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"cognate" poems
Matrilineality is the tracing of descent through the female line corresponding to a societal system in which each person is identified with their matriline;              – their _mother's_ image – and which can involve the inheritance of property and/or titles. A matriline is                                      a line of descent from a common female ancestor to a descendant of either *** in which the individuals in all intervening                           generations are mothers – in other words, a "mother line". In matrilineal descent,                           individuals belong to the same group as their mother.                                                      The matriline of historical nobility was also called the _enatic_ or     _Uterine_ ancestry; From Middle English wombe, wambe, from Old English womb, wamb (“belly, stomach; bowels; heart; womb; hollow”), from Proto-Germanic *wambō (“belly, stomach, abdomen”), from Proto-Indo-European *wamp- (“membrane (of bowels), intestines, womb”). Cognate with Scots wam, wame (“womb”), Dutch wam (“dewlap of beef; belly of a fish”), German Wamme, Wampe (“paunch, belly”), Danish vom (“belly, paunch, rumen”), Swedish våmb (“belly, stomach, rumen”), Norwegian vomb (“belly”), Icelandic vömb (“belly, abdomen, stomach”),              Old Welsh gumbelauc (“womb”), Breton gwamm (“woman, wife”), Sanskrit वपा (vapā́, “the skin or membrane lining the intestines or parts of the viscera, the caul or omentum”).
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Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
Matrilineality [for Uterinism]
Matrilineality is the tracing of descent through the female line corresponding to a societal system in which each person is identified with their matriline;              – their _mother's_ image – and which can involve the inheritance of property and/or titles. A matriline is                                      a line of descent from a common female ancestor to a descendant of either *** in which the individuals in all intervening                           generations are mothers – in other words, a "mother line". In matrilineal descent,                           individuals belong to the same group as their mother.                                                      The matriline of historical nobility was also called the _enatic_ or     _Uterine_ ancestry; From Middle English wombe, wambe, from Old English womb, wamb (“belly, stomach; bowels; heart; womb; hollow”), from Proto-Germanic *wambō (“belly, stomach, abdomen”), from Proto-Indo-European *wamp- (“membrane (of bowels), intestines, womb”). Cognate with Scots wam, wame (“womb”), Dutch wam (“dewlap of beef; belly of a fish”), German Wamme, Wampe (“paunch, belly”), Danish vom (“belly, paunch, rumen”), Swedish våmb (“belly, stomach, rumen”), Norwegian vomb (“belly”), Icelandic vömb (“belly, abdomen, stomach”),              Old Welsh gumbelauc (“womb”), Breton gwamm (“woman, wife”), Sanskrit वपा (vapā́, “the skin or membrane lining the intestines or parts of the viscera, the caul or omentum”).
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treacherously torrid and torrential torrents of totally tangential tumultuous tortuous ; tyrannically torturous adjunct viably salient seethe.     procrastinating pandemic plenipotentiary prosthesis ; prosaically pragmatic parenthetical predication predilection premise prognostication                                                                        panoramic tableau preternatural propensity proclivity prestidigitation gesticulation : gyration guidon ; ghastly gruesome grotesque hideously horrible horrendous heinous grotty gnarly diabolically maniacal dementia brusque macabre abrupt awful amalgamated anathema analysis agnate aggregate aberrance somatalogy virtuoso cognate obduracy worse rudiment ebullience , confluence effluent effusion affluent , prolific profusity opulence , cogent fecund secular secund , recondite redolence abstrusely obstreperous mesomerism resonance resilience protractive perpetude futurity    blither blandishing blabber burnishing boresome blahs lithe blithe jabber prattle chatter tithe morose morsel moribundness   stolid stoic stalwart bastion bulwark
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Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Intradoes Tine
Serenity in self, like a star burning in the atmosphere is neither calm nor is it simple. Despite its looks. A shadow does not simply 'want' to be dark it is a requirement, otherwise our secrets would show. Facing down your own problems is not bravery, finding a stranger and asking "how can I help?" is. This blank [ ] is your life. No, it is not 'empty' It is simply free to be filled with whatever you wish. When taking into account exactly what we are.... it is amazing we... think, cognate, live, feel. Everything. And yet, we are simply just a sum of our parts. Much like this poem is a sum of characters on a screen. Dead, in-animate, un-moving. And yet, it is alive, and others like it have the power to move. What is life, and what defines a right to give or take it?
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Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 9:06 AM UTC
Sum
loitering in German is repulsive always inebriated, even – understand? repetition and throat plug pronouns (she gags on “du” bleats “mein”) exotic?  nah.  adored? well they tell me “das Gift” peals a heavy cognate; it also answers to “poison” but Gifts in King’s is “toxic” not sorry are – not – toxic so flash me that yellowbird lather, anchor in strand these quicksilver nothings, murmured honeydew venom overheard myself last night calling du but your scent killed by mein pulse almost fooled me, nearly sounded like the antidote and other delicious gifts you’ve given me
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Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
Untitled
(for Peggy, with Alzheimer’s, 1996) Absent spirit: Soothe our hunger for consolation In the presence of this woman Who asks for none. May the colored shapes we have become Stand apart from these walls-- Where sun after sun has tiled A catacomb of days-- Distinctly enough to radiate our love. Banish our loss. Dissolve the bitter mystery of why. Forgive our numb embrace That enfolds this slumping body Whose eyes reflect glass, Whose mind quests beyond a dark door Searching for a land of lost names. Give words to her passage. Resolve the twisted path she must follow alone, The cratered wastes she calls across, Seeking a land of kindred beings with cognate powers That name her as their own and exult.
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Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
Prayer for My Mother
I have found a magnificent sea monster in the Ocean of my mind It is tall, red, blue and gold, beautiful to free searching eyes With scales that flash from pattern to random distortion His once tall sharp teeth have been dulled and broken From gnawing on my heart Below the surface he is dark and murky with out describable shape and with indefinite size I give him a name, that is always different, but to everyone the same He has swallowed up the rotting, black banner ships Bitter things that foul in his gut These things cause him fester from the inside And dilate to mountainous proportions It is this terrible Poseidon that I fear He calls out- "Oh, my swollen, aching belly. What are these now but tears?" Who knew that such a beast could cry Even more so, cry in such cognate rhythm with me And so I begin my chase, I figure something so majestic can be both at once liberated and on display I follow him close behind through the gales and waves of the tempest Oh how we both loath the days that I loose the wind He also loves to play this game ** He has led me to the edge of the infinite blue The border of my mind He leaps over, delivering a jubilant wail That resonates within the falling water He crashes hard on paper Dying and bleeding he twists and writhes in panic He tears through the pages, ripping holes, he leaves behind a carnage of red confetti At the bottom of the page, his eyes close as he lies in final signature Upon a rock on the edge, enthralled, I watch the monster's theater Water gushing past me, waves spraying me with rapture Then I cry out- "My friend, why did I drive you this far? You were one of the great beauties of my Ocean. It has lost its vibrancy and energy For you were in and of each other, composed as one" As I breathe and find satisfaction, I steer my ship to where I began Gazing over the liquid crystal dunes Hoping for equal fluorescent color to match So I notice a sea monster egg, ready to breach Floating along the waves of the Ocean of my mind
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May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 10:07 AM UTC
I Paint with More than Color
I have found a magnificent sea monster in the Ocean of my mind It is tall, red, blue and gold, beautiful to free searching eyes With scales that flash from pattern to random distortion His once tall sharp teeth have been dulled and broken From gnawing on my heart Below the surface he is dark and murky with out describable shape and with indefinite size I give him a name, that is always different, but to everyone the same He has swallowed up the rotting, black banner ships Bitter things that foul in his gut These things cause him fester from the inside And dilate to mountainous proportions It is this terrible Poseidon that I fear He calls out- "Oh, my swollen, aching belly. What are these now but tears?" Who knew that such a beast could cry Even more so, cry in such cognate rhythm with me And so I begin my chase, I figure something so majestic can be both at once liberated and on display I follow him close behind through the gales and waves of the tempest Oh how we both loath the days that I loose the wind He also loves to play this game ** He has led me to the edge of the infinite blue The border of my mind He leaps over, delivering a jubilant wail That resonates within the falling water He crashes hard on paper Dying and bleeding he twists and writhes in panic He tears through the pages, ripping holes, he leaves behind a carnage of red confetti At the bottom of the page, his eyes close as he lies in final signature Upon a rock on the edge, enthralled, I watch the monster's theater Water gushing past me, waves spraying me with rapture Then I cry out- "My friend, why did I drive you this far? You were one of the great beauties of my Ocean. It has lost its vibrancy and energy For you were in and of each other, composed as one" As I breathe and find satisfaction, I steer my ship to where I began Gazing over the liquid crystal dunes Hoping for equal fluorescent color to match So I notice a sea monster egg, ready to breach Floating along the waves of the Ocean of my mind
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This magic hat, a crown of thorns sometimes Hard pressed and poignant, we blessedly wear Till death recumbent stills the joys the care The strivings found in all sentient forms. We walk upon this globe each day without Wonder nor concernment for monolith Thoughts arisen, seemingly threaded with Threads still hidden though faithfully throughout History named and imagined. The full Ever-vescent multitude, a flash, the Portion illumined, then grasped as all in all. This cause repeats repeatedly, a breath Of mind cognate and fleeting that does swell Our conscious state to mortal width and breadth.
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Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 3:10 AM UTC
This Magic Hat
We danced, the cognate vessels Nested in walls & Cowered in blood We buried love deep into Beating flesh & Writhed In Utero We emptied veins of reason Laid in torment & Seceded in white gowns We--Empiric experiments We--Deficient devices We--Thrashing threadbare We--Womb We--Woman -- c
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Apr 13, 2018
Apr 13, 2018 at 11:51 AM UTC
HYSTERIA
I hate as I meta- cognate: you- are al- ways there- you- profes- sor- draw- ing squares- why- can't I dare to e- rase the lines you've daily traced?
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Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
Little boxes...
heres is the story of Bad boy Bill... ..with slight of hand he had the plate with eight pieces of skate which he quickly ate not that he was a deadweight he did share with a mate before he did donate the ***** plate to the nearest gutter grate he was a pick pocket that he could not debate he had given going straight a trial but could not cognate the traits of the cheapskate state that gave him too many gates to open only to end up at the same old checkmate so after beating his breastplate he went on the lam lashed out against the ingrate magnates and after a spate of flyweight burglaries he now awaits as a sometimes somnambulate inmate at the pleasure of the abrogate state in a room slightly larger that a crate with a surly burly bedmate. they who dictate think he will be down for at least eight he was at this news discombobulatedly disconsulate But that is the fate of those who hesitate to choose bad over good and manipulate the laws of the land.
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Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 10:36 PM UTC
eight
in yellow & pink her benignity wink in cheery pit rain there she hoodwink and hem this dress that cognate her trim line figure again with lips that sync in 3D graphic feature pic
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Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 7:46 AM UTC
womanly weather
"Thought The Heartbeat" Thought the heartbeat spiritual lung breath Learned conditioned malleable prism Of the underneath space-time-mind-light-root- Center of the universe one fathom Long dreamed of reality this mountain Crafted i permeation salts the sea Relative here now no where empty form Experiencing movement happy sad pain Joy fear death yes no death birth twining Around the wheel sentient shaped cognate Realms six of one no other place to go But out nirvana way some say some don't Care just slake vibrations vibrating till Satiety with peaked release fall In brain chemistry world incredible we do Not know the soul deep with eddies currents Patterns self aware point bright in view held Firmly scared to cease idea nothing But the great unknown a million Magnitudes of bone in ten directions
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Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
Thought The Heartbeat