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"disembark" poems
Warning: Use dis list in context. You decide on which side you fall. disappear disregard disaster displace disqualify disrepair disturb dissipate disability dispose dismal distribute distrust disturb discriminate discuss disdain disguise dishearten disinherit disown disparage disagree disgruntle disclose discolour dispute disarm discover disassemble disadvantage disallow dispossess discontent discontinue disrespect disincline discomfort disrepute dishonest disillusion dishonor dismiss disobey disjoin disappoint discipline discord discern discrete disfigure disconnect disapprove discharge disbar disease discord disfavor disengage disassociate discipline discount disembody displace dissaray disembowel discombobulate discredit discourse disentangle disenfranchise disembark discard disburse disbelief discover disable disagree disintegrate dismay dispense dislodge disclaimer disapprove dissatisfy disrupt dispel dislike dismantle disloyal disbatch disrobe disperse display disaprove disciple disavow disconcert disinfect disorder dismal dismember displease dissemble disunity dislocate distort distrust distress dissolute disassociate distill discect (?) distemper distain distasteful distraught dissolve dissonant dissuade And dis isn't de end.
0
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
Is Dis Good or Is Dis Bad (a partici-poem)
*Tazaad-e-Jazbaat Mein Ye Naazuk Maqaam Aaya To Kya Karo Gay* **In contradiction of these emotions if that Delicate moment unfolded - then what would you do?** *Main Ro Raha *** Tum Hans Rahe ** Main Muskaraya To Kya Karo Gay* **I am weeping and yet you are jolly But if I smiled - then what would you do?** *Mujhe To Is Darja Vaqt-e-Rukhsat Sukun Ki Talqeen Kar Rahe ** **To me at this time of farewell Instructions of tranquillity you are offering** *Magar Kuch Apne Liye Bhi Socha Main Yaad Aaya To Kya Karo Gay* **But have you any thoughts for yourself? If you recalled me - then what would you do?** *Abhi To Tanqid ** Rahi Hai Mere Mazaq-e-Junun Pe Lekin* **For now there is criticism On my state of madness but** *Tumhari Zulfon Ki Barhami Ka Sawaal Aaya To Kya Karo Gay* **If scattering of your tresses is Questioned - then what would you do?** *Tumhare Jalvon Ki Roshni Mein Nazar Ki Hairania Musallam* **Within the splendour of your light Is complete amazement of sight** *Magar Kisi Ne Nazar Ke Badle Jo Dil Aazmaya To Kya Karo Gay* **Nevertheless if someone in return Tested your heart - then what would you do?** *Utar To Sakte ** Paar Lekin Ma Aal Par Bhi Nigah Dalo* **You can disembark across but Take a glance at the result too** *Khuda Na Karda Sukun-e-Sahil Na Raas Aaya To Kya Karo Gay* **God has not made a peaceful shore If nothing suitable appears - then what would you do?** *Kuch Apne Dil Par Bhi Zakham Khao Mere Lahoo Ki Bahar Kab Tak* **Take some wounds on your heart also Season of my blood until when?** *Mujhe Sahara Banane Vaalo Main Larkharaya To Kya Karo Gay* **Those in need of my support If I show hostility - then what would you do?** *Abhi To Daman Chura Rahe ** Bigar Ke Qabil Se Ja Rahe ** **For now you are leaving my hand And you are parting away from Qabil** *Magar Kabhi Jo Dharkano Mein Sharik Paya To Kya Karo Gay* **Yet sooner or later within your heartbeats If I became a associated - then what would you do?** — Translated by Jamil Hussain, Poet Qabil Ajmeri, Sung by Sabri Brothers
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Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 5:48 AM UTC
Emotions
*Tazaad-e-Jazbaat Mein Ye Naazuk Maqaam Aaya To Kya Karo Gay* **In contradiction of these emotions if that Delicate moment unfolded - then what would you do?** *Main Ro Raha *** Tum Hans Rahe ** Main Muskaraya To Kya Karo Gay* **I am weeping and yet you are jolly But if I smiled - then what would you do?** *Mujhe To Is Darja Vaqt-e-Rukhsat Sukun Ki Talqeen Kar Rahe ** **To me at this time of farewell Instructions of tranquillity you are offering** *Magar Kuch Apne Liye Bhi Socha Main Yaad Aaya To Kya Karo Gay* **But have you any thoughts for yourself? If you recalled me - then what would you do?** *Abhi To Tanqid ** Rahi Hai Mere Mazaq-e-Junun Pe Lekin* **For now there is criticism On my state of madness but** *Tumhari Zulfon Ki Barhami Ka Sawaal Aaya To Kya Karo Gay* **If scattering of your tresses is Questioned - then what would you do?** *Tumhare Jalvon Ki Roshni Mein Nazar Ki Hairania Musallam* **Within the splendour of your light Is complete amazement of sight** *Magar Kisi Ne Nazar Ke Badle Jo Dil Aazmaya To Kya Karo Gay* **Nevertheless if someone in return Tested your heart - then what would you do?** *Utar To Sakte ** Paar Lekin Ma Aal Par Bhi Nigah Dalo* **You can disembark across but Take a glance at the result too** *Khuda Na Karda Sukun-e-Sahil Na Raas Aaya To Kya Karo Gay* **God has not made a peaceful shore If nothing suitable appears - then what would you do?** *Kuch Apne Dil Par Bhi Zakham Khao Mere Lahoo Ki Bahar Kab Tak* **Take some wounds on your heart also Season of my blood until when?** *Mujhe Sahara Banane Vaalo Main Larkharaya To Kya Karo Gay* **Those in need of my support If I show hostility - then what would you do?** *Abhi To Daman Chura Rahe ** Bigar Ke Qabil Se Ja Rahe ** **For now you are leaving my hand And you are parting away from Qabil** *Magar Kabhi Jo Dharkano Mein Sharik Paya To Kya Karo Gay* **Yet sooner or later within your heartbeats If I became a associated - then what would you do?** — Translated by Jamil Hussain, Poet Qabil Ajmeri, Sung by Sabri Brothers
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57
After reading about some tribal warfare in a far away land, I wrote this true story down. Now re-published every year on this day. Seems more appropriate than ever one July 4th, many years ago walking the streets, of the city of Nice, situe on the Cote D'azur of France, on the Mediterranean Sea, where ships of navies may safely park their sailors, sending them ashore for R&R,^ they, leavened to disembark^^ how I came to be there is a poem for another time walking the streets, palm tree resort, along La Promenade Des Anglais, coming at me, Three Sailors, unmistakably American one white, one black, one brown from California, which I believe, is still part of the USA how we fell upon each other in warm embrace, smiling, bestowing blessings of grace not as strangers, but as fellow signatories on the Declaration of Independence brothers, long lost, reunited, as if it had been many years, since we last had our arms entwined, one family from one far away united place dialectical differences ignored, even the wide-eyed 'Bama boy, totally comprehensible, for on that say, we spoke a language that encompassed a single brotherhood, a common histoire, all on that holy day no tribes in America, no colors, no religions, only sisters and brothers-in-arms I need not choose to believe, for it is certainty guaranteed, that should it happen again twenty years hence, perhaps with their great grandsons, my embrace will, exactly the same be, for I know it true, there are no tribes in an* American heart
0
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 4:40 PM UTC
There are no tribes in America (2013)
After reading about some tribal warfare in a far away land, I wrote this true story down. Now re-published every year on this day. Seems more appropriate than ever one July 4th, many years ago walking the streets, of the city of Nice, situe on the Cote D'azur of France, on the Mediterranean Sea, where ships of navies may safely park their sailors, sending them ashore for R&R,^ they, leavened to disembark^^ how I came to be there is a poem for another time walking the streets, palm tree resort, along La Promenade Des Anglais, coming at me, Three Sailors, unmistakably American one white, one black, one brown from California, which I believe, is still part of the USA how we fell upon each other in warm embrace, smiling, bestowing blessings of grace not as strangers, but as fellow signatories on the Declaration of Independence brothers, long lost, reunited, as if it had been many years, since we last had our arms entwined, one family from one far away united place dialectical differences ignored, even the wide-eyed 'Bama boy, totally comprehensible, for on that say, we spoke a language that encompassed a single brotherhood, a common histoire, all on that holy day no tribes in America, no colors, no religions, only sisters and brothers-in-arms I need not choose to believe, for it is certainty guaranteed, that should it happen again twenty years hence, perhaps with their great grandsons, my embrace will, exactly the same be, for I know it true, there are no tribes in an* American heart
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60
Once I dived into a black sea I thought it would be clear I though I would find answers I thought I could disembark that easy but a chain on my foot named thoughts keeps on pulling me against the current I thought I can float on my own I thought the sea was part of me but it wasnt, it was not what it turned out.
0
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
Overthinking
A good night’s sleep before the road trip drive The mission is to arrive at the final destination alive Then check into the terminal and find out their departure destination assignment Later inspect the bus for any defects Safety being the call of duty with having no troubles in the passenger’s trip having an effect It’s Boarding Time The Motor Coach Engineer brings the coach bus to the terminal departure gate Announcement is made for destination with intermediate stops in between The Driver than takes the passengers ticket The passenger’s then board Once the driver gets the ok to proceed from the Operations Center to departs, the driver backs out the bus and heads for the highway The driver then picks up the bus microphone and welcomes the passenger’s aboard He or she also announces the destination with stops along with rest stops and meal stops including transfer points This is a Daily Routine Later when the bus arrives at the designated final schedule, once the bus is pulled into appropriate gate, the passengers then disembark Then it’s thanks for travelling with us Safety with no fuss Zero tolerance and you didn’t cuss It’s all about the Motor coach Engineer and the bus.
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Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 9:22 AM UTC
THE LIFE OF A HIGHWAY MOTOR COACH ENGINEER
~ not a fan of reality TV, plenty of "unreal" episodes of my own direction stored, available for further review in the storage units of neuronic black and white prison brain cells which is why I have free~will chosen to enumerate my poem~videos; for easy retreat retrieval resurrection of the travelogue of mind own insurrections *a garage of mobility devices, car, rollerblades, cross country skis plus, a potpourri of escape methodologies that by definition are all round trippers, returned to their storage unit after use and I count them Noah~like, two by two, as they come on board, and when they disembark for days of rest and recreation* this one, #4, is born among headstones, just anther memory storage unit specialized, flag decorated, but different This is a one-way, no return, unit but it can be viewed at anytime by those who care to be users, by speaking this: *Read to me poem number four, on a day we celebrate, about free men of every color and persuasion, who are calling out to open the door to storage unit four, so we to can perform our once-a-year Tour of Duty to the those who called, and answered with limb and love, for by their glory, we are free too* to remember in any way we choose ~
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May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
Fourth Poem: Storage Wars, Why One Numbers Poems on Memorial Day
Down here, it is dark and damp, Like a Concentration camp. No more desire to discover, as darkness has declared every colour. My duration is close to descend, No desistance from this decline. The decision to disembark, Means no more bloodline. Don't delay my departure... I can't see... It's getting darker.
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Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 7:15 AM UTC
In the Deep End
He always wanted to go on a trip To entertain passengers on a cruise After searching found the perfect ship He set sail, he had nothing to lose. Packing his sequined shirts for the ride Which he'd got from the charity shop He had also a few secrets hidden inside including a avery pretty ladies frock! He'd spent ages looking at it and he had sewn little sparkly bits along the sleeves and neck line. He wore it the first night and got covered in foam and someone had splashed him with red wine. He thought he'd disembark at the next available quay But as time went on it was not as bad as he had thought First night blues over he now sings every night at sea In his new role as Drag Queen of the Palace Resort. Passengers line up to get tickets for his show in the queue He entertains all of the evening and most of the day He is at his best and he is one of the crew It is his home and is where he will stay.
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Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
A Cruise
A master magician at hiding While running and gallantly striding Your message is strong, you gallop along With spirit continually guiding Independent you move with the group Making headway you learn to recoup Ready to bolt, to rebel and revolt If your light should get caught in a loop Your harmony steadies in trouble A clean break away from all struggle Lessons are taught, even when you're distraught As you truly embrace them and juggle When problems arise in the east skies You remember the sun also dies And though it falls down, it comes back around To greet us the next day with bright eyes Spirit Zebra be with us to find Let our strength and our courage unwind Into all of the holes, deep in our souls That we carry throughout our lifetime Teach us patience to love every side So that we may enjoy how we ride Some days we will glow, some days will be low Love will teach us to rise not subside To see everything, just as it is To live the truth of this regardless Return stronger yet, from any upset With a chance for new growth and progress You teach us to seek balance and truth Till the end of our days from our youth Standing confidently, strong as can be Building skills that will calm us and soothe With every step forward we've taken Your wisdom unfolds and awakens All of our needs, teach us how to succeed Good or bad, we shall not be mistaken We are shifting between light and dark We are always igniting the spark A few steps gone back, will put us on track With pure faith we will soon disembark tHE tERRY tREE Photo | Google Images | Poetic Form | Gwawdodyn
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Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
Spirit Zebra
A master magician at hiding While running and gallantly striding Your message is strong, you gallop along With spirit continually guiding Independent you move with the group Making headway you learn to recoup Ready to bolt, to rebel and revolt If your light should get caught in a loop Your harmony steadies in trouble A clean break away from all struggle Lessons are taught, even when you're distraught As you truly embrace them and juggle When problems arise in the east skies You remember the sun also dies And though it falls down, it comes back around To greet us the next day with bright eyes Spirit Zebra be with us to find Let our strength and our courage unwind Into all of the holes, deep in our souls That we carry throughout our lifetime Teach us patience to love every side So that we may enjoy how we ride Some days we will glow, some days will be low Love will teach us to rise not subside To see everything, just as it is To live the truth of this regardless Return stronger yet, from any upset With a chance for new growth and progress You teach us to seek balance and truth Till the end of our days from our youth Standing confidently, strong as can be Building skills that will calm us and soothe With every step forward we've taken Your wisdom unfolds and awakens All of our needs, teach us how to succeed Good or bad, we shall not be mistaken We are shifting between light and dark We are always igniting the spark A few steps gone back, will put us on track With pure faith we will soon disembark tHE tERRY tREE Photo | Google Images | Poetic Form | Gwawdodyn
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42
It is my legs My shopping bag my companion My float, The two oars My extended arms Parting the water In my little rowing boat. We get there eventually There are complaints on the way But we ignore those and soldier on Loweing the drawbridge in the moat. Tricky I grant you, in your best frock No man to help, just me, and my pal. Keep calm, our motto, or we do rock. Frothy waters jet up our way Every now and then It is like the rivers lets rip Pulls out its cork to say "when" Turbulance, oh yes, it is a scary time The boat behaves like it's on the Irish Sea Stiff talkings to and patience then it is fine. We sail to the bank oh its a stone throw away We disembark like a liner on the ocean I tie it up to the nearest tree Walk off through the wood in time for tea. Piling the two carrier bags on board It is chocs away into the moat Back to the castle we go, my home, To rest, me and my little rowing boat.
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Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
Me And My Little Rowing Boat
At last the time had come to disembark: Noah lead out the species one by one. They squinted in the unfamiliar sun After their long confinement in the ark, Ready, it seemed, to start the world afresh, When from the ravaged plains below there rose, To turn the stomach and attack the nose, An overwhelming stench of rotting flesh. Noah threw up; his wife and family too; Even the beasts began behaving oddly: The world, though cleansed of sinners, smelled ungodly, But everyone eventually grew Accustomed to that ghastly odour, save Noah, who drank himself into the grave.
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Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 4:10 AM UTC
THE DRUNKENNESS OF NOAH
best if i say right off this is gonna be ***** so if you believe in god or are under 30 or can't ride the rides in Disneyland disembark **** I forgot what I had  in me dream, **** I stomp and jump up again and say **** It!!!! Fucken all this crap! I am so tired of chasing visions, so tired of  lying women so tired of every buzz. God ******* **** **** me! **** with a capital F I forgot to add the emphasis. So full of ****** rhymes so full of bad times. I just need to calm down, okay. i am ok. So, where was I, geez, a full load wheelbarrow falling **** into my lap. I make it day to night, and sleep alone again. What have I to look forward to tomorrow. A hard day labor and a lonely night. A fist full of dollars I **** away might as well just  take a crap on this whole world wipe my *** with a hundred dollar bill, then roll it up and snoot a big *** of candy again up my nose. I know you are tired of my whining. Look, I got a Major, a doctorate even, in wallowing. I will never be okay  as long as I camoflauge my feelings. So, i am spilling them all out now, puking my guts up on your eyes in lil a big Z
0
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
the ***
Drifting away from the stars 
I watch my decisions sway 
 Look at all this decay I cannot make my mind Drifting away from the suns 
I am confined and resigned 
 My fate is designed
 When the stars aligned 
I am just so blind Drifting behind 
I want to be reassigned from mankind 
 Maybe one day I’ll find my mind 
 Maybe it will be refined, defined But today I’m drifting 
 Shifting in this world 
 A peal in an underworld Drifting away from the cosmos
 Maybe one day it will be clear 
But right now it’s foggy and dark 
 I just want to disembark 
I may be quitting but right now I’m just drifting
0
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
Drifting
I wish this was defined as more than limerence, But I can feel this fact is obsession alone. My heart is burning loud and vigorous, And you’re so smothered in the ignorance That the birds known as passion have since flown, And our heartstrings together are already sewn. It’s not my aim to dissuade, divert or disgust. I just ask that you listen and lend empathy. For this is not an admission of lust. Loan dash of sympathy, an ounce of trust. Call not these reactions droll chemistry. There is no room for science in this recipe. These are movements fantastic, explosions of fate. Yet I’m giving permission to let this one slip And gifting forgiveness if you decide too late. This, I am certain, will be worth the wait. If you disembark aboard different ship, I can promise I’ll follow by tooth, nail, and whip. You’ve armed me with passion and know not what you’ve done. You can insist that there’s nothing, **** this off clean. Still this doesn’t come from just anyone. I know you more than a prize to be won. Even if you ignore this, my mad queen, I’ve hope, for justice is blind and oh what she’s seen.
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Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 8:43 AM UTC
Limerence
All the sad faces, so quickly they appear Those eyes they peer; like voyeurs of the night As time approaches dusk, and light becomes dark They disembark From Upper York Street- To the strongholds of the the Shore Road Glimpsing in, people stare back From the Spides of the north To the elderly and beyond Coughing and shuffling, moaning and groaning; Oh! What a concert! Amadeus would be a proud man indeed As it slogs by I catch a fleeting glimpse My face, appearing ever so different; sadder It must be illusionary, right? Perhaps Standing there, just thinking to myself Will I ever see these people again?
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Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
All the Sad Faces
~ gold-encrusted jewels dance on sun-drenched ocean stacks, his rugged rocks etched deep by her waves from far beneath, and Pacific’s gusty breath; his wind-swept islets burn, aflame in sunset's dying embers, like a lover's siren call. his chiseled keyholes waiting for the ciphered piercing rays to collide in rushing tidal spray. unlocking sunset's golden hour... surging forth then quickly fades, as sunbeam fingers slowly slip, beneath horizon's sultry lip; dusk unfolds in magic hues, molten rose turns scarlet blues, night descends as one by one, we raptured star-kissed lovers disembark this ferris wheel; the curtain falls again, with sea and rocks rehearsing lines to play again another day. this their theatre of the night, performed by two alone, beneath the moon and starry sky. ~ *post script. our last time through in 2004 was a blur on our way through to San Diego, an exhilarating ride for certain, with all of its bends and curves experienced top down in a convertible, but hardly doing justice to Big Sur’s stunning scene in mere hours; we told ourselves we simply had to return.   it took eleven years, and this time we spent a full five days and nights along Highway 1, towing a camper and slow-driving south from Monterrey all the curves to Morro Bay, exploring just about every hike and lookout in between; and in so doing, validating our return in a most satisfying way.  Big Sur is officially off our bucket list!  her sunsets were particularly rewarding, especially two... one enjoyed at sea level, from the sand and keyholes at Pfeiffer Beach day use area, the other delighted us from high above the ocean waves, seated at the picnic table of our cliff-side camp site at Kirk Creek Campground. a most refreshing time to recuperate and recharge our spirits; five glorious days of disconnection, reconnecting to nature, each other and best of all, life at the speed of sunsets and star gazing; evenings spent round the campfire with no cell, no i-pad, no laptop, only the light of the fire, the stars and that sparkle in each other's eyes!*
0
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
Big Sur
~ gold-encrusted jewels dance on sun-drenched ocean stacks, his rugged rocks etched deep by her waves from far beneath, and Pacific’s gusty breath; his wind-swept islets burn, aflame in sunset's dying embers, like a lover's siren call. his chiseled keyholes waiting for the ciphered piercing rays to collide in rushing tidal spray. unlocking sunset's golden hour... surging forth then quickly fades, as sunbeam fingers slowly slip, beneath horizon's sultry lip; dusk unfolds in magic hues, molten rose turns scarlet blues, night descends as one by one, we raptured star-kissed lovers disembark this ferris wheel; the curtain falls again, with sea and rocks rehearsing lines to play again another day. this their theatre of the night, performed by two alone, beneath the moon and starry sky. ~ *post script. our last time through in 2004 was a blur on our way through to San Diego, an exhilarating ride for certain, with all of its bends and curves experienced top down in a convertible, but hardly doing justice to Big Sur’s stunning scene in mere hours; we told ourselves we simply had to return.   it took eleven years, and this time we spent a full five days and nights along Highway 1, towing a camper and slow-driving south from Monterrey all the curves to Morro Bay, exploring just about every hike and lookout in between; and in so doing, validating our return in a most satisfying way.  Big Sur is officially off our bucket list!  her sunsets were particularly rewarding, especially two... one enjoyed at sea level, from the sand and keyholes at Pfeiffer Beach day use area, the other delighted us from high above the ocean waves, seated at the picnic table of our cliff-side camp site at Kirk Creek Campground. a most refreshing time to recuperate and recharge our spirits; five glorious days of disconnection, reconnecting to nature, each other and best of all, life at the speed of sunsets and star gazing; evenings spent round the campfire with no cell, no i-pad, no laptop, only the light of the fire, the stars and that sparkle in each other's eyes!*
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35
tv tucked-in to premature sleep, t'is elementary that I I awaken midnightish, mission most unusual sherlocked~unaccomplished, to disembark from the day's shellacking glancing out the window, many of the yellow lit windows decorating (not littering) my cityscape, precisely the color of the tastefully ostentatious but breath taking canary yellow diamond five carat ring I will never buy you, that shall be the ring, always, She-Lacked not because I can't not because it is impossible tho most extra frivolous ridiculous ice cream scoop upright~downright double silly, buuuuuut because certain things in life off course, and are truly better for just the wanting than the having. but not you, of course. Of course!
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Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
Canary Yellow Diamond
There are no tribes in America after reading about some tribal warfare in a far away land, I wrote this true story down.... ~~~~~~~~~ one July 4th, many years ago walking the streets, of the city of Nice, situe on the Cote D'azur of France, on the Mediterranean Sea, where ships of navies may safely park, sailors ashore leavened to disembark^ how I came to be there is a poem for another time walking the streets, of the palm tree resort along Le Promenade Des Anglais, coming at me, Three Sailors, unmistakably American One white, One black, One from California, which I believe, is still part of the USA how we fell upon each other in warm embrace, smiling, bestowing blessings of grace not as strangers, but as fellow signatories on the Declaration of Independence brothers, long lost, reunited as if it had been many years, since we had our arms entwined, one family from one far away united place dialectical differences ignored, even the wide-eyed 'Bama boy, totally comprehensible, for on that say, we spoke a language that encompassed a single brotherhood, a common history, all on that holy day no tribes in America, no colors, no religions, only brothers-in-arms I need not choose to believe that should it happen again ten years hence, perhaps with their grandsons, my embrace will exactly the same be, for I know it true, for there are no tribes in an American heart. ^disembarked to be leavened....either works
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Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 10:18 AM UTC
July 4th - There Are No Tribes in America
Break break break On the sand that still waits, O sea. And I wish that time could erode the past that unravels me. O well for the barefoot boy that passes the length of the shore. O well for the fisher without a net who forgot what the struggle was for. And the weathered ship moves on to the place where its cargo must rest. But, O that I could disembark or unload this unconquerable mess. Break Break Break At thy faithful cliffs, O sea. But I fear that a day I can never repeat will forever come back to me.
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Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 9:07 AM UTC
You Break Break Break
There are ten of us- Make that eleven- Barreling down the highway at highway speeds; two elderly thai women, a middle aged man with some sort of mental disability his eyes hunting, hungrily for someone to listen to him, three old men in the back talking about cars, women and building houses (while riding the bus on their own in old ripped clothing) and the strange mix from my stop; two women no older than my mother that look older than my grandma from an obvious history of hard drugs, and elderly grandma-type woman who could be a therapist, engaged as she is in reading some sort of case study. The driver keeps an engaged, concentrated look on his face as we zip through sunlit countryside that I have never seen this way. It's only 9 AM and I'm listening to Counting Crows, Sugar Ray and The Goo Goo Dolls. The women who are older than they should be get off at the casino. The man with the disabilities clenches his seat as we pass the," entering Sequim," sign. The Thai women put their purses on their shoulders here and I take my headphones off, wrap the cord around them and put them away. Two of the men in back are still talking, the third has fallen asleep, his head against the wall, mouth pointed toward the ceiling. The grandmotherly woman gets off at the co-op the rest of us disembark at the bus station and go our separate ways.
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Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
The Commute, Part One
Can the unattainable be lost? She pondered while surrounded by the clutter of excess caused by the burdens of consumerism. To be on an endless journey, an odyssey of sorts, with plenty of valuable moral messages, but an obvious lack of conclusion. Is there worth? She had found herself on such a path and recently resolved that it was one from which she would never disembark. Searching for a way to dive deep into the sea of words swimming within her cerebrum, in order to pluck away the excess gunk and strike gold. Years slipped by, at first unnoticed, except for the measure of improvement upon lined pages. Still, she was unsatisfied, and would most likely always remain in such a state. Somehow she had been born a prisoner of her own mind.
0
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
lock and key
#You were telling him about Buddha, you were telling him about Mohammed in the same breath You never mentioned one time the Man who came and died a criminal’s death.     [Bob Dylan: Precious Angel] If Christ and His Gospel are offered you you squirm—then dredge up the gods of the East. Your act of avoidance is nothing new— salvation proposed: evasion increased. Waxing socialistic – as if on cue your blustering is consistent, at least. you brandish your anti-Christ point of  view. Descending like Darwin: angel to beast. In Babylon’s gardens you disembark to deconstruct Noah, the flood, the ark. On Gilgamesh, Enkidu, in madness you ramble—and it fills me with sadness. There is one truth, undiscerned, unadored. Be still. In silence, acknowledge your Lord.
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Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
Evasive Measures
out of the harbors the tall ships sailed to lands thousands of miles away through turgid seas and windy brace their masts did daily course sextant employed to navigate the stars were chartered following a path to Southern bays where crews did disembark to set up colonies for mother lands during the 1700's the tall ships set sail from England and Spain to foreign  shores of exotic vegetation there they settled and stayed to populate the terrain
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Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:37 AM UTC
Tall Ships (A Brief History)
a dead trumpet, resting on the desiccated lips of a fallen angel, a desolate scorch of hemispheres blasted and puerile... primal dross from the furnace of all agonies and heaps of time, hoarding hours in pain to multiply the bias to ill fates as a happiness, her madness has never known [ on the inside ] a dread comet, branding the optic nerve of a blank stare into oblivion in a closed loop of integrals of self hatred outlasting the venom of god's scorn, by an order of magnitude her blight, dwarfing the locust swarm of dead suns bleeding black ink in journals that document her heart's delirium, in crude states -of silent rage at a billion decibels [ on the white page ] a barn door, torn from the hinges of a tempest and marble goats, chiseled from a monolith of dark thoughts to be sacrificed on the altar of pitch dark there are sigils that burn in the dense fog, and everywhere a banshee of rogue hope and a siren of fine dreams.... and here there be oceans [ and no map ] legions of invisible hornets living in every atom of two red lips lips that would kiss and be kissed but seldom disembark from tar pits and windswept tragedies and fell words that plunder her true thoughts for anything toxic enough to **** the conversation with a lost god... bilious fountains of lost joy sterilize a pregnant pause. and yes aborts the spirit [ from no throne ]
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Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
SILENT RAGE AT A BILLION DECIBELS
Streams light from moon flows through window in a different land though I traverse to a dune The Bedouin in white robe on silhouetted camel rides on a mystic trail did his woman elope Rise from sands spark rider’s eyes glint must find footprint an end to disembark Night a moonlit art bounces camel’s **** she left him in the dump trampled on his heart Overhead stars fade weary hooves pine rest in his hollowed breast he finds of her no thread Foams in mouth the beast feels the deadly heat hopes slow retreat the eyes gather mist His dagger sparkles white closes eyes the moon dawn comes too soon burns his blood bright
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Apr 28, 2015
Apr 28, 2015 at 10:15 AM UTC
Bedouin