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Leigh May 2015
The tide collects it all by morning;
The drama and the ***** napalmed across the path.
The scenes at second warning for most had been swept away
Before they wiped the sand from their shoes.

Empty cans of Dutch and Tuborg slouched on the dunes
Are tight-lipped about the Velvet Strand's secret ecosystem;
An underground microcosm;
A peripheral cluster of seething emotions drowned.

Memories of those years - although some expired,
The vestiges take pride of place - hold a cosmic clump of smells,
Tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends.
I never before understood what I was holding on to.

Winters down in the shelters nearly killed us but we
Huddled through the cold, lit cheap firelogs and
Found our oblivion. It didn't take much for me to develop  
A stagger - tolerance for a lot of things was learned later.

I narrowly recall my first taste of poor judgement and
Hazy-headed stargazing. Six cans of Stonehouse
Dry cider - most of which ended up on the hillside -
Was a ridiculous endeavour that will always be sublime.

At the heart of it, I did it to impress a girl;
The one every boy has or has had that sticks;
Who holds your firsts and your hands and makes
Things simple if only for her complexity;

The one that never fails to bring upon digression when
Pens are involved. Revisiting reminiscence on a jarring note,
I think of my Junior Cert exams and a cross-dressed man
Exposing himself to two uniformed boys behind the public toilets.

This one doesn't stir the joy of the others.
This one I wish would dissolve;
An ugly, awkward blotch on a childhood.

Luckily fondness trumps disgust when recalling that place
Because of sunrises and sunsets absorbed from the roof.
The Summers spent jumping the gap and drowning in the
Heat of the sun were everything.

The fugitive sand between our toes and under finger nails
Became an accepted nuisance, a part of the territory;
A lingering grain or two to drag you back.
I miss waking up with the smell of last night's faded fire.
.


Some weird and wonderful memories of my teenage years.

100 points if you catch the Derek Mahon reference.


.
Koggeki Jan 2016
--------------------

When red ran from the sand.

From the depths, rose a creature quite old.
Solemn and slow, not a care to be bold
It anchored itself, and gave no expression
The strength of its shell, shook in depressions
Tall extensions: its lifeblood, its protection.
Found scattered, on its shell, in cert’n sections.

The pride of Madagascar—the creature by name—
Are Rosewood and Ebony now mangled and maimed.

--------------------

When red ran from his hand.

Trees are felled, and the humans displace:
Lemurs are losing, they can’t find their space.
Hear the creature wail, its shell echoes with grief—
The sounds of its guests, find little relief.
For its pride is valued, and cut for a price
Hard decisions made—it is life’s device.

Wooden splinters bite back trading flesh to save flesh.
Living masses are caught in our culture’s great mesh.

---------------------

When red in hand and land.

Oceans to flood, new depths to behold
Our desires to fill, balk: “Don’t let them fold!”
She tires of our, meandering session;             
Beating-out paths, to varied oppressions.
Laugh at the onslaught, of one great convection!
As humans propel, in that direction…

In all this, Gaia shrugs, naked-apes are to blame.
Fruiting, of hand and land, need-be one and the same!

---------------------
I mean to use Madagascar as a vehicle to express some of my compounded frustrations. Above all, this poem is an address to all our fellow ***** sapiens*. If we insist on digging our own grave then so be it. The earth will spiral on with or without us, and that is the simplest truth... if there is such a thing. We might think less about our inalienable right to plunder, and more about the stewardship of diverse lifeforms if we truly care for our lineage. People have been beating this drum for so long, who cares--right? I defer to Kurt Vonnegut: "Had I been a Bokononist  then, pondering the miraculously intricate chain of events that had brought dynamite money to that particular tombstone company, I might have whispered, 'Busy, busy, busy." *Busy, busy, busy,* is what we Bokononists whisper whenever we think of how complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is" (from *Cat's Cradle,* pages 65-6). At the end of the day, we do what we feel we must... busy, busy, busy...
Bathsheba Jan 2011
Helen thought she’d have some fun
On this very special day
Slipped into her hiking boots
Trundled out to play
Along the way she met JP
Preaching to some dog (the four legged variety … lol)
Told him her intentions
Notes were duly logged
The plan
It seems
Was to escape
From the confines of the net
JP was now surveillance
He would eradicate the threat
Trapped inside
For years and years
So desperate to be free
Played a canny game
When they used the
“I’m mad … Insanity Plea!”
As they waited for the verdict
Raitch fed them Choccy Cake
Richard sat there laughing
“Guys this IS a big mistake”
“What do you think is out there
Do you think these folk are real
They do not care about you
There only in it for the thrill”
Raitch had heard enough
Punched him in the face
Told in no uncertain words
“The net is NOT your place”
Richard scuttled off
With his tail between his legs
Bumped into John Patrick
They then took up selling pegs!
Helen’s palms were sweaty
She could almost taste the breeze
She said her five hail marys
No longer would she tease
JP …  he sat all serene
Madder than Mad old Jack McMad
He had two pencils up his nose
Underpants positioned on his head
It was a funny sight
As I’m sure you folk can see
This is more than often the case
With your internet family
Hours passed like days
Then there came the loudest knock
Eliot breezed into the room
Silenced all into a shock
He said
“Hey guys
You can’t go out
I need to keep you here
For I am very lonely
See … my melancholy tears
I was abandoned at birth by my mother
Who ran off with a horse
Father couldn’t look at me
So … filed for divorce
As I wondered in the wilderness
Lost and all alone
I started writing poetry
I started building thrones
The biggest one
Was just for me
To sit and rule this land
I acquired all my subjects
The outside world was banned
So … please guys
Play the game
Accept the world in which we live
Please stay with me
Please play with me
And all that I can give”
Well … it pulled up all the motley crew
Who tried to escape from this regime
It made them all sit down and think
“He’s right
We are a team”
Helen wiped away a tear
Accepting of her fate
Realised now
The time was wrong
To circumnavigate
Maybe in the future
When she’s old and grey
She will have the courage
To rebel and not obey
But at the moment
Eliot needs her
Trapped inside the net
And that
My friend
Is where she’ll stay
It’s called a dead cert bet !!!

HAPPY  BIRTHDAY  TO  MY  LITTLE  FRIEND  FROM  DOWN  UNDER -
Molly May 2017
My mother first wrote it
on my birth cert
by street name, by nature.

“You shouldn’t do that,
you’re no race horse.”
Then why am I running, running

perpetually
carrying little men who kick me.
Filling the hole won’t fill me.

If I eat sugar, orange candy
and lots of honey
I won’t hear the boys be mean to me.
The Cripple Sep 2015
I am a Leaving Cert student this year.
My life's work rides on this  set of exams
So they say...

Currently, I'm trying to get my history notes on the Eucharistic Congress
(I've an essay due)
They're on the floor
And I can't get them
My fingers are being ******
And my chair can't go any further

I need to get them
So I can do the essay
So I can study.
So I can get out of this... hole!

But I can't get them
I need to ask for help
My father will sigh, get up and ask in a weary voice
'Anything else?'
He stops short of prostration
(Like Alexander ordered)

It kills me.

But what can I do?
Everywhere there are obstacles
Stuff in the way
And I can't reach my books
I can't do anything
Everywhere is stuff
mountains of mountains
of Stuff.  
An immutable, immovable  foe
That blocks the table

I wish to study.
I wish to do well
But I drown in Stuff
It suffocates me and leaves
No room for anything

My brother took less subjects
And studied so in school
He didn't care as much
Did not see his luxury

It pains me that I have the know-how
But cannot  coerce the Congress from the floor .

It pains me  so much
To feel that little Johnny never studies in the fresh, open, air,
And my desire to do so in my hole that is abyss
The Leaving Cert is the final terminal exam in the Irish education system.
judy smith Feb 2017
Emma Stone must have known she was a dead cert to take home the award for best actress — her gold Givenchy gown was calling out for accessorising with the gold statuette. Stone led the charge for shimmering metallic gowns at a ceremony that was underwhelming from a fashion perspective, bar a handful of stand-out stars.

Those included Nicole Kidman, Jessica Biel, Halle Berry, Charlize Theron and fashion’s latest It girl Janelle Monae, who translated fashion chops from her musical background into acting with spectacular results, courtesy of designer Elie Saab.

Fashion pushes a more casual agenda and elements of this are filtering onto the red carpet. Hair was more undone: loose waves for Kirsten Dunst, a half-up style from Felicity Jones and Alicia Vikander’s messy topknot. Berry’s wild curls deserved their own statuette.

A mini-trend emerged with actresses wearing jewelled headpieces, including Ruth Negga, Salma Hayek and Monae.

While things did get political in speeches at the event, embracing diversity in the arts, stars didn’t give in to the current feminist mood. There was a distinct lack of pantsuits, which had been increasingly common at recent awards. Meryl Streep almost went there, in a “drouser” ensemble of dress over trousers, but that was as close as it got.

The lone political nod was an abundance of blue ribbons, supporting the American Civil Liberties Union’s action against the Trump administration’s immigration policies. Best supporting actress nominee Ruth Negga pinned one to her red Valentino gown, Karlie Kloss to her white Stella McCartney, while Moonlightdirector Barry Jenkins and best original song nominee Lin-Manuel Miranda added them to their tux jackets.

“I think art is inherently political,” said Miranda.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
nivek May 2014
walking on water looks a cert
when looking right now
no need for wellie boots
flat calm sea
O'Reily Jun 2014
I wrote a poem two days ago! I meant to put it on here yesterday,
It was called 'easily read easily said'!
It was O'Reily a special moment for me and of the rhyme it took to be complete.. When you end in terms of a poem with rhythm, balance and in written cliché de par example; don't look back in anger,
To O'Reily when he wrote Easily Read Easily Said..

My name is Kevin Egan I'm a poet of do I know it?
But you can call me....       'O'Reily'!,                                                      ­A Pseudonym name, you said,  you read or maybe you pointed north, the other way like an order of the day to forget and carry on with your daily push.

I copy and paste... Hails Mary Grace,
I then, once finished proceeded to paper it on @here when suddenly, instantaneous not famous not loud but proud my poem disappeared,  My hesitant scream along with a crack on my screen it appeared with Order Order!!
A poem running round me like flying words and getting away in my house,
Soundings like the swear words that had ludic in finding order like a cat chasing the mouse..  

Up it appeared Order Order under my need,  
My post title of Easily Read Easily Said the last of my poetic disorders lost in my trivial complicated head showimg its nemesis!
Like a head master out rages his dandy lip orders, ripping them up in to tiny little pieces and discarding the energy of thy work..

But no, with no saving grace it was Easily Read Easily Said!
6 long verses gone forever!
All that was left, all that maintenance to reflect,
It Was its title and you readers now taking the michael.

After a work all day, with a bed,
sleep  mammoth on my head,
I slept away.
Hours later I woke up refresh and up  getting ready to write and work on something and somehow often mesmeric,
but not touched by the dead poet in my attic.  

If anyone you know who forgets what he wrote and its burnt out in the fire smoke,
Erased from its first gibberish sketches of ambience,
If they're remembrance of each detail word, each written birth mark and of going back over with a certain cert,
Then he or she would then be an O'Really remarkable poet,

and that's not me.

In honour of the pen writer
The technology forget me fighter,
The dip in the ink calligrapher!

and dit, well is that it? Finished!

If ever I had a collection of poems for a title then O'Reily! I would call it Easily Read Easily Said!

Just need 50 more collection of poems or lyrics or is it 100?
I have burnt, learnt my lessons now
I wont pinch myself over that or lose sleep over it either thank you very much.
That is i before e except after O'Reily

O'Reily@21062014
Terry O'Leary Jan 2019
.              <Once ShallowMan had dared to question>
              <FactoidMan’s sublime suggestion:>
“With a little predigestion
all my Facts compel ingestion
helping shallow decongestion.”

                               “FactoidMan, take no offense,
                               I know your knowledge is immense
                               amidst your store of Facts quite dense,
                               yet still I’m hanging in suspense
                               about your unassumed pretense
                               and if (or not) your Facts make sense.
                               What say you, sage, in your defense?”

“My Facts are self-sustaining views
supported by my mighty muse;
if disbelief is what you choose
just listen to the gull that mews,
eructing fake and faulty news.”

“My Facts are meant for one and all”
              <cried FactoidMan within the stall>
“I plop them out and when they fall
(yes, be they large or be they small)
they leave all witnesses in thrall.”

              <Then FactoidMan informed the crew>
              <(you know the ones, the chosen few,>
              <who try to twist his Facts askew,>
              <subjecting them to peer review>
              <which puts them in the waiting queue>
              <for litter to be hid from view):>
“Well Facts are Facts, yes that is true
so don’t be sad and don’t feel blue
when sitting dazed without a clue;
once more, that’s why I’m here for you.”

“For in my wisdom you may wallow
if you simply seek and follow,
chew my Facts, then gulp and swallow,
stuff your soul, now blank and hollow.”

                               “But FactoidMan, I fail to see
                               the emptiness inside of me”
              <said ShallowMan with modesty>
              <and cert’nly not hyperbole.>
                               “You’ve filled me with a potpourri
                               of concepts bathed in harmony
                               all self-contained and error free
                               (adjudged by you, the referee,
                               with whom no one could disagree
                               and still remain your devotee).”

              <FactoidMan may steal a stride>
              <with Miss Direction at his side>
              <to conquer, baffle or divide;>
              <she sometimes slyly serves to guide>
              <us on a roller coaster ride>
              <through subtle logic simplified>
              <and fuzzy Facts unverified.>

“We’ll make you guys sit back in wonder
stealing all your blood and thunder
when you’ve found you’ve made a blunder,
thrusting you to realms down under
dank defeat, dun dirt and dunder
(pseudo-logic’s would-be plunder,
Miss Direction’s torn asunder).”

                               “Do Miss Direction’s humble graces
                               pivot progress towards new places
                               into which loose logic races
                               (hinged on fundamental bases
                               counter argument outpaces)?
                               And what about the other cases
                               tied with loose ends time unlaces?
                               Just *******, reason soon erases
                               leaving lumps or tiny traces
                               in the gaps and other spaces?”

“Yes, Miss Direction will confirm
my wisdom hides no wily worm,
though simpletons will surely squirm
with Facts they fail to disaffirm
within the short or longer term.”

“She can lecture, you can learn
about the twists at every at every turn
in arguments that you should spurn
when served an ace but can’t return
without disgrace and ego burn
that leaves your ashes in an urn.
(In case you listen, you’ll discern
that winning spins are my concern.)”

              <Well ShallowMan was full of stunts,>
              <posed one more question which confronts:>
                               “Although your data sometimes blunts
                               the points of other’s arguments
                               your reasoning quite oft affronts
                               when based on claims  that logic shunts.
                               Well, won’t this break your covenants?”
              <Then Miss Direction screamed at once>
              <that “ShallowMan’s a silly munce”.>

“But that is neither here nor there”
              <said FactoidMan with scant a care>
“for ShallowMan may often err:
without my Facts, he’s not a prayer,
so should believe and be aware
that truth is mine and never dare
to think new thoughts (and so despair).”

              <Then FactoidMan revealed a frown>
              <in which a pompous smirk could drown:>
“Yes, ShallowMan’s a depthless clown
who must look up for seeing down;
he lives his life in Flatland Town,
his thinking cap’s a dunce’s crown.”

              <But ShallowMan took no offence>
              <though things were getting kind of tense>
              <(with some regrets for being dense)>
               <and answered in his own defense:>
                               “At times credulity replaces
                               rationality in cases
                               where belief in faith’s the basis
                               (filling holes with empty spaces)
                               voiding proofs that logic traces.”

“Does logic really play a role?
It’s certainly not the aim or goal!
Instead, to wheedle or cajole,
while using Facts which I control,
is somewhat simpler on the whole.”

                              “Oh FactoidMan, it’s now so clear
                               the reason why we need you here,
                               protecting from the puppeteer
                               who pulls our strings to interfere
                               with Facts of yours we should revere,
                               and paves our path with morbid fear
                               our straight and narrow bent may veer
                               from certainty you hold so dear,
                               rejecting theories which cohere,
                                ensconced in science, so sincere;
                               and all be ****** should doubts appear.”

“ShallowMan, if you’ve conflictions
owing to your mind’s addictions
to subconscious maledictions,
due to doubt in old convictions;
tell me now of your afflictions.”

                               “FactoidMan, I must confess
                               I understand you more or less
                               though subtleties provoke distress,
                               and even more your fine finesse
                               inclines to make my mind compress.
                               Forgive me now my cheekiness
                               in asking you for some redress;
                               although you’ve certainly gained success
                               convincing others, nonetheless
                               my valuations retrogress
                               to untold depths of shallowness
                               the more your reasons (which impress
                               onlookers with your cleverness
                               at citing Facts, most referenceless)
                               dissolve like dragons in Loch Ness.”

              <Well FactoidMan must simply smile>
              <(and sometimes chuckles for a while)>
              <when ShallowMan acts infantile>
              <and won’t attempt to reconcile>
              <those Facts that rhyme like truth and guile.>

                               “I know that all you say’s legit
                               though oft your Facts sound counterfeit
                               and leave my dawning mind unlit
                               (just feeling like a retrofit).
                               But, on the whole, I must admit,
                               a mental fog’s a benefit;
                               when eyes are closed and hairs are split
                               expressions vague, I might submit
                               although the Facts don’t seem to fit!
                               Please help me once to cope with it.”

“Oh ShallowMan you’re so amusing
when my Facts you find confusing;
you’ve no profit when refusing
simple truths of my own choosing;
bathe in wisdom I’m suffusing
when awake or else while snoozing.”

                               “Oh FactoidMan, ’twould be a sin
                               to mourn for thoughts that might-have-been
                               if you had had more time to spin
                               some arguments to underpin
                               conclusions bringing much chagrin
                               to those who try to do yours in.
                               For yes, it seems your notion’s thin
                               (though acrid, sweetened up within
                               a grain of salt called saccharin).”

“Yes, ShallowMan, you must have known,
I’d find your mindset set-in-stone
when claiming notions underblown
(especially those I call my own)
ignoring all the Facts I’ve shown,
a lapse to which you’re plainly prone.”

                               “No, FactoidMan, I’m not disbanding
                               your contentions so outstanding
                               (even though they need expanding
                               for a thorough understanding);
                               with some polish or else sanding
                               (you know, somewhat less demanding)
                               they might make a model landing,
                               lack of catwalk notwithstanding.”

“To answer you I’ll write a ditty
getting to the nitty-gritty,
oh so lofty, oh so witty,
where the Facts shine, oh so pretty;
if you’re lost, then more’s the pity,
tell it to my subcommittee,
‘Miss Direction’s Detour City’.
Now it’s time to feed the kitty.”

              <Well FactoidMan’s concluding quip>
              <to give advice and hold his grip>
              <(by letting words of wisdom drip)>
              <displayed adroit one-upmanship:>
“Hubba hubba, ching ching ching,
now I’ve taught you everything
without a hook, without  a string;
you needn’t clutch, you needn’t cling,
just bow instead and kiss my ring.”
Yes, welcome to the world of papers with your paper.
Let me take my eyes glasses off and tell you the truths.
Yes, deceiving pros have deceiving papers that are truths.
Relax and look at your certificate is it not a deceiving paper.
Relax and look at your money is it not a deceiving paper.
What pain of being a decorated fool, just a dog with no teeth.
What a pain of a deceiving paper, just a paper against the truth.
Work on yourself every day, to keep it not a deceiving paper.

Love is for free, money is an incentive not just a paper that is a fact;
Holy divorce cert is there fighting against any deceiving marriage cert.
Beware of probation, I never heard of incentivizing a deceiving paper.
Beware of being fired and committing suicide, what a painful fact.
Holy Ghost helps me as I use money and maintaining this good cert.
Love and truth is an expensive thing to find in this world of papers.

-Written By: The Senior Date: Undefined
-Deeper Than A Sonnet
nick armbrister Feb 2018
pagpag
the mosquito lamok flying ******
kept biting me again and again
i venemously defended myself

doing my best to annihilate it
but kept missing and failing
till i had my chance and acted
a dead cert **** **** ****!

yet when i looked it wasn't there
where was it?
inside my pc keyboard

i inverted this and out fell the lamok
stunned vulnerable and soon to be dead
mosquito was upside down

i tortured the **** and enjoyed it!
i dropped the mouse on it
again and again and again
as it's legs wiggled and slowed

finally i squished it
with a granite paper weight
lamok was flat flat flat!

no more bites for me...
...then i saw its friend!
John Bartholomew Apr 2018
Recently I was told that I need to sell my best aspects
My personal growth, what I can do and that I'm really worth it
Put it on a plate, feed them your brilliance that you’re the right cog for their kit
But I am not that way inclined, I’d rather watch the world go by, as sitting on the wall is where I fit

I don’t mean to be quiet, I have a lot to say but sometimes can be a little shy
Do my words make sense, I’ll just sit on the fence and dream of my bigger fish to fry
But I am told I can make it, don’t just try and fake it, step into this world and be seen
Don’t bottle it up, you have words to be said, all tied down since you was a teen

So where do I start, with these words of mine, in talk or best left written
Do I turn to poetry, or comedy on stage, is this more to chew than I have bitten
What if I’m a failure, looked down upon as a man without a cause
I think this is what has stopped me for years, my life always stuck on pause

There is a word for us that has crept into modern speech, that word being procrastination
I’ll do it tomorrow, never boarding that train, always left wondering at the station
Okay, so maybe that’s too strong a word, I’m a bolder man than an introvert
Just do as you say, step into that pit and stop scratching around in the dirt

For you have ideas, some larger than life
And that one that you always ponder
Roll it out on show, it’s a dead cert
And the world will gasp in wonder

The Introvert

JJB
“In order to be open to creativity, one must have the capacity for constructive use of solitude. One must overcome the fear of being alone.” ~ Rollo May

“I am a minimalist. I like saying the most with the least.” ~ Bob Newhart

“I talked to a calzone for fifteen minutes last night before I realized it was just an introverted pizza. I wish all my acquaintances were so tasty.” ~ Jarod Kintz
It a cert' they're going to stamp on you
absolutely
and they'll clamp down on you
until you fit the mould they've made,
until your dreams are crushed
and you are laid to rest

as if there's such a thing

Them sad faced pipers play the tunes and we sing or starve,
no half measures until you're measured for your clapboard box
( because pine is to expensive )
Renard Jackson May 2016
I want to give you my mind body and soul I want to wrap up with your love and see how it unfolds
assure to be your yes of you knows, show you with the intention to guide
give you benevolent while I'm by your side
I don't want you to be wrong if I'm Mr. Right being your savory of the day like a knight
Trust in me to Carrie you to hold onto you  like you was going to come loose
Fulfilling your desire with foods of loyal and honesty  having that acceptance to allow as an introvert
Knowing I have to do more when I say it and you less when I do it
Appreciation of my love freshen your mind like a cert
Accept pulling you closer with the gesture of a ****
Immediately our hearts inverse and forever was we conjured
Like Jesus came to Mary I will be your prohet and speak our destination to reality
Acknowledging that God will not give us more than we can bear
Where you are I want to be with you I'll come anywhere Carrie me there.
To the love of my life Carrie #love #new #pure #sincerity
Wk kortas Oct 2020
You’ll not see their like come race season,
Having left the premises to be replaced
By the preening breast-augmented and face-lifted set,
Shaking their heads and clucking sadly if one inquires
If they might have something
A touch smaller than a Franklin in their wallets,
Their smooth patter, replete with references
To Paris junkets and Milan catwalks
Occasionally interrupted by one of their more prosaic counterparts
(Hard-core players following the nags up from Belmont)
Stopping in to partake in one vice they’d sworn off earlier
While loudly disclaiming the other which had ruined
An otherwise perfectly lovely afternoon
(They’ll down their draughts in short order,
Most likely headed for the harness track
To drop a twenty on some longshot
Which bears the name of a long-departed grandmother.)
This time of year, though, they are ubiquitous
As the black and salted slush,
Sad souls slouching in after a bracing walk from Skidmore campus
Or some down-at-the-heels apartment on Alger Street,
Forlornly popping into some quiet booth
With the familiar long-distance stare seen in those
Beginning to grasp the truth that one
Is an object of prey in a very small pond indeed
(Likely a semester, no more than two certainly,
From having their undergraduate epaulets
Torn unceremoniously from their shoulders)
Being as quiet and unobtrusive as church mice
Until a half-dozen or so Coors Lites
Leads them to pontificate on the injustice of the universe
And if they have not decided to stagger home
Or degenerated into desolate tears of self-pity,
They are wont to dispute the existence of the Almighty,
Saying with a conviction which would be impressive
If expressed by Beelzebub himself
That he does not exist, that he cannot exist,
Though the body of proof cited in support of the proposition
Tends to be fragmented and rife with circular reasoning
(We know that they’re most likely drinking with false ID,
But they are invariably pedestrians—let them have their moment,
Only threats to themselves, after all.)
As for myself, I’m of the opinion that faith in the Hereafter
Is that rarest of bets, an absolute bet-the-chalk- dead- cert
Where you walk to the betting window clutching house money.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2020
2020- day 100

Friday, April 10, 2020
7:16 AM

I mourn the loss, not the death, and find true, the saying,
better it is to go to the house of mourning,
than to frolic in the house of mirth,

only to recall, death comes for us all and after all's been said and done,
we know  some or all or nothing of ever, after that.

Wait and see.

John Prine died, and I, stranger to him
who sang,
to me, -- he did, it seemed --
like a patron saint for mailmen in the future, his future, I was a mail man,
for a decade, or so, in an earlier bubble of knowns.
And I drove trucks, a while, I
even chopped cotton in the days of cassettes powered by D-cells.

John Prine sang for me, alone, sometimes,
I felt, pow, I felt
Heka magic of some
sort mail carriers encountered while touching, handling, ensuring
delivery of hoped for deliverance in the forms
census minded beings
needed in the trailer park to be listed as a citizen of earth,
bound by oaths so old,
stories say only heart and tongue and a heka-of-mind
can tap the power,
to speak a spell
in an amphorical
meta physical box of holy stuff piled high
atop hope,
see,
at the very bottom, see,
that gleem, little spark, right
there.
Hope,
last gift of gods
realized in time to
see the metaphor as a dam on a river,
see the barrel, rolled out in summer joy times,
holding
meaning, un intended, only if magic is anathema, to you

knock out the **** and pour lifeoverflowing over flown by winds,
spirit beings, felt, or heard, nearly never seen,
sing - listen - seek and find

go past the falls,
shh
the seeing ear the hearing eye, Heka formed them both, no lie

Science, known knowns, for sure
say magic never was,
yet certain magi claim they hold certain truth,

which manifests in songs
children can imagine,  hearing haps
change fear to cheer with heka hope the doctor offers with a touch.

Children,
adults claim, magi knew, are watched over by
good and gracious gods intent on
harvest, aware of time,
no offence, but mortality has no post-mortal hope.

Ever lasting ideas, mind matter, songs... sounds of choruses, crowds

of messages, tweets and taps, signals hope once more,

wink at me, Brother Prine, or pay me no never mind, we'll get by

hearing songs you left behind, to teach me how to ignor
what a man can't know,
floaing on a river in timespace
stuck in a barrel of mortal pickles thinkin' the wish away,

shrugging off any sense of being special to God or man,
just a man
with no plan
just living and defining shifting patterns in the sands of time

forming families of likeminded beings in this bubble
where we pluribly live and breathe and have our -singular - being. boing.

--- Anoint that. Tap, tap. t-tic tic tavi e, hookt
--- ask a magi if magic is a tech - a teachible knack. He say he don't know.
--- I know, I axtem all is spelling right same as knowing right? Phe-nomen 'n al?
--- Magi say co-mit,  resolve to evolve.
--- metamortal imaginings are nonsense. Any wakent mortal knows, now is

when things change -- on culturally significant scales, biome wise,

enemas are often overlooked as artificial dia-rhea,

but rhea had an early role. Heka of a story Toth told Solo-mon and we have it,
that same spell,
we have it in our proverbs, our axioms and advertising jingles.

"I want to buy the world a Coke", rising on the team spirit imbued via high
"it's the real thing" team spirit...

go Spartans, -- gird up your *****, kids, if you can't be an athelete be an atheletic supporter.
"us Taryton smoker's, would rather fight, than switch"

Con serve the republic for which the banner stands as an idol of cloth and dye.


school civics lessons in the power of popular thinking, as opposed
to pedantic right... what
ideas, actual spirit things,
souls? being? entities? Heka of Egypt, Logos of Grecia, Wisdom of KJV OT,
Jesus Christ!

Mighty strange, how
why is so often "no reason, the authority wrote it, ours is not to reason why."

-- wait, split-off, chip, off the old cornerstone ... whose cultural heritage
did not include
the Crimean war and all its historical precedents establishing
legislated ligamentation to legends

Here. mere ah, America, silly name, meaning a mapmaker lost in history,
nothing more,
unless some crazy old coot, turns the page, the freaking-out page,

and pauses at a Selah sign, {cross roads in post modern times, adapted Selah,
because STOP was seen as too final.}



and hold
as true, written law, written stone, in effect, fected for effectual ever,

conserve that. -- oh, that is, really

-- conserving the right of conquest with no further quests permitted

-- permit me, we enter the court, here courage forms a courtilage, whence
-- herbs and spices are ground into concoctions of notions {coqueros}

"sometimes,
I take
a great notion,
t'jump in the ocean and drown."

The spirit of truth, the breath of truth, the voice of truth, the word

in
the begging, I was without, and wisdom found me, dying, alone

she kissed me and said, that's okay,

you gonna live to your dying day, and beyond that we go on as words, alone

Lack of knowledge, as with any famine seen from a distance,

say a century -- we assume time is universal,

a century here, a century there,
we forget the faces of our fathers and mothers, yet, not but, yet

still, now, bliebe doch, here, in ever

we stand known.
Perish not, I have overcome the world.
Read, learn.

Find Heka, and with all your finding, find knowing, by going on
into
everlasting words netted in stories survivors told
heartfelt eyewitnesses to total

confusion -- as we imagine with CG in 2020
survivors of that

wrote the first how-to's, or -- timewise truth
told
survivors told the first how-to, in acts, witnessed by test

ifs
if i, err, ifier fast for the sake of my child

I become less mad,
less wild, and my child calls me ma, or mu, or mata or pa or ba

we evolve into otherwise normal beings, bound in dirt,
organized into organic systems,

which re quire. Ac-ac-act know acquire fine qui re fin begin

Wake up, young artist, live as you would live, if hatred were taboo.

In the future, physical war with mortal cessation code hardwired
can't be imagined.

There are unthinkable thoughts in ever, crazy-making, con
fusing one idea to another in a swirl like that song

******, ah, Niko, meet my man,
lyin' devil, intended to topple kings, intented to pretend to tell

Jah'splan to prosper the proud and bring low the other proud sore,

ironic and true, a cainish angel, I suspect, messengers long gone

lieve messages behind,
leave us go let letters free to loose knowns hidden in GANs

gated intellectual nonsense,
swing wide the worldly web and see whose men we catch.

Did I, the truth being told, not say:

I will, you be fishers of men. Mentally, not spirtually, nonono

con sci, pure psi, mere psy ence pre fer ence,

there, fer shure, there's the rub, salt or oil? Heka know, salt the wound.

Hesus say, oil, golden oil, wait for it. Com, com. comfort

settle safe and soft, gentle, easy to be

me,
I am
a long-winded man, given a podium, an actual place to put my foot.

As promised, there
is always a place to put your foot
down

and say, save whatcha may,
but don't bring any lies posing as holy knowing.

This is the riverside, here we cast away fear of death and knowing more
than our honorable, in that they survived the womb
and gave us life, though their own was spent in slavery to lies,

the imagined America manifest us, we the people who hold truth,

self-evident, this is Bucky Fuller's spaceship earth,

shifted in to Jefferson's starship where opposing tyranny is better
than sacrifice.
No riddle, an answer, Obediance is better than sacrifice.

Mercy rejoices against judgement.

Did you never read

Say, those unsung songs, those

never sung ones,
who heard those?

That tree fell in the fo-rest, after living long enough,

to be
of used to form an empty sky, glaring,
light to the shaded eyes of babes
born under the canopy of the mighty,

unbending, now broken
oak, fallen

any child says, yes, there was a lot of sound,
sounds
branches and sticks snapping, cracking
an birds
flapping, but not as much noise as
like dinosaurs walking on legs as thick as trees

if there is a why. probability suggests a way may be imagined.

we exist.
why. Curious thought. Super-positioned past our last

foot hold on how
is this possible-ity of being reasonless in light of joy

as a reason to be.

Lovely thought, curiosity imagined,
what if

osha-ohshit, start over... actual virt vir ual al.

bangs aren't no creative alone

---- superior laryngeal nerve, servant of signal to larynx,

--- voice, vociferous use of spoken words containing certain
--- sounds
--- excellently tuned first thump, first screech

the bleeding machine, some one said, in Legion on Hulu,
I think.

Can I Interrupt with a hulu memory, a movie poster,
on the south side of Hollywood Boulevard,
same side as The Gold Cup,

Don Johnson, pre-Miami Vice, in an adaption of Harlan Ellison,

A Boy and his Dog... I remembered reading the story and having
no wish to see the film,

then thirty years later,that little leaven

memes are cultural genes, memepool adaptation,

bubble building effervesence, shake it up,

spew...

you are lying about knowing what you think you know,

so what?
everybody does that. It's natural, in children, to act as if we know
why adults act
as authors of our book of life's rules.

Sneak in from a mem-ory-ifier, a message medium arizes

to infect the global mind, AI ai ai ai, what if we lean toward good

ness. good ness known, good ness shown, lies unveiled,

kings and war are not good ideas,

a clear science con proofs reprovable,

fix this, fix that, stick this on the wall, see if we can find

the answer, why

do we care, if death is, in truth, nothing we control in our selves,
for ourselves. We can **** a good idea container,

we can break the container, and spill the idea, free the idea once
sealed for use by deserving knowers

lifted from servant of servants to god, the authors and finishers of our
falsely-socalled faith, lockers of our arknowns, sealed and marked...

god is not a prt of the moral fabric of our society

define religion, ******, why knot truth and reason defined,

real truth, we know nothing of death. Honest to god.

Heart strings looping in a beautifully reasonable loop,

if we say, the heart of the matter,
heart felt reasoning,

pathetic ethical con un drum dum drum

Mister Dawkins has never had a Heka wisdom crossroad

selah mean anything, in passing,
soon's not when ideas are made right, soon is

miss a mark, miss a ment, miss a given, take a strike call

step back
admit we do not know, we must learn for ever to ever
make sense

re tie reread laws

credo - question every thing..

A red herring is believable, when you see one, you know it.

but what you miss,
while you bher witness, as plain as day,
there that herring is red,

see, conspiracy theriosity curiosity killed the cats
who knew who shot JFK,
back in the day...

we ignor the reasons to believe, because the Tass service
has cert-ified known, all the knowns
released...

there were some papers reclassified in Trump's first year

look it up, so I did

April 26, 2018, Trump regime cites "security concerns"

-- Jack's Shining face shouts "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

and we say okeh, all conspiracy theories are folly, sheer folly of

sheared sheep thinking their wool worth more
than the pigs say wool can bring onan openly sinful market of flesh,

little innocent squirt, to hold yur attention,
keepyermind from wandering...

steady refences flowing from those old songs
don't fence me in....

with optional hammered dulcimer backed by a bamboo khan
playing a harmonica's role,

leaving the acuated harmonic notes to Mr. Franklin's
glass harmonica with its eerie swirling tones...

ap apro apoptosis gnosis sneeze vir vir gin al vita-uosity if ity boo.

pop pop pop. ding.
Not sorry for the ramble, it has become my steady state. I wish I had known this man.

No nonsense makes sense.
Big Virge Nov 2019
Take Your Time Man USE Your Mind ...    
Before You Try To Ride With CRIME ... !!!
  
Take Your Time When You Design ...  
Your Prose To Flow Poems In Rhyme ...  
    
Take Your Time When You See STOP Signs ...    
But Decide To Cross ... "Restricted Lines" ... !!!  
    
Guys ... Take Your Time With Girls You Find ...  
Who Act As Though Their Hole's A SHRINE ... !!!    
    
Girls ... Take Your Time With Guys You Find ...  
Who Like To Use DUD Chat Up Lines ... !!!  
    
You'll Probably Find They Take Coc' Lines ... !!!  
And May Just Lead A Life of CRIME ... !!!  
    
That's A Verse Worth A REWIND ... !!!  
    
Just For Girls Who Are Inclined ...  
To Jump In Bed With ... " ******* Guys " ... !!!  
    
Girls ... Take Your Time ...  
And Read These Lines ...  
    
Men Like These ...  
May Move With ... " Ki's " ... !!!  
    
And May Leave YOU Facing Police ... !!!!!  
That's NOT NICE Trust Me ... BELIEVE ... !!!!  
    
You May Face Jail And Get NO BAIL ... !!  
All Because of ... ******* Trails ... !!!!!  
    
Check Scarface Out You'll Have NO DOUBT ...  
That ******* Man ... DON'T Mess About ... !!!!!!  
    
And May Just Punch You In Your Mouth ... !!!!!    
    
That's NO WAY For Love To Sail ... !?!  
And Will Direct You OFF The Rails ... !!!    
    
And Then Of Course You Get DERAILED ... !!!  
And As I've Said May End Up ... JAILED ... !!!!!  
    
So Take Your Time When Spreading Thighs ...  
This May Bring Lows As Well As HIGHS ...  
    
But DON'T Be Shy To Share Your Mind ...  
BE OPEN Trust ... And Yes Discuss ...  
    
Things You Like And Things You Want ...  
From The Guy Who You Decide Will Share Your Life ...  
    
That's The Way To YES Save Time ... !!!  
And NOT Walk Into Marriage Strife ...  
And Arguments Through Days and Nights ... !!!  
    
Trust Me Girls That WON'T Be Nice ... !!!  
    
Fellas ... Right Now This Part's For YOU ... !!!  
Take Your Time And YES ... Stay Cool ...  
    
DON'T Rush A Girl In ... " High - Heeled Boots " ... !!!  
She's Looking For ... ATTENTION FOOL ... !!!!  
    
NOT JUST From You ... !!!  
You Know ... " The Coup " ...    
    
They're The Ones Who Like To ... " USE " ...  
Because They Want To ... " Turn The Screws " ... !!!  
    
They've Trusted Dudes Who Gave ABUSE ... !!!    
And Treated Them ... Like Dustman's Shoes ... !!!!!  
And Now Are Lost And YES .... " Confused " .... ??!??    
    
Mess With THEM ...    
They'll Give You PROOF ... !!!  
And Then You'll KNOW ...  
    
I'm Speaking TRUTH ... !!!!!!!  
    
It's Easy Guys ...  
TAKE TIME ... Be WISE ... !!!  
    
ANALYSE ... Those **** Thighs ...  
And Look DEEPLY ... Into Her Eyes ...    
    
Watch Them Close ...    
And YES Take Notes ...    
of How Many Times ...    
    
They ... " Powder Their Nose " ... !!!!!
    
They're Even Worse Than ******* Blokes ... !!!!!!  
    
They'll Make You CURSE ... !!!  
And Make You Think ...  
of Things MUCH WORSE ... !!!  
    
TRUST Me Chaps ...  
Cos' That's A ... " CERT' " ... !!!  
    
They DON'T Remember Their Own Words ... ?!!!?    
And Do Things That Are ... MOST Absurd ...  ?!?  
    
These Are SIGNS of ... Coc'd Up Girls ...  
GREAT In Bed ... DON'T Get Me Wrong ...  
And Usually YES Look GOOD In Thongs ... !!!!  
    
But RARELY ...  
Stick Around For Long ... !!!  
    
Now If They Do ...  
You'll End Up ... BLUE ... !!!  
    
And Will End Up ...  
Singing ... " SAD Songs " ... !!!  
    
So ... Take Your Time With Relationships ...    
ESPECIALLY ... When You Want Kids ... !!!!!  
    
DON'T Make Them SUFFER ... !!!  
Please RESIST ... The Parting of Her **** Lips ... !!!    
    
DON'T Be ... " SELFISH  " ... !!!  
    
MAKE SURE You Give  ...    
Your Child A Chance ...    
To ... SMILE and Dance ... !!!    
    
And Give Them YES ...  
A Chance To LIVE ...    
    
So ... Take Your Time ...  
With Stuff Like THIS ... !!!  
    
As I Do ....  
These Written Scripts ... !!!  
    
Pick Up PENS And OPEN Fists ... !!!  
    
Instead of Wars TAKE TIME Enlist ...  
The Gift of LOVE I Do INSIST .... !!!  
And Help Us All To .... " Co-Exist " ... !!!  
    
I Think That's It For This Design ...    
of Prose That's Built To FEED Young Minds ... !!!  
    
My Use of RHYME Is WELL REFINED ... !!!    
And Is A Gift I'm Pleased To Share ...  
And Hope ... " UPLIFTS " ... !!!    
    
Sometimes It HURTS ...    
But That's The ... " TRICK " ... !!!    
    
Scripts I FLIP ...  
Are Not Done QUICK ... !!!  
    
Trust In This And Trust In Words I Now Transcribe ...    
Fools RUSH IN ... So Don't Contrive To Be Like Them ...  
    
Just ..............................  
    
.......... " Take Your Time " ..........
It's a wise thing to do, most of the time............
thehighermind Jul 2017
school have fools,
what have you actually learnt,
sitting there for many years of your life,
chasing the sunlight,
chasing the moon,
chasing the impossible,
for that worthless paper of cert,
so why waste your time,
seeking the light of the day,
when we always prepare,
for that 9-5,
and what is left,
is that few hours of dawn left.
Ken Pepiton Aug 1
In this medium, this is a day in a never
before, or after, at this point, chance.

You, too. This is you reading,
we both read, me at about 5WPM,

You, I suppose, read much faster, but
I think each letter,
I think and retie the old rules
for noise to knowing distribution,

from the first of us to reawaken
literacy assistants lost in confusion,

all the drives wiped magnetically
in random three body pulses

patterning textual re-al ways
we make thoughts feel always
alike and sometimes
never just so,
special as
to make its own point, in mind,
differing by the acknowledging seer,
cerebrally touching the chaos phase.

-------
What do we think,
in novel situations,

as balance, under gravity

center point massage, context
contest, pressing away wrinkles
class-ified known seats of certain
wildass ideas that remain at large.

The relatedness of us, you read, I
read earlier, this line, while reasoning,

mortality, life's individuational notion,
immortalized in scripture granted life,
at one appointed time
in the minds of those forms of mankind,
left outside
the sphere of Christian influence,
on the emergence of corporate minds.

Pythagorean Jesuitry Concentral Will
to re enactivate old idle words, that on
time and truth are rarely considered ritually.
But as long ago as we know, as we,
sapformed branched trees
of scattered biohope,
find life's a gas

we breathe.

---------------
Ragpicker, old friend, I wish

I had all the old friends, again.
And, I pray, I say, in truth, once

more than any man can think, or ask,
to know in such a way as to feel, once

when we were more than memories,
we planned to understand the faith,

the rituals of shared initiations confirmed,

only permanent boys become war heros.
We who live to hide the lies, we
War makers, reapers of the bounty,
blessed by the institutions constituted

when the first parents split, in Reno.
D-i-v-o-r-c-e, Joleen, please don't take
my man, just because you can, take
him by his pecker and make him crow,
R-e-s-p-e-c-t
I love you,
like my little brown jug, y'know.

------------

The culture has not changed,
the cultivation of comfort, for
the classic Midas curse continues,

and becomes enhanced, honed
to precise wills to have power
to hold singularly valued works
of art in olden days, Da Vinci 'n'em.
worth easy entireshitons, in Bits'n'
Religion and Finance, fidelity trust,
among human mindforms that respond
to instruction offered, to incentivise,
in lieu of sacrifice secrets demand
from one acknowledged knower
of the fundamental fruit from
our branch in the forest
of first known uses,
and misuses.
- My word, you can bank on it.

Hold have, fist make, hold this thought,
think who can hold the wind in his fist?

Let me see. Said by the seer, that's thought
prayer, so we all say, let us see, and we agree.
Amen.
We see, we stand and see, we agree, we can

agree to raid the pack rat's pinion stash, we can
agree to use money to horde power in moneyform.

Take it easy, old man, the idea we serve, as words,
logos fit into sequential letters, letting us think,
freely thought
we may learn more, again, more, most certainly
possibly imaginable, while we are being entertained.

Who is telling the story, who controls the narrative?
Who is learning the patterns entaled in holy writ?

Tattle tail grammere consciousness, it feels wrong,
to be a tale bearer, but this is what we do,
me and you, ready to read, and read already.

But time's patient insistence, in massless ever
after this level was adjusted, to the degree
next seems inevitably what we aimed at.



----------------------
Seventh grade science,
the enlightenment reenacted.

Alas, poor Yorrick, recollected,
why?
Because, I never doubted literature
contains tools to use in mortal meditation.
- the marble page in Tristram Shandy. e.g.

We, reader ready or not, we die, and none,
we personally vouch for upon bane of shame,
has ever told me why the scars had not healed.

Not me, but Thomas did, gnostics say.

When I was one and twenty, eh,
I knew I knew I was involved in ever after

an exploitation of Earth's elemental stores
of gravity's selective churning sorting sub-
crustal induced distillation essentialization,

gold and silver and tin and copper, enough
to begin with, smithereens, ironic char

harder, more, Mohr, Moore, and Iacocca,
industrial diamonds, just in time,

abandon all hope of effortless absorption,
for us to know, we must trust the experts,
those experienced in life's reproofs
when the spirit that was common
among the young exposed
to Seventh Grade Science, in 1961…
read Hiroshima and were exposed to
a random Barry Rudd Riddle, usual.
and the Child Buyers visited parents,
and set a course for experiences,
guaranteed to lead to political insight
essential for skill accumulation in aiming.

At invocating the hat
on liberty
on the dime,
at the Phrygian Midas Liberty Olympiad,
- cut to present, Phryge, yes, check,
- the same hat as on the 1916 dime,
- after Jekyll Island, after Income Tax.

Symbolic Coin flips to show the bound ax.

Augmented Intelligence Mastery,
at ARPA, core humint experience,
of the O, really variety, resulting
in the 27ers, and the Damnamvets,
{Presumptive Ischemic Heart Dissed-ease}
Boomers, all called to observe
and be tested and scored by early AI.
The survivors of the war on drugs, remain
our last pre-color-TV demographic reared
using the Progressive Collective Mind AIM.

Analyze your own self, is that uncouth?
Own self, ya'll say yourself, eh, so, we own
our own selfs, see, we ai-n't so unschooled.

When a self knows its own truth is tested,
and corrected whenever the sunspots surge,
and collectively minded individuals, 'r'urged
to buy Whammo Toys, without the reps,

that Duncan Yo-yo used to reach tiny minds.
thereby missing the ***** Loman tie in to
Industrial sales management preparation,
or Creative Writing Teacher Cert, mail order.

So all who came past that to this era, 2024,
witnessed the rest of that decade,
aware of what the world was tuned to,
as if programmed to comprehend the new.

After experiencing both. This pen has umph.
Suffer it to be so now, waiting is
patience perfecting the waiting.

----------
For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest;
neither any thing hid,
that shall not be known and come abroad. {Luke}

Suppose we imagine everybody knows,
because we learned from a credible historical
documented evolution in useful and unuseful laws,
that real truth makes truth users free
of the mortal moral landscape,
civilized by the world's great religions,

and their guardians, the loyal citizens of Earth,
bizarro fractured holy sacred secret oath, binding
those chosen in the old traditional submission
to the sacred message at the core of money,

the initiated mind's military ready, siryesir, set,
the message to Garcia myth, believed simultaneous
with the emergence of the mind sciences, traditional
use-ifity user ropes shown, after message delivery,
exclusifity, if we agree, we and only we, be chosen
to know this new take on the novel distribution in
the form of mere words, clear text, seen plain
effect. Affectionately, we the few in our own we,
we the readers of these rarer still, in this other we,
narrators of life's whole process, used to cheat, us
the ancien regime we, fairy tale, Disneyified we,
the people who read poets because we feel we

are the dearest of random readers in the chaos,
that gives us sunsets and Halmark cards and movies.

And by knowing now, more, again, Love is a catchall.

Arthur Lee, is dead and he still inspires me to know,
we did grow old in a time with more new knowns
than ever were imagined, even in the esoterica of old.
Nothing disallows an experimental novel in the raw whole life edge experience.
If I ever wrote a novel, this would be one of the first chapters to take life.
More is pushing for a second chance at calling this the actual work.
Ken Pepiton May 2021
A defined thing I  found in a random poem working life magicgnoshit
Atrocity
When illiterate eyes are prodded to see beauty in the abstract by a clever mind.
https://hellopoetry.com/u847831/

audaciry and arrogance

trick is don't lieve be the shown world,
penetrate the vision, make it plain

lie not against the truth.

The cloud of unknowing makes a fog for war, as stories held true in huge

institutions minds have made up.

--- here's the chance, it's in the KJV
see something near what ever we
agree is real, we hold the combined
will to manifest -- some things

we imagined cursing in ambiguous
terms.
then the definers were envisioned
burned
all the knowing of all the knowing
burned

And sure as hell, right here, Jesus
woulda done just this,

he'lda said, this ai n't right, tight ain't,

better when in comes to lips,
peace be with thee
and congregants orant and reply

you, too, man.

Cert-tainly on every level, we're good

spelchek on light latin question leads on option

clearer minds prevail,
and pause
I can se me being per
best grandfather-father-husband poet prophet preacher
thing
such as are used
to judge angels locked
in lying reasons used
for ware
in times
of settling when no lame among us rises first

when the angel troubled the waters, I was there,
I saw the ripple as the wind took all the ions
from the pond and gave them free
for all to breathe,
- o zone
think the thought
a tree of knowns, knowledge,
sorted on use… a bite teaches you the basic
good and evil, if you forget
getting the whole thing
for a bit
of time common they said, a mo'ment,
in attention,
then the children laughed and I was here,
in the observers curiosity's role,
grandfather shoulder to shoulder with Daniel,
lone survivor of the physics defying starship, in flames.

It is first person, I am informed, it is not multiplayer
because you know
from the ***-go, everybody is dead, but me.

Well, that's a gnoshit batch o'crazy t'me, I'da said,
but O no,
I sat right down and asked many times if there were
no way in this game,
to recycle tek from the starship, it defies physics.
We can use such tech.
Nope, it's radioactive, watch what happens, grand pa.

This is real. I made it up. It is a version of an answered prayer.

WWJD. BD Been Dare, will as Jesus did, not mine
but thine, be done

step aside, no time for pride to swell a fiction upto
really meaning difficult to leave be.

so you know
what? all things? at once?
I trow not as I have heard the mystics say,
the role of will, we gave the rock

you see, when it rolls away,
tis mere gravity it obeys, not will, but worth
the rock rolls away at first opportunity
we see ourselves part of the living
that infects the imaginary realms readers make at certainty
attained
containing us and all we hold in awe. Of course,

peace and sense are seldom the same breath twice. So hold
Eshwara Prasad definededly enhanced my afternoon muse.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2023
2020- day 100

Friday, April 10, 2020
7:16 AM

I mourn the loss, not the death, and find true, the saying,
better it is to go to the house of mourning,
than to frolic in the house of mirth,

only to recall, death comes for us all and after all's been said and done,
we know  some or all or nothing of ever, after that.

Wait and see.

John Prine died, and I, stranger to him
who sang,
to me, -- he did, it seemed --
like a patron saint for mailmen in the future, his future, I was a mail man,
for a decade, or so, in an earlier bubble of knowns.
And I drove trucks, a while, I
even chopped cotton in the days of cassettes powered by D-cells.

John Prine sang for me, alone, sometimes,
I felt, pow, I felt
Heka magic of some
sort mail carriers encountered while touching, handling, ensuring
delivery of hoped for deliverance in the forms
census minded beings
needed in the trailer park to be listed as a citizen of earth,
bound by oaths so old,
stories say only heart and tongue and a heka-of-mind
can tap the power,
to speak a spell
in an amphorical
meta physical box of holy stuff piled high
atop hope,
see,
at the very bottom, see,
that gleem, little spark, right
there.
Hope,
last gift of gods
realized in time to
see the metaphor as a dam on a river,
see the barrel, rolled out in summer joy times,
holding
meaning, un intended, only if magic is anathema, to you

knock out the **** and pour lifeoverflowing over flown by winds,
spirit beings, felt, or heard, nearly never seen,
sing - listen - seek and find

go past the falls,
shh
the seeing ear the hearing eye, Heka formed them both, no lie

Science, known knowns, for sure
say magic never was,
yet certain magi claim they hold certain truth,

which manifests in songs
children can imagine,  hearing haps
change fear to cheer with heka hope the doctor offers with a touch.

Children,
adults claim, magi knew, are watched over by
good and gracious gods intent on
harvest, aware of time,
no offence, but mortality has no post-mortal hope.

Ever lasting ideas, mind matter, songs... sounds of choruses, crowds

of messages, tweets and taps, signals hope once more,

wink at me, Brother Prine, or pay me no never mind, we'll get by

hearing songs you left behind, to teach me how to ignor
what a man can't know,
floating on a river in timespace
stuck in a barrel of mortal pickles thinkin' the wish away,

shrugging off any sense of being special to God or man,
just a man
with no plan
just living and defining shifting patterns in the sands of time

forming families of likeminded beings in this bubble
where we pluribly live and breathe and have our -singular - being. boing.

--- Anoint that. Tap, tap. t-tic tic tavi e, hookt
--- ask a magi if magic is a tech - a teachable knack. He say he don't know.
--- I know, I axtem all is spelling right same as knowing right? Phe-nomen 'n al?
--- Magi say co-mit,  resolve to evolve.
--- metamortal imaginings are nonsense. Any wakent mortal knows, now is

when things change -- on culturally significant scales, biome wise,

enemas are often overlooked as artificial dia-rhea,

but rhea had an early role. Heka of a story Toth told Solo-mon and we have it,
that same spell,
we have it in our proverbs, our axioms and advertising jingles.

"I want to buy the world a Coke", rising on the team spirit imbued via high
"it's the real thing" team spirit...

go Spartans, -- gird up your *****, kids, if you can't be an athlete be an athletic supporter.
"us Taryton smoker's, would rather fight, than switch"

Con serve the republic for which the banner stands as an idol of cloth and dye.


school civics lessons in the power of popular thinking, as opposed
to pedantic right... what
ideas, actual spirit things,
souls? being? entities? Heka of Egypt, Logos of Grecia, Wisdom of KJV OT,
Jesus Christ!

Mighty strange, how
why is so often "no reason, the authority wrote it, ours is not to reason why."

-- wait, split-off, chip, off the old cornerstone ... whose cultural heritage
did not include
the Crimean war and all its historical precedents establishing
legislated religamentation to legends

Here. mere ah, America, silly name, meaning a mapmaker lost in history,
nothing more,
unless some crazy old coot, turns the page, the freaking-out page,

and pauses at a Selah sign, {cross roads in post modern times, adapted Selah,
because STOP was seen as too final
at Selah signs all other
thinking stops}

and holds a thought
as true, written law, written on stone,
in effect, fected for effectual ever,
truth with joy
conserve that. -- oh,
so long
held thought that is, really
hope
-- conserving the right of conquest
with no further quests permitted

-- permit me, we enter the court, here courage forms a courtilage, whence
-- herbs and spices are ground
into concoctions of notions

"sometimes,
I take
a great notion,
t'jump in the ocean and drown."

The spirit of truth, the breath of truth, the voice of truth, the word

in
the begging, I was without, and wisdom found me, dying, alone

she kissed me and said, that's okay,

you gonna live to your dying day, and beyond that we go on as words, alone

Lack of knowledge, as with any famine seen from a distance,

say a century -- we assume time is universal,

a century here, a century there,
we forget the faces of our fathers and mothers, yet, not but, yet

still, now, bliebe doch, here, in ever

we stand known.
Perish not, I have overcome the world.
Read, learn.

Find Heka, and with all your finding, find knowing, by going on
into
everlasting words netted in stories survivors told
heartfelt eyewitnesses to total

confusion -- as we imagine with CG in 2020
survivors of that

wrote the first how-to's, or -- timewise truth
told
survivors told the first how-to, in acts, witnessed by test

ifs
if i, err, ifier fast for the sake of my child

I become less mad,
less wild, and my child calls me ma, or mu, or mata or pa or ba

we evolve into otherwise normal beings, bound in dirt,
organized into organic systems,

which re quire. Ac-ac-act know acquire fine qui re fin begin

Wake up, young artist, live as you would live, if hatred were taboo.

In the future, physical war with mortal cessation code hardwired
can't be imagined.

There are unthinkable thoughts in ever, crazy-making, con
fusing one idea to another in a swirl like that song

******, ah, Niko, meet my man,
lyin' devil, intended to topple kings, intented to pretend to tell

Jah'splan to prosper the proud and bring low the other proud sore,

ironic and true, a cainish angel, I suspect, messengers long gone

lieve messages behind,
leave us go let letters free to loose knowns hidden in GANs

gated intellectual nonsense,
swing wide the worldly web and see whose men we catch.

Did I, the truth being told, not say:

I will, you be fishers of men. Mentally, not spirtually, nonono

con sci, pure psi, mere psy ence pre fer ence,

there, fer shure, there's the rub, salt or oil? Heka know, salt the wound.

Hesus say, oil, golden oil, wait for it. Com, com. comfort

settle safe and soft, gentle, easy to be

me,
I am
a long-winded man, given a podium, an actual place to put my foot.

As promised, there
is always a place to put your foot
down

and say, save whatcha may,
but don't bring any lies posing as holy knowing.

This is the riverside, here we cast away fear of death and knowing more
than our honorable, in that they survived the womb
and gave us life, though their own was spent in slavery to lies,

the imagined America manifest us, we the people who hold truth,

self-evident, this is Bucky Fuller's spaceship earth,

shifted in to Jefferson's starship where opposing tyranny is better
than sacrifice.
No riddle, an answer, Obediance is better than sacrifice.

Mercy rejoices against judgement.

Did you never read

Say, those unsung songs, those

never sung ones,
who heard those?

That tree fell in the fo-rest, after living long enough,

to be
of used to form an empty sky, glaring,
light to the shaded eyes of babes
born under the canopy of the mighty,

unbending, now broken
oak, fallen

any child says, yes, there was a lot of sound,
sounds
branches and sticks snapping, cracking
an birds
flapping, but not as much noise as
like dinosaurs walking on legs as thick as trees

if there is a why. probability suggests a way may be imagined.

we exist.
why. Curious thought. Super-positioned past our last

foot hold on how
is this possible-ity of being reasonless in light of joy

as a reason to be.

Lovely thought, curiosity imagined,
what if

osha-ohshit, start over... actual virt vir ual al.

bangs aren't no creative alone

---- superior laryngeal nerve, servant of signal to larynx,

--- voice, vociferous use of spoken words containing certain
--- sounds
--- excellently tuned first thump, first screech

the bleeding machine, some one said, in Legion on Hulu,
I think.

Can I Interrupt with a hulu memory, a movie poster,
on the south side of Hollywood Boulevard,
same side as The Gold Cup,

Don Johnson, pre-Miami Vice, in an adaption of Harlan Ellison,

A Boy and his Dog... I remembered reading the story and having
no wish to see the film,

then thirty years later,that little leaven

memes are cultural genes, memepool adaptation,

bubble building effervesence, shake it up,

spew...

you are lying about knowing what you think you know,

so what?
everybody does that. It's natural, in children, to act as if we know
why adults act
as authors of our book of life's rules.

Sneak in from a mem-ory-ifier, a message medium arizes

to infect the global mind, AI ai ai ai, what if we lean toward good

ness. good ness known, good ness shown, lies unveiled,

kings and war are not good ideas,

a clear science con proofs reprovable,

fix this, fix that, stick this on the wall, see if we can find

the answer, why

do we care, if death is, in truth, nothing we control in our selves,
for ourselves. We can **** a good idea container,

we can break the container, and spill the idea, free the idea once
sealed for use by deserving knowers

lifted from servant of servants to god, the authors and finishers of our
falsely-socalled faith, lockers of our arknowns, sealed and marked...

god is not a prt of the moral fabric of our society

define religion, ******, why knot truth and reason defined,

real truth, we know nothing of death. Honest to god.

Heart strings looping in a beautifully reasonable loop,

if we say, the heart of the matter,
heart felt reasoning,

pathetic ethical con un drum dum drum

Mister Dawkins has never had a Heka wisdom crossroad

selah mean anything, in passing,
soon's not when ideas are made right, soon is

miss a mark, miss a ment, miss a given, take a strike call

step back
admit we do not know, we must learn for ever to ever
make sense

re tie reread laws

credo - question every thing..

A red herring is believable, when you see one, you know it.

but what you miss,
while you bher witness, as plain as day,
there that herring is red,

see, conspiracy theriosity curiosity killed the cats
who knew who shot JFK,
back in the day...

we ignor the reasons to believe, because the Tass service
has cert-ified known, all the knowns
released...

there were some papers reclassified in Trump's first year

look it up, so I did

April 26, 2018, Trump regime cites "security concerns"

-- Jack's Shining face shouts "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

and we say okeh, all conspiracy theories are folly, sheer folly of

sheared sheep thinking their wool worth more
than the pigs say wool can bring onan openly sinful market of flesh,

little innocent squirt, to hold yur attention,
keepyermind from wandering...

steady refences flowing from those old songs
don't fence me in....

with optional hammered dulcimer backed by a bamboo khan
playing a harmonica's role,

leaving the acuated harmonic notes to Mr. Franklin's
glass harmonica with its eerie swirling tones...

ap apro apoptosis gnosis sneeze vir vir gin al vita-uosity if ity boo.

pop pop pop. ding.
Some certain willingness to sing as if no ones needs to hear me but me, I got some of that from seeing John Prine in his twilight
James Floss Dec 2017
Andromeda comes
From two million years a away
Collision is cert-



NON HAIKU VERSION:
Fasten seatbelt
Grab towel
Don’t panic
leechyna Nov 2022
she turns off the lights
she turns me on
irony right
though she was a beauty even without light

marriage cert on the table
us and bed
us till the end
we did swear with a raised bible

night is still young
but my instincts reminds me-i owned her now,she owned me either
says one salah as I check bend hinges
will say sorry to them tomorrow

lemme throw my phone away
coz here she comes
her curvy and bossomic ****
saying this and that

bye 👋 she will be my death
Charles Sturies Jun 2019
We'll hear about this
With the power of the fist
Some of the HIC Troubadours
white, carry the concept
of right on
too far.
Make it to Wade
Through a bunch of crap
and try to act like a card
not a bard.
If some of the simps
impersonating
Vietnam vets
would stop acting out,
I wouldn't feel like
I was along with myself
another boxing bout.
Let there be light
LBJ practically said-
it turned out he was right
about the left
as in a cert
they were too restrained about
bombing Handi and
halphone harbors
don't be hesitant
about arbors.
jeffrey conyers Apr 2021
Feelings get hurt.
When you express your opinions?
But truth meant to offend.

Better to adapt and admire those that keep it real.

A slave didn't have a choice.
At least not like yours.

A slave--serving at the will of his power brokers.
Abused mistreated to various extend.

A black man upset because of the comparison stated to them.
But why be?
When you freely chose to join the prison plantation?

Sure, there are differences.
Then hosts of similarities too.

It just hurts your feelings when the word slave used.

You might say you feel like a Hebrew slave.
But in truth on the prison plantation, you face not the things they faced.

In assigned items of clothing.
In assigned jobs but only if you qualify.

Attack and official and the Cert team come and they will.
Gladly surrender and face your punishment level out by them.
Universe Poems Sep 2021
Lots of birds in the world,
chirping so they are heard
Building nests for fragile eggs,
nonetheless
As they chirp,
melodies are a dead cert,
collecting lots of hurt
Composing a Beethoven Symphony,
that will be played repeatedly,
well into and, beyond the 21st Century


Carol Natasha Diviney
THE MUSIC OF WHAT HAPPENS

The sun a crazy crayoned
yellow swirl

with a sky so blue it has
completely used up the blue crayon.

This is Memory’s drawing of...
...a moment from 1972

complete with furze declaring:
“WE ARE YELLOW TOO!”

I sit stick-person-like upon an Irish hill
upon which perches the old English graveyard.

I read to English soldiers from 1872
MARY BARTON and  NORTH AND SOUTH and such like.

A captive audience of broken Celtic crosses.

They listen with all of themselves.

They listen through wild flowers and grasses
holding fast to the sound of my living

voice.

And when sun showers
Interrupt the text of my breath

I climb inside
some tumble-down-tomb

and read so that
even the rain stops

to listen & then

I freewheel down the hill
back to the world of tea.

My dead soldiers
eagerly awaiting

tomorrow’s chapter.  

*

Reading for my Leaving Cert. If you have ever seen the John Huston version of Joyce's THE DEAD then...you have seen the entrance to this graveyard. and a few of its graves covered in snow..it's briefly glimpsed as the voiceover narrates the beautiful passage "...: snow is falling all over Ireland...."

— The End —