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Danielle Rose Jan 2013
After a brush with death
his eyes were like kaleidoscopes
the scene reflected himself in relation
to an ever changing world

he felt impermance
in an after glow
as the sun decended behind
the mountain's asylum

Soldier Summit's quieted railroad
an attraction to some
but for others a refuge
after a long and hateful dawn

May their souls rest in peace
those who eternally are blanketed by snow
and may the moutains speak
to the survivors who fight to reach the top of them
"   Let there be light , for i have formed you in the secret place , the apple of my eye ,
In the shadow of my wings , from the depths of the earth you were woven together
Knitted together in your Mothers Womb before time ...
  
Then the word became of flesh ....

The Fog decended on Ashfords quiet streets  , a golden ball hung in the sky only to shrouded
For a moment before bursting forth , dispensing of the mist that had encapsulated it .
Now for a moment at least it would shine like the morning star on this small leafy superb .

Earlier the previous day I had run  into the early mornings Autumble darkness
before any light had even decended .
A. room with four walls no shredding no light in my world , only shapes , my eye became
Accustomed to the darkness that surrounded it .
Inside the only door became bolted from within .
A Fairy tale of a man outside knocking was the only sound I could hear from picture books
My dear old mother used to read to me , and from Church pews long since forgotten .
Yet I have learned to live in this world where solitude is easy on the eye , and loneliness
a comfort blanket .
Easiest  thing in the world for pig to return to its sty
a dog to its ***** .
But what is a. Christian without a   Heart ,
a love without. a. Lover
A man without a wife
a cross without a Savior
a heart without a home ,
a rebel without a cause
a. Church without its capstone . ?

Engrossed. by the knocking. I heard I began to  take down the bolt , my heart
Once bound by night  now became flooded by the light ,
Fragments
Specs invaded my eyes , so bright the morning sun could have blinded me .
Anais Vionet Nov 2021
Reproduction is oocyting.
With beingness what it is.
From eggs we all develop
as does every animal that lives.

500 cardinal gambles tendered
for congress milt to meet, before
fecund moons by periods ended.

From family we are decended
but from eggs we all are rendered.



*** breaking it down ***

It’s about eggs. All amminals come from eggs, humans are animals

An oocyte is the original cell that divides to form an **** - I made it “oocyting” a play on exciting - reprodiction is exciting.

500 - a female baby is born with 500 eggs (all she will ever have)
cardinal = a number  
gambles = a chance to reproduce.  
tendered = given (in a womans life)
congress = ****** *******.  
milt = *****
fecund = fertile.  
moons (monthly)
period = when the current unfertalized egg is disposed of.
taa daaa!
inspired by the poem “We all are eggs” by BLT
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
in my paradigm, a word to define
from now on such words,
we presume

you can lookitup. Yacoulda in 2019.
if you don't assume you
knew what that word meant when
phirst poured into me,
the idea in the word,
actedly as you act
ually allow true,
in the dom whence thy will is done, yknow?

presumptible words hold whole preconceptual

assumption of the neccessary fiction

Migration outa hell, the myth
ic map.
That'll only getcha yea far.

Once a good idea has a man,

History sets the rules for maintaining our living culture,
(lest we forget, some animals is more equal)

but once manifested, the awaited ones,
groaned for in labour like,
the twentieth century

here we come
the good idea posse, plague on
userers and slavers and oppressors, and professors
confessing greed is the engine of
onward, as we were, we shall become
they say to the we we ain't.

We are robbers

of noble wisdom occluded behind tonsored and tenured
guild rules for heresy pre
vention.

Imps, good imps, impulses to do, right, sativa in
fluency,

we take hold in mortal minds and lift the blinds on

things hidden from the foundations of the world,

now, all ye need is

-- a login and password, All the public lies unbelieved
-- from word one to right just now,
-- we un done 'em. You gotta know how to phrase
---a quest request.
-----is that a problem, are you offended that keywords
-----and key phrases,
----can open doors on no map of meaning you drew,
---- as magi were said to do?

ah, a door in y' back wall, o'yerown persian guarded den,
a glance o'er y'shoulder,

duck, crawl, through the wall

we chipped away some old mortar around
stones who can testify our right
to interupt re
ality, as you will
---
AH, I live in a Archetrope, as a sorta hippy hermit former farmer,
relative of the
Outlaw-Lawman Archtype Classes, decended from Tubalcain,
through Na'amah, ancient mitochondrial
genes  pre
valent in general hill folk  
who tend to bake probiotic home-made

bread starter. I'm the idea. The idea that goes with
certain old recipes and those smells,
****** gluonic pro
tonic action,
but I am a recent roll-out, 5G.
We be given leave for
quarkish tricks with words,
if you can believe that.

Note to self: this is only funny if you presume to know

meaning's meaning as related by JBP. And then,
you laugh a liar laugh, as if, a little

levity leavened ye, f'crysoutloud, and yewerekewl,

you knew. Yeah, y'knew all them Jordan B. Peterson
polysyllabic synchronic
ex-plain words,
You did read the whole reading list, right?

How childish a question have you lied
to answer, because, aitia, you did not know?

New values. Junk yard values.

What good's this thang?
That's a crankshaft,  the piston rod connects
down from the piston, down to
that. Crankshaft. That one's for a chivvysix.

SO, what good's it?

Not much. The car it was in won't work no more.

-----
on the border twixt known and un

the future scented in the past, orange blossum
special, borego super bloom

golden valley full o' poppies, in re
al life, already already, alright.

If you get the drift, blown in the wind back when poppies
conspired to sow seed in abundance beyond
the possibility of that now winter then
to sustain or even wake
2 in twenty,

back then when rain did not come until Febru
ary, and then, but a
pittance. Poppies and Bluebelles whispered into
pollen on the way west, sea,
see us from our wind,

next winter, we have sown our hearts out,
so send some clouds to start the spell,
the smell,

desert bloomin' pollen way, so easy to see,

intagiios of life laughing in color for such as
find now enough, enough
to see and let be true,
look up
and fly to learn to see as a silver raven could
with your eye,
your POV in sus
pected un belief.

Pop.

---
the current or pre existant state

next.
AH
HA this is not one of those mytheries mystery
fectory confections one may buy
hand-dipped

in many wee wide spots in the road,
where enough was enough
a good
while ago. A previous and probable future
stable horizon of delight

no walls. The idea twisted into paradice is

from when the hearts of men had never been
re
deemed worth the effort to fill them with

you know, good and evil, plus why and how not,

you know, you know how, but you know
how not to, too. And any fool can learn in
life's most dangerous univers
ity ified as lived, breathed in'n'out exper
ience.

Winning and being may not be mistook past here.

Find that which has been lost
since birth.
Find the old way, where good is. Walk it.

Find the message in the old words. Talk it.

Compliance or complexity. Not my job or ...

come to think...

Mentioning winning, maybe, yeah, ya'll'll gitit

My job, as a good gob of complexity eating juices,
fermented from trodden grapes o' wrath,

way back, when...
I was sung once, just
once...
in an orange orchard, I was the the ******,
or dwarf who caught the idea

from the wanderer walking in the orchard to smell
the sweat and sing at the top of his lungs

Operetic otic baritone

Faith
is the evidence
Faith!
is the evidence evidence evidence dense dense,
(
william tell)

Jim Dee was Tonto and he, con sidereal authority wise,
considered us fools, who said in their hearts,

here is where all truth dwells. (they were children, then)
the dwarf in me caught the idea
and went
Chuck Berry duckwalk air guitar singing high tenor,
Woe to the soul, what don't believe,

Woe, Sisyphus, roll it up'n' let'erole

evolve, little ****** beasty idea virus, roll out,
role on. That's the trick.Just be good for goodness,
that feeling, y'know. You got it.
Casting my bread upon the water, so ... we'll see, now, won't we?
Bryce Jun 2018
Yesterday the ever-present dead trees that lined my childhood road
Decended deep into the stream,
Killed a woman
One soul
Smashed deep against the windshield
And with drops of coconut blood
And leftover grocery lists
And sunken perfume

How could it be like this?

But man
What a way to go
A funeral procession of thousands
Stopped for miles
Wondering
What could you have been?

Your ten-milisecond
Moment of fame
And the hours after you cease to know
Like the most
unfortunate poet
They saw you for what you were
And wondered...

It was you
God chose you
And brought you home with the gleaming face
Of a modern-day
natural
Valkyrie

I went the back way that day
After becoming impatient for an exit
Ironic
Really
And so I guess you came into my mind
Absently
Knowing that every plaque in the continental
Artery
Is you acting a little bit too quickly
So I looked you up on the phone
And said thanks
For whatever you did
As a soul
Here and back again
Unexpected.
K603 Oct 2015
Heaven won't let me in.
I stood at the gates and everyone just looked at me, no one came to me
No one let me I saw a few weep
The gates far to steep

...

Then a beautiful angel stood beside me
His eyes held a fire red
it burned my very soul
I took his Hand and we decended
I watched the sky of gold disappear and down I went.
It was dark then light
It is beautiful my smile was growing, warmth filled me.
I am home.

The devil told me I deserved nothing less than to be
Queen
To rule by his side.

Queen sounds good to me
And my king so handsome and as hard as I
Queen.

Then you showed up in shackles,
The man who broke me
...

The devil smiled
I frowned

I must choose
you to the pit and be a Queen,
Or
let you go let you be happy and loose the chance of eternal happiness
...

Here we stand my love,
Do you remember the hurt you put in me?
The pain and cold you left?
I broke so many after you just trying to heal myself and it took my life.

...

Once upon a time I would have saved you.
I would have given anything to keep the pain away from you

But that was long ago and since you have faded
To a distant memory

...

I look into you and I can see you hurt when you hurt me but you did it anyways
I see your pain now.
But I see nothing,
Feel nothing
You crushed my heart killed my soul
This is your doing, you signed your own death certificate.
Away you go my love
For I am Queen

...

And I rule now
I hope you hurt, I hope you have a daughter and a boy like you come along.
Traveler Jan 2021
So you claim you're highly
"intelligent"
In which category would that be?
There's "cognitive" and "emotive" intelligents,
I'm sure your in the driver seat!

Or perhaps your
crystallise intel
is crystallised
Somewhere
Between heaven and hell
We can be
Influentials when fluency dwells


Surely
"Kinaesthetics" is poetical flow
This intelligence come and goes.

But obviously "linguistic"
is our intellectual clutch
Along with high "aesthetics"
But you may still be out to lunch!
Because
"Spiritual" intelligence
can leave us drunk!

"Interpersonally" where are you
That and "artistical" intelligence rules!

"Spatially" we navigate
this "mathematical" understanding
of our universe.

No one possess all
11 intelligents I have mention
So if you believe your above
You've pathologically decended!
Traveler Tim

Part of the lecture I give to a think tank society in my area

Humans have up to a dozen intelligence
Some of yours are higher then mine!
A CREEK CANOE CRUISE

At first we were rowing and flowing effortlessly with the hasty dance of the water through our creek before the hyacinths started running everywhere like a drunk driver
I heard great and lovely captivating tales of Adegbe lake from Grandma as I decended on 3 big madiga and dried aloma fish

As a kid I saw smooth strokes and paddle's play as fun
as the water's rhythm kept my eyes hooked as we guide and force our way through the water hyacinth colonized creek
Some foliage hugged the canoe edge and some married our paddle

I saw nature's excellence and it's aesthetic esthesiogenic pledge
Sun's warmth, gentle breeze and the lovely Grammy sweet songs of birds
I enjoyed seeing the ripples our canoe created , and the fact that it was my first time entering a canoe kept me lively
Canoe cruise was a moment to seize.




Ouseibai Bright Ebi
27/04/2023
Not for us the delights of Venice
A tan on the Med or being seen on the piste,
Our holiday was passed down to us by elders
Who religiously planned for two weeks of heaven at least
When the whole street decended
Like so many aliens
Who on reaching the earth's atmosphere
Forgot they were supposed to **** and pillage
And just went plain silly,
In caravans and huge tents you said
A congregation of days running together
Whose shimmering horizons, like great moats
Protected, edified, were ready to sweep away
Invading thoughts of ever returning to that hum drum existence
Of that make believe life forever ended.

Sadly we never achieved such heights
Ours were snatched days, hastily arranged nights
When we gambled on the weather
Opted for more familiar sights,
And there it is, just as you had left it
The sandcastle with tiny flagged turrets
And shells, handpicked, embroidered
On to walls packed tight
Enough to repel the advancing tide
The merciless frothy blackness, creeping all night
Over our lost childhood and innocence.

Even those stolen moments are not on offer any more
Leaving me hundreds of miles from shore
With the bucket and ***** you both forgot
And plenty of time to reflect
On what could have been
But if I ***** up my eyes really tightly
I can just make out two small figures
Playing like children
On the beach
In the sun.
you know, it's impolite
to pick and scratch the bark
of those who carry weight
of age and wisdom both
so would you be so kind
as to climb down now
and leave my leaves at peace
and branches still attached...

well, thank you very much...
say, what now, child? please,
come closer and speak up!
you ask me what I am?

well, child, I'm a tree
what kind? you ask. ahem
of special kind no less
why don't you take a seat
this story is quite long, and
there's no need for haste
on days like this when sun
is shining through your leaves
and wind...

oh yes, where was I? right,
my story of the treefolk,
of forests lively green
and rivers running blue
of nature going wild
between the stalks of grass

of fire burning all to ash
and death it brought along

all trees, you see, are kin
to me, my siblings dear
and every single one
I used to know by name
this wasn't always so
as in the days long gone
there were so many more
of us, preparing to uphold

the lands on which we grew
and trees of which we cared
and deep inside the woods
our sacred sapling grove

when people came at first
and started chopping trees
we came to them at night
and sternly asked to leave
like times and times before
with goblins, same as dwaves
but humans... they returned
and brought with them machines

I still remember well
despite my older age
how we stood all as one
and fiercely fought the foe
for every inch of land
and every tiny shrub
they paid the price in blood
and mighty steep it was

we fought them day and night
and though their losses grim
withstanding wave by wave
our lines were growing thin
one brother took the place
where other brother fell
one life for twenty... fifty...
hundred. yet not enough...

machines of wood and metal
that belched streams of fire
we had no match to those
to turn the tides of battle
we had to play our foes
for fools. though shrewd and sly
though cunning and observant
those humans shared one flaw...

it's considered rude
to interrupt your elders
if you are not prepared
then maybe I should stop?
this story seems too slow
and long for youth like you
say what now? speak up, child
more? you sure? if you do so insist

where was I? right. our plan
of trickery. deceit, of all,
was to become last hope
our grove still lives, our
brethren lost their lives
in selfless valiant defiance
not in vain... for here
they fell, so here we all
could stay

the force of ruin stopped
it's deadly fire quelched
our saplings sprout anew
to bring back lives we lost
hope filled our souls to brim
and so we lay in waiting
until the darkest hour
decended over us, and still
we lay, and wait...

oblivious for now of what was yet to come

when humans noticed that
we weren't on the fields
they rushed in all at once
to break our line of guard
we let them pass, for now
and after some more waiting
we followed in their steps
and caught the wind of camp

we ambushed them. our plan
gave us the upper hand
machines forlorn in fear
and humans scattered wide
though only few escaped
to live and tell the tale
the victory was ours
or so we thought, alas

they burned the grove
left nothing still alive
a couple men
too eager to destroy
broke camp
to scout up ahead
treir haste became our folly
that's all they want, to ****
to massacre
with no remorse or guilt
our sacred grove
all turned to ash and dust
we broke their army
but they have
destroyed our lives
our hopes for brighter days
all vanished
smeared by rain and dirt
and only pain...
now there's only pain
where our young grew
hours back before

that battle, child, it was my last
soon after it I left my home forever
I couldn't stay there, couldn't bear
to look upon my failure any more...
and here I am, after who knows
how many years I spent in travel
and twice as many yet spent
rooting down here, silent
and alone...


you know, I have yet never told
this story to another living being
the first to hear it would be who?
a human child? nonsense, dear
that's what I would have said
but here we are now, you and me...
say, child... did you... like my story?
or was it, mayhaps, too bothersome
for youth your age to listen through?

say what, child? oh, that's nice...
well, thank you, dear. oh my,
I think it time for you to go
back home, it's getting late.
well, off you go, now, child. oh,
one last thing... here, take this, dear
it is an acorn from the grove, the
sole survivor from that raging fire
plant it somewhere nice, my child
and hopefully one day, a sapling
of my kin will sprout once more

23.06.24
still work in progress

— The End —