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Roberta Frosty Apr 2018
“Happy birthday, kiddo!
We got you this drum!”
Were the last words heard in my home.

Now it’s:
Bang bang bang.
Boom boom boom.
Bang boom. Bang boom.
Boom bang. Boom bang.
How fun.

What a fun fun fun toy.
So much **** fun.
He bangs the drum.
We hear the drum.
The neighbors hear the drum.
Strangers walking past our house hear the drum.
People who live down the street, around the corner, across the highway, right next to the construction zone hear the drum.

You can’t not hear this drum.
It’s. So. Fun.
So so so much ****
          -- BOOM BANG BOOM BANG BOOM --
                    Fun.

“Happy day-after-your-birthday, kiddo!
We got you this very soft and incredibly silent stuffed hippo!”

Let us never speak of the drum again.
Francois May 2020
you are probably asking,
why boom?
well, let me tell you,

boom is an explosion of letters
boom is a form of speaking
boom is a thunder
boom is a resonant sound
boom is a Deep... LOUD sound
boom might be a boomer
might boom be bad?
might it be a bomb?
is boom that idea you've been looking for?
is it a reaction?
boom...


Did someone get hurt
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
How the silence greeted her
1-2-3-4-5-alive-next five
We dug deeper get-up
sleepyhead Zzzz
Clock 5:O clock went boom*
Who met her expectation
Oh! Dear feeling deprived
Things exposed
On the Network 5
But not like a **** painting
Dear Boom all your relatives
came in five
Let's save your heart
It goes boom
Didn't come with gifts
to bloom

High expectations realizing
how low your smile five
degree angle
He's the high hands five
mighty spirit
didn't show to really live it
The revelation he had this
clock-wise reaction
Hush hush sweet Charlotte
curved her position
Heirloom she was seated
The pendulum going back and forth

Mr. Fort William Henry
Lake George new birth
  It was all she could say
she looked up at him
Hearing a boom her eyes were his
golden flames soothing piercing
but painful as we know the
war was heartbreaking

She wasn't sure what to
make of the time
He elapsed like the war
within her legs of her flow
Mommy Dearest Heirloom clocks
At her beach house those
charming ducks
She hopes so strongly
she didn’t jump
into his frying pan of words
like trying to read the top of the hour
Her newspaper eating lemon chicken
with capers

  His second-hand clock tick tock
But first, most importantly we
cannot turn the clock
back to undo the harm it caused
But we certainly need new steps
singing in the rain
And relieving our dear ones
  how there stuck
Getting unstuck  but the stick of
the worst Tacky glue
   Dealing with our negativity but keeping
your chin high positive energy
Here it is the song
Day in and Day out how we listened
to it over again

All you do is dig dig dig…
how we conserve energy per unit time
We put our energies into our brains
With the things that don't have
any use for us
Whoa what a dig of nervous love energy
fighting trying so hard to focus on sexuality
Our bird and the bees
Trying to balance our energy
E=MC -2  that mass movement
He booms my speed of light

the truth of things will set us free

Your the one going solo just go
That pounding and higher ground
How I feel like the piece of rare meat
Clank  clink there he goes boom
Another drink
  What's to think my dead nail beat
Strongheart needs attention
to smooth the beats
How he leveled all his baking cups
to show
her she was his equal

What happens to you
when your day begins
Do we have a second to think
Have a  French kiss Vermouth the warm drink
How can we undo something
How everything remains deep in our hearts?
Something touched your hands it spooked
your thoughts having a retouch
being a good sports nothing gets to me
I am not getting  touched by your words me
My dear boom wasn't enough
explosive words
We develop like a wasp of yellow jackets
How does this entire world deal
with such terrorism? Bloodstain pockets

But not having the time
to tell someone
you love them
because your days come to
close to the end
The drummer boy or the
a thousand drums
marching soldiers
like a bomb will succumb
still on his limb

We visualize more what love really is
All the basic pleasures or nightmares
day in and day out like the song continues on
your digging way down to find something
it's huge so major song flat minor to the surface

The game isn’t over were out
of love down to zero
Like time management oxymoron time
beyond like anger management
regardless of our lives
He retreated one arm against the
mantelpiece his eyes surprised
engagement turned clockwork
burnt orange
so irritated beyond a different time
She was expressing her love and pain
moment of time how she couldn’t
gasp for air

The sensation got stronger how
she was being watched making the
right or wrong moves
With an effort, she forced herself to
straighten her body to behave but her
the mind really needed to function
He sensed the last word rock paper
scissor boom of logs into the
stillness of the room
Emboldened she allowed herself
to see the contour of destined time
contours shaped his face

Like the French Emperor Napoleon
power request so many derogatory
stereotypes
The morning mist was lifted by the time
The Robin responsible for the
past and future
how different time became wanting
my time back
Like the Rehma time flow electric
mechanical clock numbers
How the Heirloom perhaps her time
might have been doomed those deep digs
Like the women movement
Ane her deep mind Goddess of  yoga
her terra cotta hacienda
Her name is Gina he was digging her nails
She had the grace of a ballerina
That dear core of our brain
That cozy warm inviting library
Orient train
Digging out our old grandfather clocks
some of the names
Ingram 1828 Ansonia 1850 and Gilbert
rocking pendulum newton equation
of physics how were fighting for time
and space getting into the light
How someone is born with the
proverbial silver spoon those compounding
assets of his time clock heirloom faces
To dig relive to hug a dear moment
just goes boom
But I will never change my old room
This is an ancient time of love story how something ticks like a clock but it works like a bomb feeling body numb we must move ourselves to another time is this possible dream or Heirloom change the scene like a love science
MSunspoken Dec 2019
Stomping on the ground
BOOM
Yelling, yet no sound
BOOM
I wear my invisible crown
BOOM
So unnoticed by the crowd
Yet on the inside I’m screaming
I have personality!
Boom
Boom
Boom
Look over here
A person needing help
Come to my aid
Before I’m buried by my shell
I cry out loud
When someone appears before my eyes
I reach out my hand
But i’m stopped yet again
My mind- is yelling
ButI  I think
“My heart tells no lies”
And so the tune continues on
Boom Boom Boom!
This is the next poem for my challenge! This one was written for the quiet kid in the class. Even though he doesn't talk much, I think he has more to say then he'd like to let on.
Nellie Manning Sep 2014
Boom boom bam! Went the bombs,
and I shreiked with fear,
we were safe in a bomb
saftey place, but that did not
stop the fear creeping,
creeping in, and frightining our
frightend world of fear.


"Boom bam bam!" My little sister
shreiked, and even with our fear
and fright we all giggled just a bit,
but then we heard the bang just
outside our walls, and were once again
consumed by the fear of the frightend
world outside - fighting for our world.


"Be quiet now dear Jennifer,
hold onto marney now!"
cried my dear brother peter over the
noise of bombs falling, falling, the sound
of bombs falling, the sound
of fear death and dying,
"Dye!" they seemed to screech,
outside in the world of fear outside.


The army was fighting people were
dyeing, it was all to much for me,
and the last thing I heard before
I fainted away, was dear little
Rosemary crying "Boom bam bam!
Boom boom bam!"
hi all, this is my first post on this site, and it's based on my nanas experiance in world war 2 (she is marney) and yes I know I said "bomb saftey place instead of a bomb shelter, but that is only to make it rhyme.
Thanks for reading!
Nellie
Man Lee Feb 2011
There is a man walking slowly in me
And he’s going through each room, one by one,
Turning on all the lights while passing by
Stripping the scenes with silver dollar eyes.
With a flick of his chicken bone finger
The kitchen lights violently flare up
To reveal tomato stains, upset
Stomachs, windows and broken table legs.
“Call the medic now!”– In the living room
The lights just found choked up throats and down town
Sticky red wine stains that bleat beat up
Little lambs for little peeps and little
Mistakes that become big scabs and big scams
That swallows the shallowest of waters.
Now the man who certainly loves the light
Is in the bathroom where the peeping brights
Gouge and grind the snuffed and lying young man
Till he is but the pulp and rind and juice.
“Where’s the medic?” Screams the mad running blood
“Where’s the ******* medic?” They cry again.
Now he tricks the porch light into being
Forcing it to leer upon this **** scene
Of a man barely living, most likely
Sleeping, with a garden hose stuffed down his
Gorgon throat seeping– weeping – all at once.
Where is he now? The man who loves the lights?
He’s walking to the impressive bedroom.
The lights wrestle and work the shadows down
Looking for the living, the last one home
Hiding away just in his underwear.
The man of lights opens the closet door
Just takes a look at the creature’s features
When he has finished, when he has remarked
He marks the skin with light, then tears it off.
He takes each muscle each tendon and bone
And throws them, crashing the walls as each falls!
Boom boom! Goes the muscle through the bathroom
Boom boom! Goes the bone through the kitchen
Boom boom! Goes the tendon through the bedroom.
Boom boom! Goes the heart through the rooftop
Boom Boom! Goes the head through the frondoor.

There was once a man that walked within me
And he has left the lights to burn on and on
© 2011 M.Lee
Jackie Mead May 2020
Boom!
The water flew down the flume
Childrens laughter, lifted the gloom

Boom!
The bride smiled at the groom
Time to get ready for the honeymoon

Boom!
A golden watch, a beloved heirloom
Its loud tick tock filling the room

Boom!
The guard stands outside the stateroom
On his head, a hat made with filoplumes

Boom!
Closing the door of the catacomb
Removing myself from the gloom

Boom!
Children sitting in the classroom
Come alive when the Teacher hits "Zoom"
Eager now to consume

Boom!
A pharaohs body entombed
In a pyramid in Khartoum
Known only by a non de plume

Boom!
Flowers sit in a vase, abloom
Their subtle scent filling the room
No need for extra perfume

Boom!
I applied for my job with my resume
Perfect for the job I assume
Now working all day in a storeroom

Boom!
Found my way to the bar room
Whisky, *****, ***, this is my favourite playroom
Now a jukebox to play some tunes
Nothing too serious, I set myself a little project to make mini poems rhyming with the word Boom.  I've tried also not to repeat too often. Given it a go, let's see your efforts. With Boom or another word of your choice.
Ajani Jan 2013
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
i enjoy the air rushed below my feet
love me hardly, a splendrous treat
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet

cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
the intergalactic hate makes one a fool
lust of the item, human as the tool
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool

boom boom tunes tunes boom boom
nothing but ignorance fills the room
dance and sway right into your doom
boom boom tunes tunes boom boom

cool cosmetics cosmetics cool
infinite love yes thats the rule
embrace thy brother dispose the tool
cool cosmetics cosmetics cool

sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
let us enjoy the air rushed below our feets
may passion alone lift us from seats
sweet serendipity serendipity sweet
Eryri Feb 2019
To say you are a Junior Doctor
Would be an understatement.
To say you are fit to practice
Would be irresponsible.
Your bedside manner
Leaves a lot to be desired.
You break your Hippocratic oath
At the drop of a hat.
You hand out prescriptions for Calpol
Like it's going out of fashion.
You tell me to take some pills
For the slighest of chills.
You take my temperature
And tell me I'm fine
When the reading says just 29.
When you check out my heart
You say it goes:
Ba-Boom Ba-Boom Ba-Boom Ba-Boom.
But I'll cut you some slack,
You may seem like a Quack,
But if I insist on a free medical
Then I shouldn't expect expertise
From a Doctor aged but 3.
A metallic flash of crushing energy and voracious sound exploded through the facade of the Union Station. The sleek classical columns and Constantinian Archways crumbled into a zephyr of advancing smoke and billows of dust. It was like watching the collapse of Sampson after a haircut at Delilah's.

A flash of light
and thunderous sound
knocked all the people
to the ground

chunks and bits
of concrete flew
the Union Station
in a whiff just blew

apart into pieces
dust and jagged glass
nothing withstood
the tumult of the blast

scattered and broken
in desolation lives ended
innocents slaughtered
dreams suspended

what vexed and angry force
could light this terrible torch?
crumbling arches tearing keystones
this iconoclastic scorch

a sickness you say
of body, mind and spirit
too aggrieved and resentful
derangement gets the credit

ghostly shadow's gather
specters of force and might
pervasive threats devastate
some will not return home this night

happenstance of time
fickleness of fate
strange coincidentals
all pass through this gate

Who set this fuse?
who lit the torch?
that blew apart
our country's heart

a mind of ugly sickness
and a soul full of pain
a heart bent on malice
the definition of insane

does the culprit stand in glee
at the carnage of this act
does that type feel anything
for this murderous attack?

What profit them
from the agony of terror
holding our imagination hostage
only compensates the bearer

Before this dreadful perversity
all sat well in the land of plenty
freedoms serenity guaranteed
citizens crowned with sanctioned liberty

but the evil doers hate us
for our beliefs and what we have
this heinous deed of mayhem
alone shall make them glad

whoever lit this fuse
and lobbed this bomb
rest assured ****** terrorists
we'll place you in your tomb

The sirens blared throughout the plaza of the station littered with debris.

"*******. *******."

"What happened?"

"Whaaa"

Sirens blared.

Cries lifted up to the Lord. Moans and groans of incomprehensible injury were uttered.

"Where is she?"

"Donna!!"

A young cop came running from across the street. Unable to comprehend what he was witnessing looked on with shock and awe overwhelmed at the extent of the damage. He stood astride a dust covered cabbage patch doll. He kicked it aside.

"Jesus Christ." he gulped.

"What happened.?"

Boom Boom!!!!!!!!!!!

Indeed, what happened?

John Lee ******
Boom, Boom

Washington DC
8/2/09
jbm
Spiros Zafiris Dec 2012
the co-pilot, seated on the left, would scowl
the pilot was more amenable to small talk,
on this, our free ride: Miami to San Juan

the brother-in-law gave us a choice,
Puerto Rico or Equator
the ten or so days of our sleeping
on their living-room floor
were fun, the first three days
and he, a Miami airport guy,
offered one of two free flights

having chosen San Juan,
and not caring about the blood-thirsty Bermuda Triangle,
there we were :
in a C-24 cargo plane with its load
of five race horses, well stalled, well fed,
large, leather, hay-full pouches easily
accessible in front of each stall; one in front
and four others; two behind the first
and two others behind these; far
down, in the tail section, sat a man—
his job, caring for the horses

I don't know much about cargo planes
as a matter of fact, it may have been a C-26
but C-24 twirls my eyebrows more—
and I didn't expect it to be so cold up there

soon enough, I found out
we wouldn't arrive in jet-preen time,
perhaps in seven hours, or more

my love, cushion-comfy on the floor
next to the captain, stared, as I did,
to the ever-present, mountainous stars
housed not in mere magnificence but in abstract vision
you will learn much, staring at us,
we both knew we heard
by the briefest glance at each other's eyes

hour after hour fleeted,
my lovey fast asleep, captainside:
the first boom didn't startle
but the horses knew better
soon enough, the yoke started to jump
pilot and co-pilot, 30-year veterans,
tried to reveal only Calm
but the co-pilot started talking to
San Juan—I was to discover we
were, perhaps, forty minutes from the airport
then: neigh-EEEE, the horses
crazied themselves, each kicking
his stall—for, by now,
the one boom had transformed into:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!--constant BOOMS
and the yoke seemed to fly off
the captain's hands

at one point, as the co-pilot rose,
I could swear he briefly pulled his hair,
as he went behind the cockpit—searching, searching

he found what he was looking for:
a 20-gallon can of fuel—but it could
have been only 10 or 15
my baby was still fast asleep—the horses,
by now, had gone berserk—the caretaker, at the very
end, seemed to be having a spiritual experience,
ready to enter heaven; I may have seen an angel's
hand on the ready


speedily, the co-pilot unwound the cup
of a thermos and handed it to me
I was thinking: they will never find our bodies
and almost dared to awaken lovey;
how she kept on sleeping was a case of
supernal intervention

and lo and behold, the co-pilot placed
a finger on a tiny hole, leading to the fuel tank
and ordered: hold the thermos cup and don't shake—
I'll fill it and you pour the fuel into the hole

there we were:
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!--constant BOOMS
heee-heee-heea—horses
voicing their concern
and with the first cup-full, I didn't spill
a drop—but there were more than two
hundred—perhaps three hundred to go

every time more than 7 drops skipped
the little hole, both the co-pilot and I
deathrattled in nightmares of unclogging vascular tease

we were twenty minutes away,
by this point, and the plane
started to hum
it must have been more than 280 thermos-cup
loads, the little hole accepted—and
perhaps 3 or 4 spilled down

was, perhaps, 3:00 A.M. when we landed
my love started to awake as
the wheels hit the runway

the airport was quite empty
of passengers or, almost, anyone
I wasn't in a great hurry
to tell lovey

mostly, clearly, I remember
us passing the pilot and co-pilot, inside,
after a while, sitting on chairs facing a closed snack bar

such blank looks I've
never seen, before or after;
a crippled fuel gauge pin
almost killed the horses
~~
..Dec. 24,2012..© 2012 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Ram; reaching into
the poet's mind
~~
rarasaurusREX Jan 2014
inka boom,
cha cha,
inka boom,
There goes the beat,
flopping up and down like someone whose not so sound asleep.
An infectious treat,
vibrating into the minds,
if so inclined,
on repeat.
They slowly accept defeat.
Trying to restrain their souls.
Yet, it's nothing you can see or hold.
Here there is no such thing as control.
The rhythm is institutionalized,
forever living within our thighs,
causing arms to quiver
hearts to shiver
souls to forever flitter.
As the joyous smiles begin to resurface
acceptance is gained,
hearts reclaimed,
bodies enthralled in this unconventional game.
And we dance until we become insane.
inka boom,
cha cha,
inka boom.
m May 2018
the overground, the
boom-boom, boom-boom,
the repetitive rhythm
of youth, of you, of
your hands between my thighs,
of yellow-golden-brown
sun stains on the wall,
of yawns interrupted by kisses.
that train lulled me to sleep,
it opened my heart and
it broke me, silently,
into a saltwater version of truth;
where am i? what am i
supposed to be doing here?
why can't i see you?
i scream into my pillow
these rhetorical tortures
until my throat is numb and
my head feels like
that train;
boom-boom. boom-boom. boom-boom.
i can't stop thinking about that **** train
Zoe Sue May 2014
Maybe if I'm buried beneath these sheets long enough
I'll melt into them
Chained to the bed
By a fatigue dressed in fuzzy pink handcuffs
With your name scrawled on the side

Ravaged the light from me
So if I don't see the sun for long enough
I'll convince myself I'm not real
A figment of someone's imagination
Sent to tell them their taxes are due
Their fly is undone

Convince myself that if I stay still for long enough
I'll slow my body to a leaking faucet
Lethargic sleeping pill slow motion
My heart will beat the way I imagine yours does


buhhh





boom



What a heart you have




buh



boom



A beat
As though living is an art I could just master



buh




boom


Like loving was the art you couldn't grasp



buh




boom

Maybe if I dream about you enough
I'll stop having these nightmares about being alone




buh




boom



Or maybe if I peer over the edge of the bed
It'll look less like a cliff than I thought

Buh


Boom

Maybe my feet could find the floor
You once swept out from under me

Buh Boom

Maybe I will stand without your hand to steady me
BUH BOOM
Maybe
I never needed you much at all
His suit is taggered. Bullet holes and tears but finely pressed and clean. Still recognizable as a cop's beat uniform. He unsnaps his gun holster clip. No one uses the old guns anymore. Electronic laser weapons are the fad in the end times. I got a Desert Eagle .45 that has something these fancy tech-lovers don't. Two point three seconds...

You see, it takes a Lectro two point three seconds to charge-up and that happens to be more time than it takes a 'cowboy-movie-loving' quick draw to end you...

"Hi boys! You've got a Buzz here I see? Well...time to move along and let me buy the next round 'eh?" -I say

"Look, there's a drink shack right about a block up from here. Let me get you." -said with a wink

The three look rough as they all do out here in the runs. That's the wasteland roadways in the inner cities. Least that's what they are known as these days. If you're guessing the futures part of that wasteland you got it right. The last war was the Great War. The one that ended all government. Now we have two realities; the corporations large enough to maintain some order and the publicly disordered nightmare.

You'd a thought systemic breakdown would have released the minds of the many from their company masters but it was quite the opposite. Those left and afraid flocked to join the barons making them even more powerful. I work for one of these new titans; Altria Group.

The three look at each other with queer smirks and grins as if their figurin' on what move to make or perhaps figured it already? The middle one draws his Lectro-gun...bad idea.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Three down. I walk over them to make sure,

BOOM!

...one last slug in the ringleader's face clears this route. These ******* have been hitting our trucks for weeks from this alleyway. My shots draw out more vermin...Chicago is a mecha for filth. Our heavy operators in the dozer-rigs clear the blockages but it's up to me to stop the vagabonds and hijackers. Only losers don't have a job.

"Well boys you had the chance to take this one to the bar and drink it off...instead you got a buzz still ringing in your ears!" -I tell their dead bodies while reloading my clips

That 'buzz' would be me, Buzziah. I'm The last cop in Chicago. Maybe the last one in America, who knows?

BOOM!
BOOM!

Down go two more ****...I hate sneakies. I lean down to make sure my body cam gets a shot of their faces. I get paid by the ****. My bosses at the cigarette company still want to see their faces for some reason. I never ask, I don't care, I'm just a camel cop...

"Sounds like a ***** joke..." -I say out loud

I know it's confusing. Reynold's used to make camel cigarettes. I'll light one up while my brain explains it for you. When it appeared that the U.S. government had lost control...the major multinational players took action on their own. Some of them, like my employer, they literally killed their competition. Thirteen years later they're the only game in town for smokes, jobs, housing, protection and food...and I am the only cop left. I stop a ****** running by,

"Hey you stop!" -I tell him

He freezes and stares at me shaking. I'm a bit of a celebrity in downtown.

"Do you like the uniform or what?" -I ask him

"Uh-uh-uh man, man just let me go I ain't after your loads?"

I chuckle deeply inside. It is a ***** joke after all.

BOOM!

I turn on my Beats-Sat uplink...

"All clear on routes a-go, all routes a-go..."

Switch the channel to the network Apple link...******* rap. I love it. I catch a tune on the heavy guitar riff and backbeat intro...

<Double forty-fives, double forty-fives>

<YO> -chorus

<Jumped out the War like G I JOE!>

<Landed gig/wid Nort Gruman.>

<Patrollin' my beat as-a-GUN MAN>

<Double forty-fives, double forty-fives>

<BLOW> -gunshot sounds

This feels so right. I hop on my motorcycle and tear-off.

Time for my buzz...

I am the Lord's Strength.

Buzziah Willis...remember it.

I run the streets of downtown Chicago.

I am the law here.

"Wanna smoke?"  He says to the air.
The Last Cop short story intro. Buzziah Willis.
Ovi-Odiete Aug 2016
A Collaboration between Ovi Odiete and Evna-Luna

Bring me rain, rain, boom


Bring me rain, rain, rain,
Let it boom or blossom due
Sunsets kissing the earth
Sky filled with crimson's view
Flow river flow,
Run, earth run
Bring me days unending waves
Days unending tales
Bring me rain, rain, rain,
Let it boom, flow, grow

Evna-Luna©

Sun kissed earth adore the air
Mild blown tears falling freely
Give me paradise, blue or white
Give me years true or through
Bring me rain, fall, fall
Days of glowing health
Trees on river's fronts
Bring me through a broken seal
Give me love that sweeps me in
Bring me rain, rain, boom
Ovi Odiete©


Give me night, nights, boom
Watch me moon, stars, sky
Give me paradise blue, white, blue
Bring me rain, fall, boom
Give me days unending bliss
Give me years unending peace
Bring me glow, glows, boom
Give me earth and paradise blue
Watch me sleep, dream, boom
Bring me paradise blue or white

Ovi Odiete and Evna-Luna

A collaborative piece/poem between

Ovi Odiete and Evna-Luna

© 2016, all rights reserved
A piece of poetry conjured as a collaborative poem
Ken Pepiton Dec 2021
I suppose, all that has been said, is said to have been contained
in the canon… what I means to say, I mean
everybody
knows
its eber-tongue
hen en-I,
Enkidu, where are you?

Dusty trails, speak well of water on this way.
The deer and the antelope drink every day.
In the time
I was alive, many lies fought for my attention.

I knew more than one thing about every thing,
I thought I could be of best use
as a sharer.
teller of told tales, singer
of the songs in the air, and then
there
was radio,
and I was a child,
listening… with many more of my sort than anticipated
hearing white noise laced with wishes once
made bound to regulated times and steps
- odd boom boom doom boom
-on and on as tellers call all ye told old tales come in
free
right way to keep time to come
become time to go be,
- odd boom boom doom boom - odd boom boom doom boom
-on and on as dancers call all ye  ol'doe-see-doe
- edge of ever on a tiny spider's kite, we are the light
weyekin, we guide you, when you listen,
this is the way
walk ye, init, set
drop. Settle, solid, si,
walk the canyon, our grandfather, on my mother line,
built, and as he built, he
J.C.Boyett, met a man, willing to use a picked up magic
trick to make a trail to the bottom,
for to make somebody rich
prospectin' for batshit,
yep, nitrates, as in
nitro-glycering, stabilized with tarry pine saw dust
twist
tight, right, in a Mason Jar, metaphorically speaking,
if we agree to make this easy,
we can move the invisible crystal mountain. AI gotcha.
thinking may
be a giant radio, making us think
reality has this.
This and other resting places, landmarks, history set
for me, I was only there, one of the other Gumps,
who lived to rear unbroken children,
free from financial dread,
at the common level labor class,
endentured and polygripped

we can bite off more than most can swallow,

as collected from bits and pieces of literature,
literal retelling of tales told to teach
a child choice,

choose the good and hate, wait, hate

ta, beel gotta be paid,
the attention, usual tip to jump start
an actual engine
https://biblehub.com/hebrew/2870.htm

Definition: "good for nothing", an Aramean (Syrian)

who says, idunno, but AI may, say may is my word,
may obeys me, as if I may know any thing
to any depth. And never interpret the vision as reason
for war.

Truth to you be, flush the lies you know now, you hold,
to hold others to the task of paying attention,

for nothing, save the use of knowing how to
read, when you wish to know
the meaning of a thing, any known, on any level of life's
pearling swirl of pushing and pulling and playing

no winning innings or taking bats,
or running laps, prepped to punish any who displedge
alliegiance to the story as we hold it
now
in our military mind. Semper fi, and they say Boo, Jah
these days, having failed to feel the loss

the faith of our mother's, born up under,
until the time I was alive, simultaneously
with more sublingual mortal minds hearing
Good Night Irene, from those ***** ******
hill billy sangers, boy, howdy
we sang, dang me

re boots
made for walkin'
down hill side, shale,
takin' to a realm of reasons to sense,
not see, but know, a breach

in the barriers we can construct in stories,
now, we got cg, we see all the drama
an instants worth of attention can attach
an insult
- that takes a thousand generations to hit
in a Bible story, an old novel, core cast
architypes pro-fess phet

bet is equal to Prophesyorsci
or greater than con-fess? Guesses are bets.

Set. In a white room,
with black curtains, as seen on tv, after
where ever is breached

and each signal passing skin is in harmony
with each interdigitating arachnoid fiber
cocooning my brain and spine,
Arachoid mater, spider mother, mo'fo, gnoso
gnoshit *** passt the final antennae array to activate

the tree of science has far deeper,
primal laughs

than any mind made up to provoke umph,
umph, umph
as a song, so some day we may sing along
an umph umph song

remembering a certain time, when certain songs
was always secret ethos exoto notta chance

they dance in hell, but in the visions,
always they be dancin'
in the dark
we don't seeum, see, the spirits, are all that
survives, soul
is locked in history whoever tells it same longest
lives, who ever forgets
is helpless. without the filter, pro-vided, and marked
mater
as a brand. the Wombed version had the mods to insulate
the lizard's gift of quick
final
once, held, no flow go no will to be
wrong,
right, we needed to add the topgraphmap thingy

polymerical mira distinct walls with nanomeros singing
or dancing
laughing, yes, yessing yes, is what that is

children laughing, on a cold and dreary day.
What good does it do to say nothing I mean? Who really owns the internet...
Toodleloolove Sep 2017
Boom Boom
How many beats did you request

Boom Boom
How long have I loved you

Boom Boom
Lived for you

your touch
your smell
your laugh

Boom Boom
How long have I belonged to you

Boom Boom
How many beats will be yours

For you
I would give you the world
My whole heart
Whole heartedly
again and again and again

Have I been here before
have we danced to this music
did you speak to the dj
you knew it was my favorite

would you take my hand
give them a show
would you?
you would

again and again and again
Lawrence Hall Feb 2019
Genderqueer contesting histories climate apocalypse social activist make a tax-deductible donation today starting at the advocate level inextricably to reexamine his legacy linked black gender-ambiguous social and political struggles behavioral economics Afro-futurist vision of decolonize this text white boy spear-heading queerphobic witch-hunt singular surrealities queer Shabbat dinners dialogue this trope diversity Rawlsian diagnosis basic earth cooperative existential Marxism for our times starting at the advocate level inextricably to reexamine his legacy linked black gender-ambiguous social and political struggles behavioral economics Afro-futurist vision of decolonize this text white boy spear-heading queerphobic witch-hunt singular surrealities queer Shabbat dinners dialogue this trope diversity

BAM! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BAM!  THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BAM! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BAM!  THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BOOM! THUD! SNAP! BURN! FACT! S.T.E.M.! CRUSH! SNORT! SCHOOLED! WHAM! OWNED! BAM! BOOM! THUD!
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Kenneth Gray Oct 2020
Are you blind? Can you not see?
I do this **** without a thought
I do this **** so effort
Less - ly
Like an old man
sittin in his rockin chair
Sippin on some green - tea
Like I'm speedin down
The highway just free to be - me

Can you not see? Writings like an ***** and it functions like a heart - beat
Boom boom - strap your ***** in and find a comfy *** - seat
Boom boom - my writings all be formin when I'm walkin down the **** street
Boom boom -  Ima be lol'in as my fans line up - boom boom - for a meet n greet.

Do you finally - see?
Its like a mean grean hulkish transformation Ima straight beast.
I be smashing competition like
Michael Jordan - its a straight feast.
Hulk smash! Its a fine treat.
I be swishing all my buckets as they
All be kissin my - feet

It all comes without a thought and
Comes very natural- ly
like a virus - coursing through my veins like a musical dis - sease
Ima sneeze... Achoo!
And pass it onto others - as much as I - please. ***** freeze!
Ima infect the world with my
Musical. - ******

Now that I've laid my piece
While sippin on some green tea
While ridin so free
I hope you finally - see -
Ima straight beast.
Peace!

😂
I've heard alot of people say I write with a style that sounds like it could be music. So I took that idea and ran with it. This was more of a just-for-fun type of thing more than anything. I like it at least. I read it as rap 😁.
Àŧùl Jul 2013
Rhythmically Pulsing,
Unfailingly Beating,
Tirelessly Pumping,
It doesn't until last rest...
It doesn't rest until last...

The "Dag-Dag Dag-Dag Dag-Dag",
The "Boom-Boom Boom-Boom",
The "Bleep-Bleep Bleep-Bleep",
It doesn't get tired normally...
It doesn't normally get tired...

The heart-ache happens,
Aaah-aah-aah-aah-aah..!!
Tired-old rig starts failing,
The fading "Dag-Dag Dag-Dag Dag-Dag",
The failing "Boom-Boom Boom-Boom",
The fainting "Bleep-Bleep Bleep-Bleep",
The pain then subsides to either of the two...
Either it can take a loan of few more years or..
It halts ultimately to relieve itself & the bearer.
My HP Poem #352
©Atul Kaushal
Stephanie Lynn Mar 2014
Scarred for life
That's what they call it
You know, when you can't sleep at night
And you wake up to the sound of your heart
Pounding
Boom. Boom. Boom.
In your ears
In your soul
You have no choice but to go back
To the time that made you feel just as
vulnerable.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
There it is again. Now your mind is awake.
And you're  thinking of every bad thing
You have ever gone through,
And you're thinking of every bad thing you have yet to go through
That you could go through
That you should go through;
You see how the mind works?
Now it's all your own fault.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
No wonder you're scarred for life.
(C) Maxwell 2014
Evna-Luna Aug 2016
A Collaboration between Ovi Odiete and Evna-Luna

Bring me rain, rain, boom


Bring me rain, rain, rain,
Let it boom or blossom due
Sunsets kissing the earth
Sky filled with crimson's view
Flow river flow,
Run, earth run
Bring me days unending waves
Days unending tales
Bring me rain, rain, rain,
Let it boom, flow, grow
Evna-Luna©

Sun kissed earth adore the air
Mild blown tears falling freely
Give me paradise, blue or white
Give me years true or through
Bring me rain, fall, fall
Days of glowing health
Trees on river's fronts
Bring me through a broken seal
Give me love that sweeps me in
Bring me rain, rain, boom

Ovi Odiete©*

Give me night, nights, boom
Watch me moon, stars, sky
Give me paradise blue, white, blue
Bring me rain, fall, boom
Give me days unending bliss
Give me years unending peace
Bring me glow, glows, boom
Give me earth and paradise blue
Watch me sleep, dream, boom
Bring me paradise blue or white

Ovi Odiete and Evna-Luna

A collaborative piece/poem between

Ovi Odiete and Evna-Luna

**© 2016, all rights reserved
A piece of poetry conjured as a collaborative poem
Becca Brown Feb 2012
Somewhere inside me
is a heart beating drums together
boom-ba, boom-ba, bang
it goes.

Anyone can hear it if they
listen close.
Anyone can hear how
broken I am

But I'll keep
wandering;
looking for that heart
that beats in tune with mine

Baboom-boom, shatter,
it might say.
Click clack clang,
it may go.

But to mine I'll hold your heart close
because for mine it was meant.
Two halves of a lost puzzle.
We'll patch each other up
with our matching hears.
bobby bielik Jul 2013
The witch in my heart casts an evil spell
I bow to the graveling heat of her breath
She cries, beats she stomps and she stomps
And there is none to release me from her arms

The day will come…..boom, boom, boom…..

Like a rag doll I take the beating and roll away
When I awake I realize nothing has happened
Dreams, dreams of fear, of something coming
A solemn drum beat …banging in my mind

The day will come…..boom, boom, boom…..

Death moves my way like the tide at night
Ever near I feel the ebbing silence shearing
Another day another hour she takes away
Death is the breast which I suckle at night

The day will come…..boom, boom, …..
BB2013
Chloe Howell Jul 2018
Boom,
One person dead.
Boom,
It was a shot to the head.

Boom,
Families in pain.
Boom,
Everyone's going insane.

Boom,
Another school blown,
Boom,
No-one even gives a moan.

Boom,
A shot to the head.
Boom,
Your best friend is dead...
jonathan valonis Jun 2010
Pop, Pop pop, Pop, Pop, Pop pop, Pop,
Boom, Boom boom, Bfff, Boom, Boom boom, Bfff,
Shsh, Shsh Shsh, Ffwka ffwka ffwka,
Five, Four, Three, Two, Oooooonnnnnneeeee,
Boomdth, Boomdth, Boomdth, Chwochit, Chwochit, Chwochit,
Boomdth, Boomdth, Boomdth, Chwochit, Chwochit, Chwochit,
Chwochit, Chwochit, Chwoooooochhhhhhhhitttttt,
Now get down, I get down, Now get down, I get down,
Bwahhwow, Bwahhwow, Bwahhwow, Bwahhwow, Bwahhhhhhhhh,
Vooooooooo Booom, Dtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdt, Boff, Da, Dede,
Dtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdt, Boff, Da, Dede, Dtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdt, Boff, Da, Dede, Dtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdtdt, Uuuuuuhwaaaaaaaa
arco iris Feb 2013
I ripped off my arms so I wouldn't be able to touch
But I still felt the softness of breath and the cold of the wind
And I felt you on my lips
I ripped out my tongue so I wouldn't want to kiss you anymore
But the ache was still there
I felt you in my heart
I ripped out my heart through my ribs, and broke them
So I wouldn't feel the boom boom boom boom under my left breast
But the ****** hollow chamber echoed in remembrance
You are everywhere in me
I tried to end it all so I wouldn't know pain anymore
But this phantom body still feels it all
Wrap your arms around yourself
Run your tongue over your red gums and feel
The chambers of your heart in your chest
Boom boom boom boom
Dave Williams Dec 2018
round two... FIGHT!

dumm tck-dm dm.. dm dumm
bmm tck-bm dm.. du shakashaka bd..d..d..d..
dumm tck-tck-tck-tck.. dm dumm
bmm tck-bm dm.. dm tika-tika-tika, bdmwe-yo... o

sha-sha-shikki-shikki
dmmm, bdumm be haa-aaa
shikki (boom boom boom boom boom)

tsk-k-tsk-k-tsk-k-tsk
tsk-a-tsk-a-tsk
tsk-aaa, bdumm dnene
bdumn dum dum.. bdamn
(bduh, bduh, bduh)
bdum dumm... tsi-a-tsi-a-tsi-a-ka
btsi-a-tsi-a-tsi.. tshhhup
(bduh, bduh, bduh)
bdum dummm wiki-wiki-wiki boom tcka-tchka-tchka...
btsi-a-tsi-a-tsi.. tshhhhh
(bduh, bduh, bduh, bduh)

boom bah bang chk chkachka ting
tsk-tsk... bdubudu-dubudu
boom... tik-tik chkachka ting
chkachka, chkachka...
chka ting
Inside a dungeon my heart lies quietly
Not beating for anybody
Still waiting for the magic kiss
To make it flutter alive again
But
The first time a man held it
Dropped it and let it break
Since then I couldn't repair it
But I believe if you
Hold my hand tight
Pull me close to you
Give me your strength
Together we could do anything
I believe in you
I believe you can make me believe in us
Reassemble the pieces of my broken heart
Do not let it code of the floor
My heart was a stone
But it's beating again
I thought I would never feel it drum
But…

… Boom
Boom…
…Boom


…Found that extraordinary guy
I simply hope he won't be a lie
Please open my locked heart
Please save my stone heart
Ken Pepiton Apr 2020
2020 - day 103 -- a long and winding story, fun, I re read it twice.

Wednesday, April 22, 2020
8:04 AM

Pharoah-ism is a thing.

It's in a class of words holding forms for governing,
herds of humans,
who can be fit to the form, walk this way,

like an Egyptian, indebted for all your worth

Trillions and trillions, soon enough,
the ghost of Everett Dirkson laughs at
another billion attributed to Carl Sagan,
"we ain't even thinking real money any more."

To whom does the government of, for, and by the people,
owe all the nation can invent

Some day we will learn each bit of reality, but

we, as a specie, a valued mod on the base line
must access our global brain.

China -- that is -- the military mind of China,

has egged on
the military might of the USA, offering hope

for all-out war on peace, for no reason.

War has never had a reason for which any good
could come. Never.

And I will defend to the death your right to disagree,
but not your right to fight and destroy me.

If peace and war were to meet on a distant shore,
peace might move inland, but

now, we meet here on earth as mere ideas empowered
by the codemaker; peace and war

tete a tete, cabezo y cabezo I betcha, like dos cabezos

peering ahead on I -10... on the road again...

this is a changing station stage of life...

fold down time.

monster employers, users and maintainers of
common flesh and blood eyes, ears and hands,
people of the commonest class;
some times sitting in boxes,
some times standing in lines, sometimes

watching welder robots do your dad's old job.


--- capital
= money = time.

Gotta minute?
Invest it in imagining you think, as in,

think

who holds those, no, not those,

these truths, these factions of the whole
truth
faction, not fraction,

truth
and nothing but as sworn to on tv via mirror neurons
and solidi-fied, pur-chased, caught, netted,

in plebeian pledges of allegiance from first
grade, in the sorting of useful citizens,

some may serve at the highest levels, lifted via
lessons proven learned in standard tests,

-- number two pencil, fill each box, complete-ly,

so a machine can discern your answer, and punch
through the insulating paper, to signal
each bit of evidence

coming into piles of assorted usefull knacks,

mark this one. Feed him Wattie Piper, make him
think, I can
think, I can, think, think a little think...


We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of

How did Einstein think?

AI ai ai, we know. Not in words. Einstein was taught to think

in whatification. What if I

--- nail the sun to the sky and feel the earth move me at
-- twenty-five, or so
-- thousands of miles
per fifteen three hundred and sixtieths of a day
-- and a night, one whole day...

but N D Tyson taught me that trick, not Einstein...
and not all things count as worthy,
relatively, of attention paid.

The worth of a thought's open door invitation to the curiosity we
enjoy


Semantics (from Ancient Greek: σημαντικός sēmantikós,
"significant") 
is the linguistic and philosophical study of meaning 
in language,
programming languages,
formal logics,
and semiotics.
It is concerned with the relationship between signifiers
—like 
words, phrases, signs, and symbols
—and what they stand for in reality, their denotation.

On the subject of secrecy in general,

ah, no, we've no secrets, for here we have no truely
believable lies,

the truth will out, we say.
Life ain't fair, death had no hope, that's just

the way it is.
Wait and see. We had ein kleiner Gedanke, once
upon a mythical histerical time,

ah, think of any first blood in a world of secrets, such as we

formed from, even in famine, some seed was sown
each season,

some seed remained from first story peoples, preserved
in sacred places, safe,
until the dawning on you, that this is true, life always wins.

brightly lighted stage of history

no weakness... save where the blade meets the soft flesh
beneath a noble head bowing to think


fringe brushes my gnostic-itch, son of a gun,

son of a blade, edge, point

pierce the air, no pop, no apoptosist apostasy, see

we use words with no definitive meanings, right?

significance is cast aside, who cares
that's just semantics, I don' quibble bout {sign-if-i can-sense}
significance
or sign.
I wonder did we double down on a word righting there,
did we give meaning to a barely breathing

wind born lie, some interruptions signify engagement of

a clutch, a tool to grip the wild spinning trans-
*******, while

we slip into something more comfortable.
A higher, cruising 12 to 1 gear

My neighbor from two hills north, is coming to sit a while,

the guy has been called Cowboy, as a name, since all his siblings
knew him.

He is a walking archetype. And my friend. We share some burrs,
from wild meadows ridden on sole leather,

leaving a steaming auto-mobile by the side of the road,

aaah, the interruptions {more, with Oliver gone}

any line in context, is a step past last, a first of all the nexts

Nexts?
Options. Who determined this? My will being to discover this
fringe connection to the persistence on the fringe

of string theory strangling struggling

genera general, whole sorts of hu-mongolian signif-if-if ier yous.

Yous guys includes girls and nobody makes me say,

wombed AND un-wombed, man. So yous, youse, y'all you all;
you,
samesame, okeh. Plain and subliminal, wait and see. Losers win,

when they stop fighting fair.
Die and see what happens,
or imagine
you
know some body who did die and before he did he said,

Hide, and watch. AND now, you see,

caution once cast to the wind, calming all the rage required

to oppose the forces

¿? quare, sistere, wait, feel the urge to know, a click calque

see, new old idea, an old idea studied to the point of a word
formed to signify a set of things

cal-que-able, in curios kurio terms derived

from Phoencian merchants, who set up benches in all the ports.

Users of money, milkers of the exchange, worth-ship of silver,

balanced on the craftily formed me-assuring thing,

eight silver tid-bits makes one golden one, tid-bits fit

fingers, excluding thumbs, for thumbs play a role

mechanically in holding any thing, even

steady -- com-pre-hensive press press sure...

you got it, knowledge

ex-spands into wow... did it work?

Did we make a handle? Or a tool? No pressure, guess.

And Dave Goodman, rides into the west, with a QVC Lid-Lock

full of fabulous pasta cheese and celery, with peas.

A culinary experiment conducted by the grandmother
of all my grand children,

a most mazing teacher of balance's pre care-ious role

on an inclined plane sure to flatten the curve

--- are we in historical moments a generation long,
--- with second generations arrows
--- never quivered, these shafts I shot by faith at unseen things,

for which I have reasons. Were now the war,

we all agree war always cost far more than its worth in death,
robbing life from mankind,

unaware if there ever were a gospel truth. I say don't study war with carnal weapons.

Words carry us into real contextual contests for human sanity as a whole,
we can make peace,
we all can breathe easy, loose the tight jibbs {jaws}, gritted molars, loosen up...

Historically, it seems riddles became de riguer in ifity, but plainly,

only surviving stories survive.

Science knows no story which was eaten up and troubled m'bowels and made me know

boom boom boom, montezuma's revenge

in the spirit kah-blewy con ef ef ef fectual fervent

prayer/sayer saying/praying in timeless harmony

if we can agree... no good we imagine can fail,

let chirality meet diversity and error meet ciliation

conciliate celebration,

conciliate (v.)
"overcome distrust or hostility of by soothing and pacifying," 1540s, from Latin conciliatus, past participle of conciliare "to bring together, unite in feelings, make friendly," from concilium "a meeting, a gathering of people," from assimilated form of com "together, together with" (see com-) + PIE *kal-yo-, suffixed form of root *kele- (2) "to shout" (the notion is of "a calling together"). Related: Conciliated; conciliating; conciliary. The earlier verb was Middle English concile "to reconcile" (late 14c.).

take away my anti-grace, de
ify my chance appearance,

dance, mirror neuronically, sitting your chair-saddle,

y'put y'left foot in behind your right and

boom
y'hit a but, but this, but that, but some other thing,

you got only so much mortal attention,

so when one door closes, whatever you need, is not there,

here we see the old wise man who saved a city and no one knows his name,
he say, redundancy of instruction is the way of life.

fectual per effing e fect, non sensicle semantical ice, Gibsonian ice,

no sweat, we are wrapped in white linen,

we broke on through and waited for you.

Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also.

words we remember were words
meant
to stand tall understanding all things


differently, re
reading, the scene from Night Scenes in the Bible,
that
was a level of knowns
effectually un provable but by
common movie-complex unbelief release, let it be

-- lower missing efs, finding more attention {behind the scenes}

ef-fectual is conjugolly confusin my prudent nature.

or higher, north or sout, plus or minus h

who cares. We made it. This is today.

Meek inheritance day or the spirits judged by the degree day,
a holi
day
in which they trouble their own house, and recall the point that
pierced their own soul,

so to speak,

survived hating your own self for other's sakes,

sakes meaning  goodness and graciousness which

constitute the happy bits in ever,
the treasures found,

where a man's heart is,
my diamond farm is yours now,

my gift to you... only words.

I inherited the wind, my job is to finish melting the ice.

God and sinner reconciled is a song,

does that make it less true?

For us, ever began before today,

so today is that day or it is not, we wait to see

or we wait and see, seeing if

this were the day, when all things go my way,

or come my way, in the course of human events,

I may be ready if readiness is some form of kurios

assurance, blessed, said *****, in a song,

I agree, blessed assurance,
Hey-sus is mine, find his words bring comfort

2020 paradigm shift is common parlance, Cowboy uses that
and logos regularly and he is

old, by mortal standards, for an archetype he's barely ligandary
to most receptive sub caudal imps.

they can feel

him biting the bullet,
gritting his teeth on the Gerber Bowie-wannabe blued steel
blade, re-imagined in reread instead, bullets bitten can go off,

I know a kid fired a deadly-for-a-mile bullet,
with a hammer and a rock, so, knifes are dangerous, too,
so
as a mime-ical biting down, per
haps this hero-in-forming bites

a wooden drumstick, beating now with one,
biting down on the other
boom
boomto doom boom
boom
boomto doom boom... and as the beat goes on,

fringes find loose ends and latch on...

Dirac was an early Cher fan, and she was something like dys
lexical survivor of the year,
if she can, anybody can
I think I can read faster than

hmmm, slippery *****,
speaking memes as old as I remember, then

by the time I wondered if she were real or
a con structure
I lose my footing

slip on something comfortable, this promises to be

that night, in the legends, just prior to a marked, edge of night,

ever after post. Will you still love me,

tomorrow.... deeedly violins lift away any hope

of redemption, oh, ma, it was 1963, you had to have me

to sing your blessing into,
to hide your gift in me, no one must know, oh god
bless his heart...

no part of this vision is clear, nor plain, why is this my beatrice
cockatrice

Olden day, Robinson's cowboy preacher son, sowed a saying in my
core, I sup-pose, put
his phrase formed
an ever more pleasant link to Wikenberg,
on this shelf, see, we can remember the target by re

reading... remembering never drink from the Hasayampa.
and you can tell the truth
by
aquiring point on conscience. Taking thought.

Ethos keeps insisting we are in some offensive mode.
Thus the call for concentration, we are tunable now,

on some oldies but goodies websites...
Kenpepiton.com, for one.
mytechpeople.com is possibly in the archives.

Calebland.com long left to a bland b-break lacking dash,
early urls. imaginable as answers to
either wishes or prayers,

or desires... unseen, unthinkable tools to augment a

satisfied mind, completely ******, no direction home...

here, my heart, my contentment container,

at the moment, indistinguishable from any mortal concept of heaven.

Robinson's father's saying: {remembered just in time}

some times you have to stomp your own snakes.
he may have said, you gotta stohmp yerown dam'snakes,

but never would he have said: one must stomp one's own snakes.
Long -- but a fun run, kept my mind from waxing sentimental on the loss of my dog.
is Corrie ten Boom´s Favorite Quote.


The Master Weaver’s Plan

My life is but a weaving
Between the Lord and me;
I may not choose the colors–
He knows what they should be.

For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side
While I can see it only
On this, the underside.

Sometimes He weaves in sorrow,
Which seems so strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment
And work on faithfully.

‘Tis He who fills the shuttle,
And He knows what is best;
So I shall weave in earnest,
And leave to Him the rest.

Not ’til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern, He has planned.

by AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Based upon research, have discovered that more than one person has been credited with authorship of this poem. For now, have decided to list it as “author unknown” until there is further clarification. Corrie ten Boom.
These words said Corrie ten Boom, the author of many many books. I feel honored and humbled that I may show you this poem she constantly presented in her life as a token of love to God and let you know about her. As Corrie ten Boom said the true author of this poem is still unknown. I am only the one who gives through.

with love, Sylvia Frances Chan
Wednesday, 20 December 2017
CORRIE ten BOOM is a Dutch Evangelist who rescued many Jews from ******'s hands during WW II. She had traveled around the world to tell about the many Wonders she got from God during her life, especially during those war times.

— The End —