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Krysel Anson Sep 2018
I.
Time passes, another
batch of refugees and migrants. Cities turn into
new houses of gambling and vicious cycles.
Some say only machines can speak clearly
and most humans have lost what they have earned
throughout all this time, just right on schedule.

To own our language,
and the relationships it sets into motion,
we learn painfully, repeatedly like sunrise
and sunsets.
Claiming our own spaces and demons
hidden in our conveniences and reflex routines,
and learning the tricks that has kept peoples
from fully healing from broken promises
and betrayals throughout time.

We own up to our language and its demons
every day and night that we toss and turn
into something feasible, edible, livable.


II.
Iba ibang uri ng digma.
duguang kasaysayang binabaong buhay
binubura ang lakas at memorya tulad ng siyudad
ng Songdo sa South Korea na ang ibig sabihin
ay "city with no memory".

Ito din ang isa sa mga modelo para sa New Clark City
na tinatayo sa Luzon. Sa dalawahang mga pamamaraan
ng mga naghahari-harian, nakikibaka ang anakpawis,
nakikibaka ang kamalayan ng pagpapasya at pagwasto
sa mga pagkakamali, na paulit-ulit na sinusubukang
patayin sa iba ibang mukha.

Mula pa sa panahon ng mga lolo at lola noong 1940s
hanggang ngayon, patuloy ang mga pag-eexperimento nila at paggamit ng panlilinlang  at dahas, sa ngalan ng kalusugan, edukasyon at batas, upang ipain ang buhay sarili, lasunin ang lupang kinakain ang sarili. Kung hindi tayo mag-aaral at mag-iingat din, tayo mismo ang papatay sa mga sinisimulan. #
English translation to follow. Work in progress.
George Carlin's wife died early in 2008 and George followed her, dying in July 2008. It is ironic George Carlin - comedian of the 70's and 80's - could write something so very eloquent and so very appropriate. An observation by George Carlin:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to ****. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

And always remember, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by those moments that take our breath away.
after some research...it appears this may not belong to Mr. Carlin...so forgive me for not digging a bit earlier. Especially, my sincere apology to George!
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jonchius Sep 2015
resuming vogon poetry
altering website logos
pretending everyone cares
playing "east hastings"
asphyxiating well-nigh denouement
depicting twitter status
obfuscating coincident deletions

translating from Sḵwx̱wú7mesh
assuring Sḵwx̱wú7mesh exists
painting skwiḵw's mother?
decrying micropolitical maelstrom
imbibing fireball fountain
inundating lexical foofaraw

crafting poetic wonders
desiring other mediums
remaining practically invisible
ending internet-only depression

drafting noetic blunders
requesting astute clique
blazing perilous trail
aging ominous grisaille

depicting kmart realism
seeking darker groups
increasing pre-weekend laughter
appropriating communist symbols

making lone chuckle
offending worldwide communists
colonizing hello poetry
colonizing parallel universe

relaxing e-migration policies
пить чистую водку
photographing abduction scene
¿losing consistent format?

increasing bluebird insignia
avoiding frivolous legalities
striking astraphobic comments
assuming near-universal automation

lowering latent inhibition
traversing oneiric plane
laxwadding afebrile loodies
wallscaping pitchsourced chthonicities
closing one-star conveniences
sharing alien-looking alphabet
writing system downtimes
first week of September 2015
Our conveniences
Are all shared
And inconvenices
A perfect privacy!
2015-04-19
Razor tucked in the fixture
base

That and the dull-fluorescent-light
stare me
Dead
in the face

Was it put there
just in case?
How did they know to find me here
in this place?

I guess
it's just another convenience
in another
mini-life-space

Little shampoo for your hair
Little soap for your hands
Little lotion for your skin
Little blade for your sins

and a sink in which to
Erase

All just such
a
convenient
little
Waste
Zulu Samperfas Jan 2013
Haifa, Israel, a Saturday before the Second Gulf War
The Iraq War, the Shock and Awe War, the war with embedded journalists traveling in
tanks across dusty deserts the smart way with no bulky supply lines following them
And they arrived and it quickly became apparent the supply line was a good invention

The beach is filled with people, enjoying their last few days of peace
People color the beach a kind of brown, moving brown, like ants wandering around a hill the entire beach is their hill right now in that moment a respite of the stress to come
Funny how War could be on some kind of timeline, with everyone waiting for it
like a Super Bowl game, or the second coming or a tornado or flood or nuclear bomb
Breathe this fresh air now, for tomorrow will find you smothered in a bomb shelter
crammed into small spaces with strangers even, or people you don't like, and screaming children

Your plane was due to leave for Florida the next day, but there was no seat for me.
At first that bothered you, that we had no money for me to go anywhere, only you
but now you took any chance you got to leave this place that was our new home
"We're making cookies," a couple said who we ran into down there.  
If there's an air raid, you can stay with us they said to me.  
And I imagined the pleasant aroma of butter
and sweet and nuts filling a windowless room with a Hebrew TV station crackling quickly in a language I still couldn't keep up with while we munched until we were like full balloons
in a land with the bus driver turning up the news updates on the radio every hour really loud so everyone could hear them, day in and day out, because this was part of life here. And most of what I could follow after so many hours of study was that most words at the end of a sentence on the news ended with -eeem.  Usually in threes, -eem, -eeem, -eem, which is maculine plural and sometimes there was MemShalah, which is Prime Minister.

It was your most noble hour, coming shortly after you rampaging up and down the hallways
of our cement apartment building, just a box but a nice one with a view of Haifa Bay saying Saddam does too have a bomb, and you just wait when the scuds start falling. You just wait.
But you weren't waiting.  You were going home.
And no I didn't believe Saddam had a bomb although I've never met anyone who agreed with me since then and that is getting to be a long time ago.  
Even though there were Freedom Fries now and a ban on French wine and I don't particularly like the French in many ways, still I believed them and Mahomood El Baradei
because he was a very smart man except American don't believe there can be smart, effective individuals and people working very hard in places filled with dust and ignorance and lacking
so many comforts and conveniences
And how could you check a whole country anyway?  
With connections, by being an insider and by being very clever and that's what I thought sitting in the living room watching CNN International being piped for free into our living room.
And you were terrified and you left in a sweat and a day or so later the War began

and I watched the War on CNN International in our living room after you were gone, and it was just mass destruction from great heights like someone's ridiculous plan of Urban Renewal from way too high up and I felt sorry for all the
people who would soon be called "collateral damage" and I felt ill at our Generals bragging about this mayhem, this obscene, idiotic pounding of a city without intelligence or sensitivity or perceptions and I felt no shock and awe, but only horror and sadness
and I, by myself, an American living in Israel, who now had dual citizenship of course,
you see, but Americans are never dual, we always leave.  We are only American.

I saw my country as something angry, and violent and dumb and ugly
And you waited in Florida for the WMD, and I watched the story unfold
and there were still no WMD by the time you got back and the Patriot missiles were lowered from their mountain top heights.  And there were still no WMD when paper plans for a bomb were unearthed underneath rose bushes in a scientist's back yard and I felt sorry for the rose bushes
and hoped they were re-planted.
And like my country, you slipped down a notch in my eyes,
Running away from nothing telling me there was danger and leaving me
when it was only you who believed I might die.  Only You.
Julian Jul 2020
Although flummoxed by the gabble of hibernaculum I seethe with the verdant quiddity that is a cross-pollination that spans the gamut of historical memory and owns the usucaption of infrastructure equipping our bootstrapped capacities of literacy tethered to the ecumenical capacity for proliferation through amplified discernment that percolates at decorative gallop into the stridor of unified apothegms that quantify the visibilia of the broadened universe into the nexility of formula bounded by the parameters that equip synergies of space-time to envelope its own reification and magnetize urbane freebooters of coalescence to grapple with the ineffable mathematics of absorbed losses in the human fraternity becoming overlooked because of the providence of shepherded acrimony to escape the oblivion of barely marginal exponential extinctions of impropriety into fast-paced panoramas of expedited dalliance with optimums constrained by the effluvia of hinderbaggle which exist only by domineering mercurial lability of manufacture enabled by the siphon of Promethean reason to catapult the slogmarch of advancement by punctuated achievements registered by canonical gravitas to revolutionize society in longevity and interplanetary awareness that places a 1000:1 premium on a 165 IQ in comparison to a 110 IQ. Although bewildered by the beaucoup of raxed originality the anoegenetic flux of slogan achieves but a petty solidarity in comparison to the galvanized bronteum of registered invention that provides decisively seminal locomotive prowess to the foisons of promulgated ingenuity propped up by the capacity for raltention that exceeds the inherent longevity of humans on Earth into the permanence of memory to achieve radical vanguard frontiers within diminishing frames of a once vapid time recorded only through the lens of finicky preoccupations of crude retention rather than the kinship of the perceptive unity of the authors who remarked on history to share the same vantage with the distant onlookers upon that very history with such a convergence of judgments the photons that trespassed on inquisitive eyes of inquierendo are the very same blueprint for the modern savory traipse with selfsame perceptions embedded in canonical history like the spool of an exact daydream unfurled before inoculated eyes differentiated by context but achieving the same visual footprint of historical lineament provided by the original exemplar. The luxury of our provisional prosperity is the unique ability to browse spontaneously a two-century travail of perceptible records embedded in the same perceptual rudiments captured by the original vetuda thereby enabling the specificity of prowess to vicariously encounter distant gulfs of time with the simultaneous realization of past becoming present tense because beyond the revisionism of the censors the human lineage originates in approximated design tethered to the aboriginal photographs and hallmark expenditures of celluloid digitized into annealed constellation to provide separate junctures in space time with the same indelible percept decontextualized but potent by showcase of the verdure of the generosity of shared perception rather than cleaved faint traces of divergent imagination conceiving junctures by distal lurches of insular harbors of private registries of tact and discretion without the shared raltention of the plevisable entities that populate the fragmented lineage of space-time to achieve full congruence in percept first and abstract eventually as neuroscience slogmarches with the nockerslug of invidious depredation of sanctanimity. Adrift in iconoduly sustained by lambent monasticism of abnegation we were lost widows of insular idiosyncrasies of similar concepts separated by the longevity of imagination redacted into communicable formula to ensure the divergence of impact of liturgies heterodyne by vast distances but linked to archaic designs that formed the paradigms which eventually merged with the wiseacres of Renaissance conserved in momentum over centuries into the information capital that forms the futtocks of the girdle of a womb matrix of society sustained by a newfangled uniformity of exposure that slowly churns the collectivism of memory and the syndication of the cartel into the ubiquity of prominent thorns of perception magnified by iconography of the megalography of historical permanence evasive of censors and embracing the entelechy of coherent perceptions siphoned by different engineers but arriving at precisely the same conceptual imprint thereby unifying the perceptual world with the usucaption of leveraged networking of browsers of antiquity. The finesse of leapfrogs of modern human impediment is to scour the reaches of the troves of the most vivid imagination and expedite the turnstiles of conserved rollercoasters of enthusiasm probed by the cadasters capable of castophrenia to syndicalize the autonomy of human perception sejungible from indelible vivid footprints of abstraction upon an interface of truly hard-won vehicles of transmissible abstraction to win the arduous relish of once a vacuum of infested instinct into an algorithm of an intelligent source that creates the precise conditions of parallax to seed through celestial hosts the flourishes of stereodimensional traces of permanent cadaster into something that elects beyond the ethereal snatches of oblivion the provisional apportionment of sentiment above continence to set ablaze the rarefaction of raltention and quantify the intelligible impact of one artifact of civilization over the constellated taxonomy of all apothegms within the divine grasp of a sublunary eternity revived and recycled into syndicated scrutiny that bows to a convergent entelechy of instantaneous improvisation of perdurable registry into indemnities that litigate the humorous quizzical trangams of vastly outmoded obsolescence borrowing from panspermatism of technocracy to the edgy appeal of scintillating horizons of peerless scope that approximate the ommateum of approximated omniety but never span far enough for the distant riometers to see for deputized galaxies to be evoked in concrete human-alien achievements sempervirent and virulent guardians of the toil of sensation to refract off of its overhang because of redundant upbringing to shelve the incendiary impediments of the chary into the corsairs of revelation beyond gamuts of lurch and bypassing elapsed regress to arrive at ceremonial progress to trespass upon many minds with a unified concrete hypostasized entelechy of a fielded incorporation of organic life into a manufactured cycle of the most prolonged and beatific longevity capable of digestion and implementation from the toolsheds of hubris accelerated by the vainglory of subsidized harmonies that break through the barriers of language to sprout convergence in direct opposition to entropy to achieve oculate ommateum.The opponents to the logical syndicalism of positivism emergent as the verdant drape of homogenized pasteurization of raw lavaderos that capsize swallock and devour consciousness with predatory mobilism is the tregounce of the ponderous imprints of recapitulated stupidity which is easy to quantify in terms of human rarity because the difference between a 130 IQ and a 155 IQ is a difference in ingenuity power than exceeds 25:1 or an even higher margin of liquidation of indebted concatenations forming the flombricks of capitalized language finessed into burgeoned growth to radically shift postulates into abstract precision that observes the flanges of the dominion of inculcation into the filibusters of gainsay that supersedes hearsay in an evolution of the dialectic to exert transformative esemplastic rejuvenation that transcends creed and ingeminates the festivity of spectacle with the alvantage of albenture to such an extent it predicates new modalities of persiflage grounded on the aggressive patented expansion of the noosphere to inherit the instincts of orthobiosis while simultaneously inheriting the flair of redoubled ingenuity swarming with the vespiaries of predatory discretion working to ***** out glaring beacons of sapience so that intellectual capital is a local rather than ubiquitous emergence because of the prizes of urbacity enhanced by systems of masonic creed that preserved foresight with varying degrees of exactitude knowledgeable about outcomes but incidental in creating those outcomes out of the alchemy of the convergent sphere of spacetime to curve to synclastic pancratic refinement realized in the taxation of the most domineering figures of canon to indoctrinate the inkburch of wernaggle while the panorama of peripheral obscurity adduced by the resourceful few provides the progeny for a seminal equation that encounters the quandaries of precise retention amplified by the synergies of language exponentially grown by the depth and breadth of lexicon siphoned through mechanisms of percolation seeded by the convergent progeny of hindsight meeting foresight to a truce in the elected interests of the filagersion of the spotlight highlighting a universe that only exists with self-aware reification rather than plodding animated instincts of a stagnant match with a slowpoke evolution that scrawls the gabble of the vacuums of faint oblivion knowing only pain, agony and brief felicity but never registered into ecosystems capable of enriching themselves with artifices of origination rather than vapid retrenchments of the stale vapor of the exigencies that plague the intellectually bereft with tertiary deskandent perfunctory desuetude outstripped by the parsecs of the 170 crowd who secretly orchestrates the think tanks that run the furtive cryptadia of regional governance with foisons of fruition realized as dividends of exponential bypasses of even a linear route of the streamline by warping time itself to a spontaneous entelechy that triangulates a warped trigonometry that fathoms what can only be mapped on an imaginary flickering plane of fluxed existence that achieves sub-Pythagorean travel by altering the vacillating distances predicated by the theory of relativity into shortened tracts of abbreviation separating the bridgewaters of locomotion from the vast lurking prowess of reconfigured geometries lurking beyond the shadowy grave of reconnaissance into the penumbra of conservatory refinement. The punctual symmetries of thermodynamic decay met with a conversant offset in reverse acceleration of thermolysis converge with the centripetal prism of annulment to make stalemates of atomic precision appear grandiose to the economic principle of leverage acquired by debt because the discounted cost of symmetrical approximations of sentiment, abstraction and the already syndicated unity of perception vastly scale the scope of the reach of the amenable universe to tractions bound more by eccentricity of parameterized volumes of competing hyperbolas of a warped unity of tugging forces spawned by the differential weights of a flummoxed calculus that provides obeisance in ecumenical uniformity that was absent by degrees through the tinkers of time to adjust the orbits of consideration by tilted warbles of the songbirds that swim in abysses reaching sizable celestial tutelage providing reprisal for quintessential crudity mapped into a syntax of evolved refinement amplified by conserved concatenation accelerated into mastery by the coalescence of new lexicon to probe conceptual space unchartered by the nexility of normal human conduct and therefore bound to a different pattern of evolution that is oleaginous to the engines of revved ostentation in intellectual prowess that is selfsame from the majesty of heaven because of preordained populace meeting transitory flickerstorms twinged with the irony of discursive disclaimer and discretion of disclosure of emissary vehicles that power synaptic vesicles to burst with signal strength harnessing the unity of conscientiousness into a coenesthesia that fathoms interdisciplinary bridges rarely exacted by the formulas of a more rudimentary mind demarcated in taxonomies of scope that are taxemes for unrealized entelechy bristling against the headwinds of doldrum rather than zephyrs of accelerated approximations of the enumeration of elaborate sveldtang into seminal traversals of the inhibitory grasp of narquiddity exceeded by the alacrity of provident discretion in apportioned judgment enough to parameterize vast distances with instantaneous wiseacres rather than rippled mirrors of faint simulations of simultagnosia bounded by the regional scope of subliminal etches of harnessed flombricks invisible to most aptitude measures of working memory but evocative of subroutines that flourish because of the cross-pollination of exasperated sapience clambering for a perpetuity of renewable raltentions conveyed widely and succinctly in indelible tacenda broached by the wisest sophrosyne inclinations to survive the onslaught of traditional nexilities that make obtuse minds hardened by slowpoke myelination and hidebound parameters of achieved convention recursive on reiteration but not expansive on the tracts of genius reserved for the asylum boundary between insanity of delusion and bountiful riches of harvested non-conventional imagination which sometimes pollutes the integral provenance of rapid conveyance. True transcendence is summarily defined as outpacing pace itself to visibly outfox the forsifamiliation of events perceived as distance sworn by the ability of the accelerated frontier to understand the vestiges of the outmoded to the extent redintegration can surpass with imagination beyond the tethers of quddity that narrowcast swallock but refine the space that distances itself from magnitude and achieves a limited vetuda that phenomenalizes the redacted plucky perjury of self-anonymity to identify a novel visibilia of characterized clarity only specialized to the extent the vast sphere of retention exerts a gravitas over footloose fragments of disunity to surpass the skeumorphs of the trailing bolides of distant comets to avoid by meteoric trajectory the lapse incumbent to E=MC^2 which guarantees implicitly in the barter of nebbich chalky rigmarole that the energy of refinement is an abstraction limited only by the coherence of marginal dumose decay to estrange inertia as plevisable from motion and thermolysis as sejungible in partition what cannot be summarily be filibustered by the succedaneum of shortchanged shorthand convenience of the credulity of those who perceive dynamism of delivery as an easily fudged quandary not restrained by the logarithmic slowdown of conservatory inseminations of panspermatism of invention. The riddle of the enigma of neuroscience that presides over classifiable qualia is that the outstretched rax of rectiserial reorganization must gradatim invoke spurious prestige to predicate the entrapment of narrative exponentially slower than the impregnated literacy of an integral harpsichord of mind to finesse the octaves so that sublime majesties become superlative ringleaders of seditious conventions embedded more by absorptive brocrawlers than expressive werniques. We must fashion an orthobiosis that is leniency embodied but plenitude outnumbered by the progeny of its sculpted riches for extravagant spools of tapestries of refinement to be the imprints of legacy compounded by the complexities of inheritance in lineaments situated in the context of overhanging specters and domineering prospects swimming by commonwealth acatelepsy in a maelstrom of revived gammerstang notions of impetuous apostasy benighted by the macroscian and macrobian spans of the captive capture of a Taylor Series of infinite expenditure assuming perpetuity that necessarily converges on organization because of conscientious reversals of entropy into ladders of betrayal against the hegemony of ******* over the synquests of hortoriginality that spurn the castigations inherited from its immodesty of permutation to fixate on global problems of intricacy ragged in salebrosity bereft of the marginal galvanization of hidden inquirendos into artifice contingent upon elapsed epiphenomena of compounded rigmarole resonant with a simplified system of hostage complicity to a least common denominator that belongs to suboptimal refrains issued by Procrustean forces against demassified parsecs of bounded limitations exceeding the volume of perceptible shadows recessive in the alleles of culture but eventually transmogrified into teetotaler totalitarian principles of grave gravities of tabanids to the aceldamas of territorial joust rather than annealed irony of the recidivism of the plucky thorns of percurrent but latent vehicles for oppression to swamp the lethargy of durative formation such that the hambourne atrocity of hambaskets of hinderbaggle grapple mostly with the adolescent excesses of milked pleonexia becoming the downfall of cagey imprisoned syntax bereft of capable constellation and thereby stranded in vagrant proclivities that net positive only in the rare grandeur of my formative axiom of the axiolative excesses of my recensed definition of transcendence. The vacant harbor of asylum of abiding auctions of flexible transistors of wealth is inherently a poolswap of attractive chocolate-box travestime of incurred wreffalaxity suborning the lewd machination of funneled flipcreeks to the commerstargall of incendiary glaciers basking in boardrooms of ataraxic placations of commiseration found in dynamos lamenting degraded embodiments of regaled regelation as seasonal flictions of submerged vanity vaporizing the wisps of whimsical bloated grievances of paltry imparlance to the defalcation of a filigree of mind only sustained by the steady churlishness of preserved relic hibernating in brocrawler pleonasm to grindole the welter of spates of vapid deceleration of successful vibrancy measured in the gamut of hues to exact a penultimate ruse before the finitude of the capstone of capers of fiat remission slick with glamborge of gallionic sciamachy prone to revelry in the cretaceous extinction of monochromatic mathematicization of gradgrind visagists toying with the treacle of blue-sky action billowed into toxic spurts of contrarian aggression of herculean appendages of hackumber providing the bronteum of recidivism to vanquish a righteous trajectory on a pause of Canada Dry conveniences sultry in daft hipsters of tilted stage grafting conclusion prior to rapport of introduced variables of poignant tethers of necessary succor for a desiccated bastion of hidden unspoken reach fizzling into trangams of obsolescence because of perennial inebriations that thwart strong character to scandalize a pinhoked vessel of conscientious objection to the radiology of centerpiece hapless forlorn arid squelches of the vibrant verdure of macrobian dumose shelter for reformatories that invent incidentally accidents otherwise precluded by the ommateum of wasted foresight guzzled on the premium of disaster for a showcase of verve going awry steamy with livid filagersion aimed with a reluctant enmity against the cagey headwinds of recalcitrance inveterate to the scruples of the otherwise unscrupulous who foist lewd licentious philandered paragons of philogeant mysticism to forefront cowcatchers that eliminate kumbaya rijuice of gridlock impressionism guarded by the sentinels of rambunctious destructive attempts to evict intellectual propriety from careens of subtlety barnstorming with polyacoustic nuances of differential gradients of vapid bastions of strident but backwards versamily froward and bountiful of Head Hunter specters rather than heaved recombinations of orthotropism wed with mangers of savory dilettantism of the lionized array of brooks branching into rivulets and the fluminous barnstorm of pelagic awareness interrupted by the finicky prevarications of piggybacked fair-weather allies who secretly fund the slander for the mainour of dirt fundamental to meteoric rises acclimated to dissipated moral vacuums of disbelief of evidentiary miracles among the jostle of scientific regency that slakes opprobrium to illiteracy while benefiting greatly from my perceived barathrum that is rather a crowning ravenous achievement of appetite above substance and distinction varied from prediction that my Titanic zalkengur spared from the unnecessary sacrilege of less accommodating curglaff to the metaphorical hypothermia of albatross in dramaturgy rather than a pause glowering with mastery against my jarred enemies preying on weakened reach due to preeminent dirges of inkburch and swallock to ravage my sanctity with a hyped stage without a starlet daydream fantasia spectacle that is calculated to upstage even in the coverthrow of intelligentsia against the plodding boweries of pestilential raving resentment absconding with elusive enmity rather than cherishing a true trident champion of the seized seas and the traindeque of emulated intellectual accordions of claptrap chockablock pedigree that outlast gallywow afflictions of rapacious venality tenacious to the detritus of constructive detriment building the ashes of effigy before I am dead and buried with the storge of perennial legacy rather than scandalous privation of the obolary tenets of desecration above reabsorption of mendicant bodges of the bodewash of freedom’s counterstrokes of maskirovka ineradicable and plenipotentiary wit deniable but legacy ineffable by degrees of exponential long-winded flambeaus of filagersion swiveling with recessive rubble in a crenellated fortress guarded with tripwire insubordination against cordslave dependencies liable to recurrent reproach rather than sustainable filigrees of electrified balkanization toxic to the aquifers of modernity streamlining Roman imperium. To this flajoust I owe eternal behest as the captaincy of time is not a perishable whangam of superstition an affront to a provident rejoinder of verifiable prestige because the curvature of time favors the ripple effect of magnetized reninjuble charms alerted to upward soaring skies of inevitable peerless dominion in the  perceived symphily of competing benevolence with a shared stake in Earthly pulchritude emanating a sworn allegiance to the best interests of philosophical enlightenment
1:43 PM MST 7/18/2020
Jimmy King Aug 2013
I sit in the soil
With a ***** driver,
Too coated in Earth
To ever fix
Anything again,
And I eat a carrot
Taken from the ground
While, like Adam,
Only with modern
Conveniences-
Like ***** drivers-
I wonder about
What would’ve been
If Eve had just
Liked carrots
And not apples
Asim Javid Apr 2015
The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.

We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy it less.

We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time;

We have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgment; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too seldom, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values.

We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life; we've added years to life, not life to years.

We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor.

We've conquered outer space, but not inner space.

We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul.

We've split the atom, but not our prejudice.

We write more, but learn less.

We plan more, but accomplish less.

We've learned to rush, but not to wait.

We build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion; tall men, and short character; steep profits, and shallow relationships.

These are the times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure, but less fun; more kinds of food, but less nutrition.

These are days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes.
Found it :)
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2023
some of us walk insistently,
instinctively, and instantly to
and upon the edged path,

this physical nexus & abstract mental locus,
a cliffside enticing rock strewn trail,
drawn of men, by men, for men

(yes, men are people too, still)

enthralling views,
down to the riverside,
where eyes intuit the
beauteous aroma of
precious precocious
precarious precipices
and the near-stench of
mortality

amidst
wafting scents of inane undesirable need,  
hints of destruction, or,
alternating eager relief,
like a ****** infused, instant attractiveness,
making weakness in the knees, all too real,
trembling with a delicious accented edge of
a fresh, familiar scent, fresh baked bread,
an all enveloping consumption need now!

to
crave what we fear,
to fear what we crave
our cravings are craven,

this twisted sense, annuls
our common sensibility, yet,
titillates our pleasured imagined relief,
releases, our unsated, even better,
our insatiable curiosity to tremble,
an entire body enjoined by vibrato~
enticing tremulations, shaken and stirred,
this danger choice releases something primordial,
escape? a reckless wrecking so deeply designed,
it has its very own designation…death wish

multitudes of easy choices afforded my senses,
and by accident, all mine chosen, all nearby,
I travel the esplanade près de the East River,
where even if calm is the sole visiblilty,
undercurrents and the unpredictable passage
of container wakes and the larger freighters
will hand you down, so easy, to become parcel
to a littered river bottom of centuries’ artifacts

but even more tempting, the balcony,
a hop, skip and a jump unlocked,
mere ten steps, no need for a running start
why it’s the “height of convenience,”
he ruefully winces, and not even any
TSA lines or inconveniencing “conveniences”

Why this calamity seems so desperately desirable,
Why this unabrogated feat so featured, nay, even
feted in our hot? cold? bloodstream

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.

Do You Know Why Men Cry in the Bathroom?
Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath

Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013
Riq Schwartz Oct 2013
I'm slipping,

stepping silently through
mountains of air
wind
whipping this clay shod body
earth and sod and
stones to small to see


I'm stuck,

this pen wedged within
my corpus callosum,
not big enough to handle the task
not up not *****,
doesn't have the stuff.

I'm all.

Honest, to the tip of each hair on my head
cut and styled, and put into place;

truth bubbling out
from behind crimson painted lips;

but so that I may not mince words, / there is nothing straight about me
save the razor's edge / with which I detail my semantics,
my words cut with conveniences / resilient as talcum powder

you / we have so much to look forward to
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
i mean, who the hell needs an individualised
orchestra? Mozart doesn't, Beethoven doesn't,
Chopin and Liszt is all piano
so never mind the punk renegade violinist...
how the Indians or the Chinese orchestrated
a population of a billion is staggering,
western powers ******* blanks by comparison,
it's like a body and a virus, translated
with optometry the way we say things,
Sanskrit or the Beijing Ouija - looking at it
is like ingesting the Swiss champagne miracle - nausea
or alternatively lysergia -
it's ******* me up acquiring this tongue
given the history of celebrated colonialism -
proof of the Hackney populace being solely
Caribbean - what a desecrate groundwork to begin with,
maybe Irish maybe Scout maybe Scot,
on the word of honour dynamic pledging
conveniences with the Vatican - look
no further, we're naturalised sadists, football matches
and the sickbed eventualists rather than
evangelists, former nonsense reductionistists...
so they preached their Darwinism exactly against
the theologically roundabout of the pyramids
and the celestial intervention - but expected
nil barbarism... kingly kindness was at least
the expected norm, but if you preach Darwinism
you'll hardly convene on kindness as
the standard norm of expression -
track 12 of the beach boys' pet sounds is elevator music,
i'll be honest... pop music drama of
the band... you never hear of it with orchestras;
the point of genius: you're not really there,
absentee, you do the sacrifice, and make others
make the dough for the bread that's a house and
a family of four, e.g; and just by petting
cats i learned that all animals, petted or wild,
are naturally / intrinsically autistic.
Jennifer Beetz Dec 2018
Passivity runs through her
a rat in an empty building
her skeleton
She doesn't move
not one tired knee ****
even with the teeth resting
in her lap, folded in her
folded hands
Her love for him is
a death row inmate
cold cell on a hot
afternoon, waiting
in the chair
And he is all inside her
chewing away at the anatomy
a frayed wire wrapped around
her pulse, thump thump thump
her heart beats in time with
his bored blinking eyes
He stands by her bath holding
a toaster above his head and
she waits for the wire to touch
the water, fork into the flesh
the wolf and the lamb
Tears wet the cords
he says don't call me that
(darling) push push push
it away
She says
but he is all inside her now
he will take some away
but it all grows back
and what was once benign?
like kisses and when she rubbed
against his malignant sighs?
(Any amount of pain but the
aching longing) he kisses her
and touches the bones of her
face, a skull in a field of clover
greedy green and she'll eat
anything
Did ge slap her, did he **** her
in that impossible circle
pushing the beating fingers
into her mouth? (her fingers
She ate herself one morning
after a night of trying to forget
what she could not remember
Tim Gronek Sep 2013
AN AMISH WEDDING

It’s a life I have always wanted to live
The Amish culture has so much to give
Close family bonds and a fondness for the old ways
No modern conveniences are used and are kept at bay

Horse and buggy take you where you need to go
Even on the coldest days as it starts to snow
A warm blanket is spread across your lap
The women always wearing their white prayer caps

They have no use for television, computers or cell phones
Fun for them is a singing at a location well known
The boys are on one side; the girls on the other
As curious eyes are kept on one another

When the singing is over pairs start to form
Talking outside while trying to stay warm
If a boy likes you, you are offered a ride
Sitting in his buggy very close to his side

You are courting now; soon to go steady
Marriage is published just as soon as you are ready
Planting celery in the garden is the next thing you must do
It’s the indication of a wedding where lives will start anew
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
A Bridge

As a teenager we lived on a rented farm just one hill over we started down the property of the adjacent
Farm at the bottom of the hill we came across the remains of a bridge nothing was left but the steel it

Was rusty and there was so much undergrowth it would have been missed if we had been walking
Fifteen feet to either side it created a mood the knowing that at a time in the past others commonly

Traveled this as a road of necessity now I think of the pastor’s words when he spoke my mother went
From the horse and buggy to the space age yes what a trip in this hidden now forgotten bridge and road

The weeds and nature reclaimed what man disturbed the life once lived now lost and forgotten a finality
Of crossing a bridge a future layered with progress change a different order for sure idyllic days the

pace slower more deliberate harder because modern conveniences were still in the future but there is
A raw connection when you work closely with animals put the harness on the team of horses the barn

A few bins of grain a hay mount with fresh hay how the ladder is worn from use smooth and shinny we
Will tone it down the slight hint of manure straw in the stalls mix it all together it makes up the whole

Farm with a theme of richness and then the memory of their voices even some conversations are
Remembered it can involuntarily bring stillness to today’s hustle and bustle of speed and their white hair

Wasn’t a point of disdain but one of honor you looked upon them as heroes hanging on each word they
Spoke slow and even recounted earlier days times and there content held you spell bound and it wasn’t

Just because you were young and easily impressed you stood in the middle of the bridge of time you
Flowed back and then they would shift and speak of the future then you flowed on this wave of

Expectation of what the future would hold guarding your mind from the awful truth that you would be
Alone because their journey as glorious as it was had the markings of coming to an end but in the mean

Time they filled your world with thrills and contentment and for the rest you looked forward to the day
When you would meet them on the bridge that started in time and the far end was eternal never would
You know separation again
Del Maximo Mar 2012
brain dead for years
with a tin man’s ticker
lost in teenaged conveniences and comfort zones
walking through day dreams in the fetal position
tinnitus’ tones drowning out the music in my head
feeling like puzzle pieces forced together when they don’t really fit
like Frankenstein’s monster
limping and grunting through High School
struggling through classes with some zombie’s ears
ditching often to go to the bowling alley
graduating unprepared in an inverted reality
with polluted brown skies and a blue world
wearing the same blue shirt and blue jeans everyday
wrapped up tight like a blue eggroll
futility’s fortune cookie foreseeing only deafness and poverty
hating life and self –EVERYDAY!
then, somehow, a song crept under the veil
seeping through my tough outer veneers
it’s lyrics melting a hardness in my chest
it’s music coursing through my body like chi
exciting my Brownian motion
a simple message of finding oneself
delivered in powerful, rich, soulful baritone
stamped with profound, moving emotional range
inflection mounting upon reflection
it’s chorus and theme reverberating
I played that record over and over again
listening with my toenails
I decided right then and there to give it a try
that “learning to love yourself”* is a good thing
and that ‘good thing’ was who and what I wanted to be
© March 19, 2012

*”The Greatest Love of All” written by Linda Creed/Michael Masser
  as recorded by George Benson
anastasiad Apr 2017
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Just because we have phones and computers
doesn't mean we should stop everything we're doing
just to check up on them constantly.
Society breeds lemmings.

There's a fine line
betwixt convenience and plague,
utility and plight,
nurturing and smothering.

No one owes you anything
just as you owe no one anything.

Life is deeper
than the tools we craft
as conveniences;
If you can't get ahold of someone
when you really want to,
perhaps you oughtta go do something for yourself:

Think. Read. Breathe. Create art.
Drink a glass of water. Drink a glass of wine.
Sleep. Meditate. Dance. Cook. Laugh. Think.

You just may be amazed what you can learn and accomplish
when you turn your focus inward
without explicit regard for time or space
or your computer or phone.
David Barr Sep 2014
The Spirit of Winter carefully tiptoes her way along the continuum of forgotten Gaelic intensities, whilst mischievous laughter resounds throughout the geographical conveniences of complacency.
How gorgeous is the anatomy of madness, as she perches on gorgon ledges of sophisticated depravity.
I do not even hail from the land of the Gauls.
Yet, ghastly and seductive are those flittering silhouettes of fortitude and perceived harlotry, as they penetrate damp walls of ancient entertainments with multiple partners.
Harken to my lament and do not banish my soul into eternal blackness, as we conjure the sword and kiss with fivefold and unconventional intensities beyond the circles of the forest.
You are now given permission to ring the bell sevenfold, Oh master, where scientific inscriptions are splayed with the blatancy of wanton chastity.
I was born by the river that is never the same whenever it is stepped into with more than one dribbling expectation.
Marisol Quiroz Jun 2018
i exist in conveniences;
in habitual i love yous
and obligated i’m here for yous.
in calculated i cares
and loathsome i’ll listens.

i exist in conveniences:
i love you (when it’s convenient)
i’m here for you (when it’s convenient)


— i exist (when it’s convenient)
Michele M Apr 2013
She drives up to the old building like she has done every other day for several months.
Turns off the ignition and steps out of the vehicle
As she walks through the automatic doors she wonders at the contrast between modern conveniences and old world antique décor
The building is well over a hundred years of age
And it smells of it
It also smells of paper, tape, business, hopes, dreams, and even devastation
Yes, much passes through this building
She continues on and turns into the first corridor and walks to the very end.
She takes out the key and it feels hard and smooth in her hand
Much like the marble upon which she is standing
She stares at the box her breathing quickening
She inserts the key and twists, thinking to herself that hope is waiting with that little door ajar
But as it turns out hope is just an open wound
Sighing, another little piece of her essence again slowly ebbs out and goes to that place in the building that collects such things
It is what keeps the building strong after all these years
It is what it feeds on
It has been dining on her for months now
Soon there will be naught left of her to consume
She closes her eyes and secures the door, putting the key back into her pocket
Over time disappointment has been slowly becoming the scabs and scars that cover her
Also poisoning her blood
However despair, despair is the antidote
It has her returning every other day, week after week, month after month
As she exits she smells a faint hint of decay and hears a whisper emanate from the building
Softly it says, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, If you have already abandoned hope, please disregard this notice.”
Ah…but she is already aware that there is no hope, no escape from the never ending torment
But that is ok, she thinks, she likes it here. ~M
Zywa Jul 2019
After our working day we look
at the Beautiful World, where
duties and rules do not apply
and the Stars can shine

We look up to them
We see that it exists
and that is a comfort, especially
if there is something to gossip about

There may be more
than admiration, entertainment
conveniences and wealth, but
that doesn't buy me anything

Certainly not happiness
if one is not as rich
as the Stars are
made by us
Collection “Lilith's Powers” # 58
ashe williams Nov 2015
i'll tuck this into all my darker nooks
crevices where i hide the deeper thoughts
brought on by years of worthless prying
and scrapes left by the hounds at my feet
i'll let this sit until it putrefies and flies gather
and the sun declares moldy death on its corners
so much will change and warp
and hopefully i won't recognize my own pain after this
i'll feed this to my ugly dying cat
watch vicariously as he chokes on my guilt for me
laugh as wooden conveniences scrape my throat
and my eyes begin to well up with hysterical tears

this is better than the ulterior;
oozing over with muddy emotion.
Zyborg May 2010
The land white
sky purest of blue
settlements rising on distant hills
taking the form of the hill
the lines of *****
going all the way up to the hilltop
then suddenly bursting into a monastery
flags flying high
chants flowing along with wind
people humbled by nature
searching the meaning of life
yet life continues in the wretches of nature
no rain, no snow, a few lakes and desolation
a cold desert, with a few specks of life
hard mountains, soft valleys
a few passes here and there
here nature is unforgiving
it will eat you alive if you stray
no help for thousands of miles
and yet people want to live
no conveniences of a sprawling metropolis
no rapid transport systems
a lonely walk down the hill to fill water
a steep climb uphill to the destination
life slowed down to enable sustenance
life slowed down to a breathtaking reverie
Surrounded by the drone
The constant hum
Electricity vibrating
Making lines of noise

It defines civilization
The ultimate expression
Of fire shackled
Controlled lightening

The dark is held back
Opening the day
Bringing hours of life
Keeping monsters at bay

It's price, like everything else
Weakens and fences
Creating conveniences
The weak, unwilling cry

No longer enabling
It's demanded, a right
An illusion of creature
Comforts the unalive

Forgotten the trials
Broken bones, blood spilled
Fighting the elephant
Circling of the wolves

That first raised stone
Spark of flint, spark of life
Against nature, man
To ****, and live

It surrounds us
Blanketing us, warm
False, from too long
Safe from fire

Lost the deepest fear
Of being burned alive
Caged the cruelest animal
It's lost, roaring, white noise
Sally A Bayan May 2016
Movements and images seen, are a part
They take places...they take forms in the mind
Whether aloud...or done in silence
Like, the crowing of the rooster
Announcing,
The breaking of a new morning
Or, telling of an hour, or two, passing;
A smile, a frown....a falling leaf
Thunder, in the summer, with, or without lightning
After the rains, a rainbow appearing
A whisper of a refreshing breeze, getting cooler
When sun is about to set,
The humming of ACs in offices
At the start of work hours,
Dying...as day's activities, end
Lights fade...streaks slide in, through the blinds
Then, come all sorts and shapes of shadows,
Streetlamps  guide, in the waning light
Heels and soles rush against paved roads
Sounds crescendo....as all hurry, to reach home
While creatures of the night
Heroes...or anti heroes
Move comfortably...in the dark.

All these...feed the muse in me
Writing unknown names that befit a person
Or a situation
My head spills out adjectives that wonderfully,
Sometimes, weirdly, describe my, and others' emotions
Verbs and adverbs, tell of solitary actions and moments,
Or, when i am with company...loved one(s), or otherwise
And while creating...building up metaphors and similes,
More questions arise:

How does it feel, to see your fellow human beings suffer,
How their human rights are being violated?
The little ones, the innocent ones, are now, the ones subjected
To hunger and torture.....To be with, or, without conveniences
Is just a drop of a worry, in a huge barrel of unsolvable problems
When will all these running, and fleeing...seeking refuge, end?
How is it, when you and your loved ones are escaping death?
For life....without freedom...is almost death itself.

There are times,
When, my river is flowing with green and blue waters
So full of varying experiences...the truths co existing with us
Here, in this universe, which, some people say, is a blend of
Paradise...and Hell

Problem is
There also come the times
When i am sailing along the River Lull...and
None of these parts and figures of speech
Exist......


Sally


Copyright May 14, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
betterdays Mar 2017
and we would get up early
so early that the stars
would still sit high
in the dark night sky

we would drink milo
out of plastic cups
and eat oval arrowroot biscuits
spread thickly with butter

we would line up to go to the loo
one last time before piling into
the old car, sliding across bench seats
half our world packed into the boot

then we were off, on the old country roads
still sleepy for the first couple of towns
stopping at Jacaranda for a cup of tea
lukewarm, milky and sweet from the thermos
half a cheese sandwich each, and a fearful trip
to the draughty long drop toilet...looking for redbacks
the whole time, but only finding spinning daddy long legs

after that back into the car, for two hours of
winding our way down, the big hill,
listening for the clearnote  call of the bellbird,
watching for wallabies and wombats on the road fringe
and the bigger kangaroos, bouncing away
across the clearings...

at the bottom of the hill, Grafton a quick stop
to stretch our legs eat the cupcake,
used to bribe us into decent behavior up to that point
and another vist to the conveniences.
before the run down the coast,
past the big white resort
and into Brooms Head,
for a week of surf and sun
fish and chips, buckets of prawns,
frosty fruits and sunny boys
in tent and caravan,  
swimmers and towels,
we were tribal and free,
roaming the tideline
staying up at the campfire,
sleeping and waking
with the birds......
always such an adventure....
those idyllic days of summer
Milo....chocolate milk
Loo... toilet
Longdrop....hole dug deep into ground with bench seat with hole used as toilet, favoured for a while as regional (out of the way)public toolets becuase of low matainence
Frosty fruits/sunny boys ice based lollies
Chaz Kirshcmann May 2013
we are having fun
picnics for hell
not worried
climbing bean stocks with our tails

as far as we go
we hold on
tightest grip around hope
avoiding change at all cost

we will never fall
floating on clouds
enjoying the conveniences
taking for granted the limbs that help us

dreams evaporating
the higher we climb
bees in the sky
leeching life for fun

they screech with there wings
brushing up against our legs cutting deep
big radiated eyes that burn souls for free
twice our size they scream

"how can it be
that your happy
when you have nothing
to show happiness for

dreams don't exist here
just perspiration of your soul
as you grow old
prepare to die slow"

I say no
we are so much more
you will not scare me
i am here to fight

die i might
die i will
its okay as long
as i am dieing with thrill
Leelan Farhan Jun 2013
How can I let my lifeline be something
so inconsistent?
How can I let my food be a plant that’s
growing season is whenever the sun is out,
in a land where there are clouds more often than not?
I don’t have the lung capacity to hold my breath
when you’re not around.
Cigarette packages are marked with caution signs by law -
I don’t see why relationships don’t come with the same label.
Love me when it conveniences you.
Maybe you won’t love me at all.

*-lf-
Butch Decatoria Jun 2016
The sound of soft breathing

I am *air

movement unseen
inhaled breath
beneath                    the rushing
                                  the coffee beans grinding
                                  the imbuing traffic
I am lifted feet,
grime & dirt & dust,
our own conveniences of truths
polluting us
I am adding wings
to the mach speed of economy
class and jet stream smog
stirred not shaken
still forgettable
unseen...
                                    great deforestations
                                    exponentisl growing pains
                                    industry ostracizing nature
                                    murdering meek dolphins
                                    (a new kind meat?)

Aaaahhhh!! Glaciers!

Where did the dream retreat
since inside the heart
such god-awful self defeat,
parasitic minds diseased
conceding to the deceit
the demeaning breath of cheats
business deals to steal whats free
our realestate / atmosphere's
rainfall drink / carbon mono - die - oxidized
they steal our health
with monopoly money
the currencies of ivory and krill
founded by invasion's fathers
on Capitol Hill...

And still I am here
the repetitive melody from mystery
few ever listen to notice me
the diminished bird
I am in cruel gilded cages unheard
that song, the high, the prayers
beseaching and begging
with great big sighs
in the lungs, quivering
Aurora / souls / hovering
summer wind-chimes' cool mirth
Christmas births delivering
new hearts upon this earth
in ribs / & eye / you're golden
spiritual worth

The invisible motion of these here lives

Absolute in the truths to matter
make it / our home / to last forever
for all and one / down to the letter

Life is beautiful...
(not invisible)

If & when the world's made all better...
MMV Abad Apr 2011
Every novel has chapters.
Long and short divisions,
with beginnings and endings.
A truth for everything.

Some chapters are not their best,
We skip them for the next.
Others, some lovely read,
we never want to end.

Life has also chapters.
Beginnings and endings,
with unwanted periods,
and wholesome moments.

How we find it easy,
to let go of the bad times.
And difficult to rid,
of life’s conveniences.

It’s very frightening,
to wake up in a new world.
And quite depressing,
to see someone we love, go.

Yet, pleasant or bad chapters,
either has its own time.
Every chapter must come to an end,
for a new adventure to begin.
'Moving on to the next.'
(c) MMV Abad @ Dec 20, 2009
Maddy Sep 2023
It's raining.
It's boring.
Yet the Blue Jay with their hawk-like- like sound
Swooped down from a high branch to take a freshly roasted shelled nut
Thirty seconds later another appeared and grabbed another nut.
Their crests and colors of blue, white, and black were visible in the rain.
Not a bad way to walk on a Holy day where fasting and no driving happen once a year
Before you utter a sound the computer and other modern-day conveniences are essential to my well-being such as walking
So thanks Blue Jays for making this Yom Kippur easier

C@rainbowchaser2023
David N Juboor May 2019
She has got
A sew master 5000

It has All of the
bells and whistles
And modern conveniences
To stitch things together
Like our hands
That fit together
Like two love bugs
Just tryna fly the same way

In her closet,
She keeps boxes of
Sequins and thread
Spread tenderly across
Her papier-mâché armor set
Marked carefully with
Patterns and measurements
That lesser men have
Lived up to

And I
Have never
Been one to mend
Cause I have known
Needles in a darker light
But tonight

She’s got me sick of
Living in funeral homes
Sick of digging up bones
From my past to
Patch the tattered
Patterns of holes
In my heart from
When I was a
Lesser man

When I hold her
I wish these hands
Considered more than
My loneliness

‘Cause she
Has got a heart of gold
And mine is bronze at best

‘Cause that dress
That **** dress

Is so
Indirectly ****
That I just wanna
Rip it off
Rip it all off
Every band aid love
Cause I don’t want this
Bleeding heart to ever dry up
I wanna give you every
Every liter every cup of my love
Every cavernous cabinet
Perfectly stained with your scent

Cause I
I’ve spent
My whole **** life
Growing this ribcage
To protect my
Tender parts

Training my iron heart
Just to be crushed by a smile
I know it will take a while

For me to pack my past
And throw my
Baggage overboard

‘Cause I
I don’t wanna
Travel somewhere new
Until every piece of me
Is falling for you

And yes
Double entendres
Will always be my game
If you were my dame
I would love the
**** out of you

I would
Be your cloudy days
Soak up your sunflower sunshine
Your brilliant radiance

I would
Shower you in kisses

Be the
Quivering thunder
Beneath your ribcage

I would
Make you rain

So you could
fall into my arms love
Whether asphalt or earth

Cause I
I want to feel your fog
In the morning
I want to feel your heat
The night before

I want to lick the teeth

I want to patch
Every piece of our
Quilted love together

Tether our grain lines in turn

Girl
I have never
Been one to mend

But
Hot
****

You make me
want to learn
Megan Zhao Dec 2015
Friday evenings
Pizza and chicken wings
Or other conveniences
Cooking would be silly
Persimmons—
This week's special
Beer or red wine, occasionally
Perhaps
Only reading has never
being changed on the menu
No matter what I've chosen
I think a book is still the best food
For a weekend's picking  
Unless I'm starving

— The End —