has prepared similar ‘matching’ attires for the bride and the groom, that are perfect for particular occasions like Holud, Mehendi, Aiburo Bhaat, and so on. For the bridegroom, as well as his family and friends, there is also an exclusive range, that includes Sherwanis and Panjabis. Aarong also provides a variety of gift options such as ceramic dinner set, cushion and bed covers, as well as women’s accessories, such as bags and purses.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
Remember how **** of Utin did the 'Faux Pandemic'
political theater, saying and doing the opposite of what
he knew to be true, in order to **** as many handicapped,
elderly, autistic, developmentally disabled, long-term
hospital and nursing home attendees, diffabled, etc.,
as he could, a eugenics pogrom to steal their SS, 'cause
the repubs couldn't get that done politically for decades?;
oh yeah, it's still going on. 'Oh well, here we go again',
now he's heading up this lame conspiracy, they're all
terrorists, and should be prosecuted as such, will you?
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 2:38 AM UTC
Shimmering in your tomb dust
Unknown bride
Did you play
This wax and copper harp
Only for these clay attendees?
Did you love?
Does this new bright day offend thee?
Simmering in the old earth
With Regal Demise
Did you dance, once,
Just once?
Perhaps your heart is not jarred and coffined here,
But in the eye of some boy.
Did you love?
Is your antiquity for nothing?
Slumbering in the age of pages lost
To this tired, blind reader,
I wonder...
Were I to kiss your shrunken hand
Would you awaken?
Would you play again
That wax and copper harp?
Would you love?
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 9:09 PM UTC
Discontentment always be
knock, knock, knock!
On thoracic diaphragm.
All cavities get filled
with emptiness and the brain
It sees this anomaly, does its great job:
"Fill the emptiness!";
Ironically keeping to the heart's shadow.
The blind leading the blind,
blood is boiling up inside.
Voices keep repeating
Same old eulogy
Attendees deserted the ceremony
Muscles convulse
One last waking breathe
"Wake up!"
As if this some dream before
The the soul floats above, observing life.
The tangibleness of time:
<Fear>
<sadness>
<anger> <surprise>
<happiness>
<disgust>; now reprise.
"Take this drug for medicinal purposes."
$Paralyze
$Numb
$Tranquilize
$Dumb
$Petrified
$Stump
"Why don't you wake up?!"
One loud shrieking gasp
Ooh-aah!
Heavy pants
Agh
Agh
Agh
"That was a close one..."
The dark matter shifted away.
The brain followed its cue;
What was the discontentment?
It hasn't got a clue.
"I only want more"
Said the voices in the brain
"Of life, that is"
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC
Attendees at the game of the gods,
come in three
Pythogorean sorts:
First kinds are the lovers of wisdom,
the second are the lovers of honor and
the third are the lovers of gains.
----------------
Ah, now, now
There is a demon
of the old kind attempting me
to lashout
my flagella and wipe my competitors from the stream
in this
only race that counts,
first and only, no second place in this race
to pass
through
into the egg, where life, as we know it begins.
All I brought, my entire being
as a cellulate entity with a will to win, is absorbed into
her.
Here, she perfects that which concerns me,
my will is done. I won.
Or did the others fail? Should I have slowed and let
another pierce this egg
and marvel at its works, while I am left useless forever?
Nay, or why would I retain this will to win?
Or this will to
calmly carry on, knowing now, this final phase in the course
of compleat being becoming,
slow and steady sets the pace,
right
up to now, k-pow, push meets shove and I win again,
recalling the joy when
I, the wiggly carrier of all that made me possible,
pass through your attentive staring, sorting egg-eye
maybe,
osmotical magical silliness wells up in me.
I was chosen. Or formed to fit, this
complex knot
lock meet for me, the key
ingredi-ant,
in ever stories provoking old men to grow on.
----------
Strange though it be, true,
Isaac Bashevis Singer inspires me, with words he left behind
for just this reason.
From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isaac_Bashevis_Singer>
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 12:12 PM UTC
There will be
discontentment.
Every now!
And then, knock...knock
Knock! It likes to,
on thoracic
diaphragm.
Capillaries
become filled with
emptiness, and
the brain knows this.
"Fill the empty!"
How it must feel
to know but keep
the heart's shadow.
Blood is boiling,
Blind is leading.
There are voices,
keep repeating
the eulogy,
and attendees
all deserted
ceremony.
For one last wake-
ing breathe, "Wake up!"
Muscles convulse.
Some dream before,
Soul floats above,
observing life
in control of
playback time.
Fear...Happiness.
Anger...Surprise.
Sadness...Disgust.
Another reprise!
"Take this drug for
medicinal
purposes, please".
Paralyze...numb
Tranquilize...dumb.
Petrify...stump.
"Why don't you wake?!"
A shrieking gasp,
Oo-oo-oo-Ahh!
Then heavy pants,
Ahh, Ah ha, Ahh
"'twas a close one",
The dark matter
shifted away,
the brain in cue.
What was it then,
discontentment?
It hasn't clues.
"I just want more",
said the voices
in the poet's,
"of life, that is".
Reprise!
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
Another song
Begins to
Catch that
Dancing beat, which
Excites the minds and
Feelings of all around.
Groups and single people
Huddle around, waiting to
Ignite a battle,
Joyful and merry, they bounce
Knowing the outcome could
Limit their times together.
Many cheer,
Nobody is silent or still.
Outsiders slide around,
Prancing to get a look,
Questions are flying from all faces.
Rainfall, the
Situation becomes
Tricky.
Uninvited, the police
Visit the scene,
Wanting no need for
X-rays on attendees.
Yellowy bruises run,
Zigzagging the thrill of the chase.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:04 AM UTC