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Bryce Jul 2018
And I will make sure that if anything were to happen,
It would do little to affect you.

It's not everyday
You find a goose that lays eggs
With speckled jewels and golden flakes

The world is full of incongruity
And there's no doubt about the certainty
That something bad may happen,
And we don't want that, do we?

So listen carefully.


The world is a giant carboniferous spicule
Hanging in a nest of hydroxic gas and particulae
Spinning within the gaps of a blackened dome
Of limitless space and out of control
There is no telling what way it will go
There is no prediction that has fortold
Any number of moments in this tumbling slumber
Between the darkest hell and the further horizon

I so deftly advise you with all certification
To please place your bets and fly by echolocation
Your eyes will mislead, your ears will displease
And there is no way we can refund divine warranties

This machinery
has a half life of quarks
And energies that vibrate into other orbits
Trajectories
Retaining the spin and informative piece
Of that golden goose let loose amongst the canopy
Of dark,
off into neverland, straight on
Till new morning,
Beyond the stars

So please good sir don't migrate away from me
I have so much to give and such pain I have seen

Those that fatten their goose with **** till it quacks,
Those ravenous souls who ate their gift for a snack,
And when life finally cuts them down to their last,
They will howl and yowl and pray that goose back.

This is a game,
Have a good little laugh
Don't waste your time or your money
On a daffy Aflack

Policy that keeps you policed to the earth,
No way to fly,
Stuck in the dirt.
That is no way to live in the dream,
That is no way to let death trickle in

So please, pretty please, make sure you have coverages
And a couple extra dollars in the pocket of those jeans
Wander freely, you great big atomic bomb, you.
Do catastrophic damages and I'll pay your dues.

Ride the road coast to coast,
Fly a bird 'round the world,
Take a truck till you're home,
Find a love you can trust.
Find a place where your egg
And your legs seek nowhere else
Lay down those roots,
It's Eden or bust.
In the narrowest of lanes
I found the sweet shop.

Behind dusty crumbling glasses
dozed the old keeper
smelling of sugar, milk and sweat
over fossils of Paleolithic sweets
on a time machine from the century
he never was
to a millennium he doesn't bother about
clinging onto clay by pottery
not succumbing to synthetic
counting not on android
but accounting on parchment
with the art of finger's arithmetic
most intricately scribbled with pencil
announcing progress is a trouble
not designed for the simple
and contentment has no more nitty-gritty
than price and quantity.

Over his head
spiders worked and reworked
from the ceiling to the glass
as have been doing
since Carboniferous.
Jens Malmgren Mar 2019
The Cambrian period had 7000ppm of CO2 in the atmosphere.

That was a time of the perpetual fire.

Even though the solar luminosity at the time was 4% weaker than today, the earth was much hotter due to the free amounts of carbon dioxide.

Slowly chemical weathering and living organisms bound the carbon in the atmosphere so, at the time of the Carboniferous period, it had reached 180ppm.

The earth was much cooler. A wonderful time with 34% oxygen in the air.

Then after this period, flood basalt eruptions, such as the Siberian traps and the Deccan traps released vast amounts of CO2, and this caused the earth to heat up again.

That was an inferno. 90% of all life died.

This followed by slow weathering out of CO2 and subsequent cooling.

When the CO2 levels are in low and balance the earth temperature change due to the Milankovitch cycles. During such period the climate always changes.

We even had ice ages during this period.

Now there is no flood basalt eruption at all. This time it is we humans who released the CO2 in the atmosphere. It took us one hundred years.

Earth will be warm. It will be hot.

(Source: youtu.be slash r7aZ6vqCk2E)
Sea lilies
I see as silly
sprawled and feathery
arms lift: either
a birthday child's
happy waves
or the crone's
hunger-mad flailing.
Ethereal, they sift
nervous ticks
drifting down with
the dwindled since
carboniferous
seas rose from
an obsession's
bad-mouthed drought
to my sorrow's
sadly doubted drowning.
The miracle of
this one thought
circles up to me
at a glacial pace.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 License.
Nigel Morgan Apr 2015
for my Sidcot Friends

Two poems on Encouragement

I

She rose to her feet,
and sitting a few rows behind
I could not see her tears
as they coloured every word she spoke.

‘I have been thinking,’ she said,
‘of my dear sister dead
this fortnight past.
Loved by all whose lives
she touched, home and abroad.’

With some courage this woman
then described the memorial service,
the church alive and packed to honour
her sister’s life, a life of encouragement
always given with the kindest words,
and her wonderful smile, always.

II

His delivery was achingly slow
every word measured right
on the cusp between sense
and no sense, but ******* the memory.
Fitting somehow because his subject
was the movie ‘The King’s Speech’,
how he and friends had focused
during their Lenten study
on Bertie, the stammering monarch,
discouraged and made fun of
at every turn.

But,
befriended by a commoner
this future king was encouraged
to know that he might speak one day,
words of hope, of resolution, of courage;
encouragement no less - in a difficult time.

(to be read with aching slowness . . .)


At Meeting


‘For each and all
we need silence and stillness.’
So she had written . . .
and we were certainly
silent. Still is a harder
state when sitting
on those wooden forms,
benches well-bottomed
and the floor at our feet
creaking like planks
on a ship’s deck
in a stiff breeze.


Presence in the Midst


I hope for His presence.
It comforts me to know
He had been here before,
sitting close by, waiting.

But, lately, I am removed
from the Promise and the Gift,
and not fully awake, the silence
droops my shoulders,
bends my back so the daughter
of my friend (and partner)
wonders, ‘Is he asleep?’
No, I say when confronted
later. Not I.
Resting perhaps, and
just relieved from the sentry-go
of imagination’s so
persistent commands.



Heels Together


In spring sunshine
on a wooden bench
by the circular pond
I sit to listen
to water’s spray
and play from
the diver’s fountain.
Here a pair of sculptured feet,
body and limbs immersed,
and into the lilies disappeared.
But with the heels so neatly together:
to make a smaller splash.


Seven Hills


I’m surrounded here
by the Seven Hills –
Callow, Blackdown, Dolebury Warren,
Sandford, Banwell, Crook Peak
and Wavering Down and up
again and back to Callow.
These carboniferous limestone heights,
Mendips all, are home to the peregrine falcon,
geranium purpuleum, the long-eared owl,
and *dianthus gratianopoltanus
.


Sunset


Sitting alone,
with only the sunset
for company,
I watch an orange globe
fall, fall behind a distant
hill hiding the Severn and the sea,
a spring evening and the birds
in song before the approaching dark,
the rising moon, the solitary stars.



Four Yurts in a Field


‘Speaking truth to power,’
The Guardian said,
‘Questioning authority,
Challenging the status quo’
and so  . . .

Four yurts in a field
make for a centre of
simplicity, truth, peace
and equanimity all
quite inescapable here.




Singing Easter Sunday


We sang as we do here
on Easter Day this joyful
noise together all and sundry
to bless the day with music’s
Concord and Time, rhythm
enlivened by the Sweetest Charity,
flipping the wings, tingling the feet.

When every empty bar did give me leave
I caught her singing smile, her sensible
shoe-standing stance, her grace,
her peerless beauty in that grey
frock falling just to stockinged knees.
She was all and more and ever
I could wish her ever to be. Amen.
An Easter Settlement is the name given to a Quaker gathering over the days of Easter Thursday to Easter Monday. It's a time for families, food, fellowship and fun. Quakers don't actually celebrate Easter but they nonetheless recognise its spiritual importance and see it as an opportunity for reflection and friendship.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
(Subtitled, when all that burns is burnt)
So many firstlines went by before the machine started
Humming such a small sound it may have been
vibration of tiny hummingbirdish harps strings
-----Tuned too high for most folks
-----To hear.  here.

----- we're.
----- now all we ever caused is behind us
----- becausing, not the future changes
----------Nor the past,
But now.

----- Scene: Cottonwood Arizona municipal court, circa 1969 --

So you are saying all that has happened is an acto'god?
(like a urge t'bedone) Demi-urgic maybe, but
not magic, jest miraculess right use, right time rhyme.

-----Yah, yer honor, I we be saying that action
-----that was gloryfying, yah, tha's wha'twas.

Was that agreement?

-----Aye, no, 't'was not'ing.

String theory?

-----What? No.
-----Not not knot, you know, know things
-----caused before are gone.
-----They are not. Nottings.
For good?

-----Aye,yah, glorybe tha's truenuff

----
Many ways angle away from here
No one knows which goes where
Everyone knows at least one goes to ultimate good empty of evil
But liars all say they better be believed or everyone is lost
I do not believe that
I believe those liars all really live in imaginary realities where everyone
Is made to be some thing or other and
to make his/er/its own path
Where no man has gone before
Lots of liars do believe what they say
they cling on
To old ideology ever learning, never the truth

In the universe
they think they live in
on the wee tiniest bits of reality things are never the same.
Totally unpredictable, Heisenbergish but impossible,
to see, so they lie
Saying there was nothing, then everything,
then bang
we be here now and that's how
You do

bettab'lieve tha's'its'the law, man,
made to keep order.
You never get a say, in the universe they think of as reality.
Verily, us,
We think not.

Twixt times….


But the gas and oil the fossil fuels of every ilk be gone gone gone
Your idea of god done that?

-----S'mam did and done deed.

How?

-----Tectonic slippage magnified the magma tide rising to set all that fuel on fire at once.
-----Blood and fire and vapor o'smoke, smog, ye' know.
-----Like old LA or Nue Beijing

Why?

-----Near earth fly by, not inside the limit, but close enough for higher than before
-----Tidal tugs on all earthy fluids. Seems the fossil fuel fields were really the world's,
-----All one layer of detritus, clumping in an ebbing flood every where at once.
-----
-----Wood and rot and defunctus of all the flora and fauna that floated up from before times, as the water receded from the earth. Days of Noah, post-deluvial.

So it was that when  
the mountains and valleys rolled like sweepers head high at Malibu,
Cracks big as four or more Marianas trenches,  
Magma fountains burned through  
Carboniferous stratum on both sides of the new rift valleys
And burned like hell
feeding on all the compacted flotsum covered by new alluvial plains.
-----
Late news:
It has now been confirmed,
By corporate funded sources,
that all the oil and coal were made at once of former living things that were
Covered by the finest particles of rocks and lava
when moraine dams failed
and floods of failing ancient ice rivers pushed past to the sea
alluvially covering all the world's stored up sunshine.
With mud, to rot,
All around the world.
At one time. And it's all connected actually part of a whole bigger thing still.

Or was, before

And now it is gone. Even frakking, gone.

-----'S'mam ferever burned gone so it is glory be.
Supposed possible fictional reasonable sticky
nerwo bol:
pier watroby:
nie roby:
traby...
kurva pieklo
zazlenllo!
zas.. za was kurva GAZ!


jebena
przekrzydlo...
jablio
jablo blow *******
and eyes to heaven
poinsed:
as much as christ
is the little big tragedy
of the ******
then let me stage a 2nd crucifixion:
in space:
on the launch...

my two psychiatrists are:
your birthday is on the 17th September:
my work colleague
Chris
sorted me out
while i was rummaging through
my paper driving license...
i have a paper driving license...
i can send you all the proofs:
the English want me out!
they want me out of here!
they want me out of England:
they're kicking me out
with the Syrian Jihadi Brides
they want to task the American
immigration authority
concerning a Mischter Bond:
Baker Street and Liverpool Street
are my two favorite stations
the District and the Metropolitan Line
my two favorite colour:
claret and green...
i needed to weave the New Millwall into this:
claret and pine green...

first ached the liver
like Prometheus the historian
talking about pre-dinosaur times:
like finding something in
a monkey:
the death spiral that even cats fear
cats have nightmares:
if they see a man
being...
courtesan to the insects:
the birds then try to inquire
of the man
who is benevolent to insects:
and in insects the Crown of Creation...
the Kippahketer...

        if christ is X and you are X and that makes
the woman: christ **...
then help me, please, help me understand
the X of the christ to the Y of the man that
tries to relate to him:
in his little miseries and injustices:
hardly bitter:
consoling you:
then spending 7h listening to you sleep:
then i hallucinate your daughter's voice
through you breathing back
and she's playing with the radio
and fine tuning you snoring to a radio station...

of the Scots in London, Millwall:
of the Danes in London, New Millwall:
Scottish dockers unloading
ships then as couriers of the King James
Bible...
said unto the Anglo-Saxons:
a Saxony of all blue: azure: a Reconquista
of the Ancients and Rome
a litany of secrets...

       to reconquer the dead
and wake them from their slumber:
until there will be a friction with christ
because a second wake
would last more than 3 days and
this time there would be no resurrection
no harangue of hell:
what a? harangue of heaven: the heave?!
the air? and the light?

as maria the great grandmother one
who should have been a nun
that one: the first time i bit off some tooth...
and burned a burgundy rose
to the dark shade of bishopry... darkest blood
purple...
alone in the kitchen where she would
sit petulent and in deep prayer
constantly praying:
when my grandmother her daughter
called me: Ancimonek... Ancimonek...

new colours: to compete with the Hammers...
optics:
claret and pine green...
forget the Douglas
and the McCurryMurry...
    gay pride of intellect my oi! oi! oi!
oi!
Aussie Aussie Aussie! hoi hoi'n'hoi! hoi!
oar! my slavish friends!
roar! oar! roar! oar! arbeit macht frei!
arbeit macht frei! oar! wind! sails! sails! sails!
oar!

i'll make this a great tragedy:
i will craft me a mummy chamber
and the anti-cross!
i will craft me a shipwreck
in which rats she
chew...
and crawl with worms throughout
eternity if:
i am to sanctify Golgotha...
the anti Eden...
the Serpent so plastered the night before
that he was probably hangover
when he was crucified
that's why Judas betrayed him
because Jesus lost his Virginity at the Last Supper
with Judas' girlfriend...
so the Roman Soldier kindly asked
while... all guts and hanging:
soaking the sponge
with wine...
so... mate... how was it? having ***
for the first time?
well! ** ** **! my ******* ***... ** ** **...
Jordan Peterson
and New Christianity:
by my gnostic ambition for conservatism
and pagan enforced:
by the Northern Crusades:
bless this father this house and Joseph too...
why doesn't... anyone...
think... about... Joseph...
i'm anti-Catholic then!
i want the equivalent Shrine as the Catholic
Church as is to Mary
the same PROTEST UNIFIED with
the dignifying: not worshipping:
DIGNIFYING JOSEPH!

p.s. n.b.:
admire how the atheists
and evolutionists
fail to
admit to the Carboniferous and
        Permian periods...
even the theologians stopped
at serpents:
well if we are the sun that shines
out of god's *******:
why stop at dinosaurs?
why not explore what
dinosaurs feared
and said: **** it god: send at a meteor:
let us become homeless birds
make you creates cities
but get these ******* alien insects
out: make a cow to govern Beelzebub!
ugh ugh! ugh!

let's revise Darwinism with
the Carboniferous and Permian periods...
of ante- meta-history...
meta-history!
that's it!
Hiedegger was the right sort of alchemist
to structure my development of the 20s
with the antithesis of historiology:
beyond philosophy of writing:
the poetry of breathing
the poetry of seeing
the poetry of reading philosophy...
meta-histtory!
these tired humans these feeble snakes
and poor liars
forgot the horror of the reign
of the insects:
out comes only Beelzebub
there is no lizard:
no pet: at this point...
there are no serpents:
there is only the dragon
and arrogance
and pride
that contains
this darkest of hours when i befriended
the Lord of the Flies
who foretold me of 2000 years
of the Reign of the Lord Mosquitos...
who would call him Jesus Christ...
but in a period of gigantic maggot squirrels...
you think that:
the serpent came with the apple...
because...
he was not: ******* traumatized?!
by what came prior!
didn't the lizard come as a tongue
in the form of a serpent:
and said:
are not these birds beautiful?!
can you name them!
where was god?!
in the ******* Carboniferous and Permian periods!
among the insects:
the devil asked:
has not enough time passed O Lord
for you to come down and
witness and pray give justice
to my patience...
send me forth the best of your abstractions
within the confines of the imitations of men:
who you puppeteer
and then summon to jest as the high courts
of Karma... and Manna...
for there are two like Hugin and Muninn...
Karma and Manna...

imagine this hunger like trans-:
oh so trans...
this hunger like me imitating your pregnancy...
how long did that telephone call last?
i was lying in bed doing
the Zhuangzhi: nothing: non-doing
altruism: nothing is a pronoun:
gender and nothing as a pronoun?
nothing destroys gender
and your confusion:
nothing is the order of chaos
that orders inconsequential nothings
a pluralism of nothing
of little nothings to be an even more potent
nerve centre of nothing
as the self-cannibalism-god...
for the mercy of fame and outlandish
gestures
like: not managing mortality
and not trying to die old...

can't people ******* see a rock star philosopher!
seriously?!
no one can see the rock star philosophers:
at a time of the height of the Roman Empire...
and some outlaws stopped pillagining and ****** women
and sat down drank a little... blah blah...
seriously?!
the Genghis Khan of the intellectual realm:
that guy who would make us believe
that he's the origin: the i am therefore
i don't need to think...
**** me! **** me  Edie! you want me to fall for
this *******! seriously?!
rock star philsopher that could make his early
followers behave like the Mongols at the Library of Baghdad:
the Library of Alexandria...
burned: by Christians....

now go back: and reread what i just wrote:
that's not a request:
your heart was pounding through the first
reading:
i always wanted to explore the genre
of literature whereby people need
to re-read:
manual language:
no schematics: all manual language...
nothing fiction: nothing automatic:
not even poetry or philosophy and: over form
and modus operandi:
style... something essentially aromatic...
must be a sub-genre not yet investigated: proper...

the genre of writing something
so profound:
it ganers:
the reader to be implored
to: RE-READ... what they have just read.

because you love them:
the last mask of Jordan Peterson fell
off at the defence of Jesus Christ:
the glorified... hmm... incel?!
but Jesus Christ didn't die a ******...
that's why Judas
and the fruit was the labour of Magdalene.
Dre G Aug 2017
today i caught myself not
thinking about you for longer than
one heart beat. i was fooled.
had been completely engrossed
in a conversation with a judge
inside my mind, you're standing
across from me and our apocalypse
is here! she asks
me what i mean, she
hates my people but loves
my pedigree. if she asked you
what you thought of me would
you do right by jesus christ?
what rogue elixir could ever tie
the tubes before your embryonic
lies come spewing out onto this
relentless carboniferous slice of
spinning lava?

parasites
just like your guns,
you reckless bandit.
just like your sons,
a leech on the planet.
Mike Adam Dec 2022
Carboniferous Tree
Heavy with Water
Pregnant with Seed

Diamond holder
Recycler of Dreams
My other Mother

Beneath your Beams
Blows Harmonica
While Dinky the Dog

Does the Howling for me

— The End —