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Torin Nov 2015
Seeking shelter from the ills of the world
Ancient kings built temples
Wind over water
Here is a refuge

And if its our will to further the work
If we can listen to the spirit
We can cross great rivers
We can be correct

Wind over water
The wind drives the water
The wind moves above the water
This is dispersion

It brings us to our ancestral temple
We hear voices from kings of old
Chanting sacrifice
The supreme being

This is dispersion
May be difficult for some to understand
Anya Sep 2018
Friendship is like
A diapole diapole interaction
Two different
Entities
Positive and negative
Attracted to each other

Best friendship
Is like a hydrogen bond
Still a diapole diapole
but stronger
Only possible in the presence of
A hydrogen
Someone in the relationship
Able to keep it afloat

A London dispersion
Force
Is like a pleasant acquaintance
Someone you get along with
But no strong emotional ties
To hold you there
Just
Small talk

An ion diapole bond
Is like
A difficult relationship
Opposites attract
But you’re bonded
So strongly
...
That eventually one
Of you just starts
To tear the other apart

Like salt in water
If you find quirky science analogies like this one interesting check out my collection "science poems".
Let the evil within be annihilated
And grey be restored
Rejuvenated to vibrancy of colours of love

Dispersion of love and light
Through the prismatic heart
Every soul be washed anew
In colours of the rainbow in mirthful hues

Forgive and forget, past hurt
And in the beauty of love, regale
Let’s celebrate
Holi
The festival of colours, harbinger of spring
Happy Holi- HP

Holika Dahan. - 20th March
Holi   21st  March

https://youtu.be/qAZ09h8Ic0o
love this song :)
It's a startling,
A dispersion of time
Suddenly it comes out as light
and falls on so many broken glasses,
creating an illusion on your shadow eyes -

@ Musfiq us shaleheen
time,  sometimes creates illusion and it demands to change..
Lux
Those who were marginalized by the braids and serpentine lights, devotions were made in San Juan allowing electromagnetic discharges from the imperceptible space-time of Vernarth's parapsychological quantum; alluding to clarities that achieved everything by having Patmia in the material and incorporeal from the start of the stained glass windows and archetypes by Transfer Quantum that burned the chins of hominids who believed to be immortal as if they were looking in this position for the direction between the eyebrows and the chin , for the Euclidean incidence crossing all the pools that are between quantum means of transfer of ions and cations. The oscillations of the sparkling field of consciousness of the containers were of ethical variables that became perpendicular to the space of draft or levitation of the designations that originated with accelerated electric charges on Patmos, developing albiceleste skylights over the harmonic equations as they elongated in proportions of quanta that They argued greater than those that circulated elliptically from Grikos to Skalá, and then to Profitis with assiduous progenitors of long-wave quanta. The magnificence of the halo became rectilinear up to the high altar that was atomized from the unskillful penumbra to reabsorb the inclinations of physical life in the Macedonians and the Achaemenides when they were trapped by the loss on the propagation of the Lux, which was imposed in hemicycles where they were they reclined to relax in the lux of rest of the path of the reasoning that made pederasty in the links with the minuscule obtuse lights, reeling from the clothing and its finite speed of what measures the ability to be undetermined in the margins of error of the antagonists when originating flow rates, greater in his dermis to regenerate towards any other that could be clothing of greater speed.

Thus was the scenario of dimensional magnitude between the powers that did not have contact, but their dimensionless energies on a surface that reached absorbent to the one that rectifies the concretive of the error that partially abused them. Their legacies would pass to a supplementary electromagnetic plane, separating their masses and retaking orientation from where they returned, where if the ideal of the final rational was refracted where everything would be vivid darkness. The obstacles classified them in the closure of the average height and the average surface, to then redirect to the maximum height and maximum surface propagating in irregularities of the Ego "Believing that they were never overcome in the diffuse perception of the metal mirror." The incident rays of the Lux would go to meet the multi-incident plane of the Mashiach, the wave angles were refracted throughout the sinuous law as radiosity passed over the greater mass that was normalized from the tangent that was projected 180 meters above the eyebrow. and Vernarth's chin, along with the recharged electromagnetic strengths of Alexander the Great's reactivation bezels, which at times seemed to levitate over the Lux's high frequencies and vary independently with its crowded functionalities, among scattered restraints that it presented to both weightless behind. from the decayed marble sawdust, separating from its phosphorescence that bounced between the rigging of solid surfaces and semi-solid ones, when realizing that the sea and the silica were confessed to the Pronoia of Delphi. Inducing Vernarth for the first time into a Pronoia versology on the Athena of Delphi, prompting them to separate from the world and it's holistic to divide into three portions of the dissociation of consciousness from the end of the Lux of Parapsychology, which had hosted them for centuries and centuries. . The Pronoia conspiracy systematized the reaction that would reunite them after this oracular parapsychology, making the adversaries believe that they were discrepancies of clinical parapsychology, equating warlike causes in the containment of Delphic neuroscience. From this quantification, the predominance of Vernarth's Lux de Pronoia was announced, linking peculiar segmentation of submit logical historicity in this work as a starting thesis, which speculates the same for those who have to make an analysis of historical dogmatic imperialism as a justification for mythological normality. The Lux thesis aimed to show that the dimensions of the mythology and the submitology, when exposed in physical quanta, made a tendency of irresolution in the abode of spiritual Tractatus reasoning and not in the instinctual one, which watches over recitals where history and its collective memory indicate outbursts of moderation. The role of the submithology  is to pretend that this normality is made close to the instruction after yours temporary for causes of your deep patrimonial, that makes them captives from the social complexity, with the disambiguation of certain criteria by maximizing the hidden truth of the ascending opposition forces that they have generated great conflagrations, intuition being the unreflective pseudo-reality with historical formalities that stumble into the terrified directionality of the myth that was to be reality. The tiny spaces of the verve left by the silent mechanics of the Persians became defensive when they saw their emissaries incoherently in the verticality of Allah when they saw that the confusing world with anxiety exaggerated predictions and failures invulnerability of a lineage that always had. been condemned to the desert.

Everything conspired with a Pronoia of siege, before the exegesis that sought purification and that was how they headed and misdirected their mistakes in the active train of the recess of their abstracted retreat, in a universe that also abandoned them after the subsequent train of Aurion waking them in their illusions with swords, and stealthy spears in dreams that specified safe rest. The ferocities of the proto-souls of assault carried away the translucent bodies of the Persians, and the Hellenes in acts of honor made such congenital paths of the understandable vocabulary that he did not speak. The prism was located in the cautious measure of its contractile dispersion with white separations of mantles, earth, and water scalded by dynamics that formed colorful activations with their withdrawal phenomena in the immaculate albino Lux that dissolved all of the facet optics that it made. Lux's great brain in the instant that the Thuellai airs transfigured the nuances of the Atros monastery, with objects that refused to be absorbed by the black hue, generating mechanical waves of equivalence in their identical interference that caused two opposing forces to distill the coherent differential that had to be overexposed in the category of historical Submitology. The two inverted waves separated, the Hellenes moaned and hiccupped for having to become identical when separating from their immaterial bodies, doing wonders that would house additional souls that would complement a transitory becoming towards the garden of the angels that provided them with identical beams of light, interfering in what animated the lights of pageantry, with the antithesis of interference where they resided in constancy knowing that they felt possessed of benefits of the eternal length of existence, but with pressures of mutable in some involuntary constancy and amplitude of having parallel directions with Saint John the Apostle and the Siblis. The phenomenon of polarization of both empires was denatured in a transverse way in all the electric fields after this feat, inciting unique fields of the pure and selective ascending ecosystem, which generated polaroid substances at the angle of ninety degrees above the browbones and chin of Vernarth, to approach the Pronoia of concatenation with Alexander the Great refracting unscathed hyper-vital and transcendent faces of infinity. Like any other phenomenon, the Lux crossed both bodies like two Xiphos swords that processed the electromagnetic valve, by iridium that converted with all the coarse Lux that crossed the succumbed immateriality and stopped the shaft and the nail that hang in the typology of electromagnetic radiation from the Hellenic world between them, making an ominous redemptive fire that was regimented to leave them both in the middle of a farm where there were farmyard animals, stockpiled pastures and a house that absorbed them as parents who would love them as beings of Lux. Thus, this primary parapsychological quantum network penetrated the level of the archangels that made them be together in planes of manumission, and that does not admit bi-quantum personality or bi-parapsychology that can cancel out the portent of the helmets and the lineage that does not dazzle if they are not made of iron.

The life of the other world began to be encompassed in all the Subtraigus beings that would correspond to the astral plane that was confirmed after the Kalidona Romantics deduced the Unicorn Uilef or Uilef Monókeros after Pronoia. Kalidona being an uninhabited island and the Uilef sleeps in between copulating with Spinalonga and Kolokythas along with other smaller islets, plus two hundred that will make up six islands of the twenty-six tetragram of Alef. Here Drestnia went with her consort of Etréstles from the Koumeterium of Messolonghi to find fateful encounters of Pantheism based on the majestic copulation of beauty, among twenty-six numbers that prevailed in virtuosos who took refuge in Kalydon or Kalidona, preparing for their rampage with grafted grotesque derived bodies of the Falangist Hellenes who were arranged of their musculature, so that they directed the finesse of the civility of Hesiod, Terpando, Archiloco, Baquílides, tragic like Etréstles, Aeschylus Sophocles, Euripides and comedian like Aristophanes.
Lux
Graff1980 May 2015
The blood vats
Stirring clotting goo
A tepid sticky stew
Crimson mess
Spilt on the floor
The hungry goblins
Gulping the pulpy gore
Plasma swimming
In spider web veins
The dripping fluid
Sticking to you
Soaking through
The stained washcloth
Swirling in the warm bath
Cloudy dispersion
Smoky mass
Dark diluting
And disappearing
Through time
And loss
So here we are
Generations of
Vampire blood
Leaching the life force
Spreading the plague
And bleeding
Life from one generation
To the next
harlon rivers Dec 2017
In a midwinter night’s dream
  i found myself lost again,   
  or was it even this year ?
  It may even go back farther
  than yesterdays out of reach,  
  older than an ancient pyramid stone
 
Before the rebirth of past life deposits,
  unborn orphaned motherless sediment,
  flotsam of the ages adrift,
  unknown for more than a thousand years

... waiting for so long to see beyond the bounds

High atop a slippery edge-cliff
  i clung  ―            
Searching for a deeper understanding
  of who i am;

Roosting like a starving bird of prey
  with a broken wing
  born alone ... holding on
  With a fear in his eyes
that only i could comprehend
  
  Staring way down deep in the pith,       
into an internal pitch black abyss,
  just begging to see beyond ―
  Mindful it's so hard looking
  into the eye of a storm

Intimately parsing the recurrent source
  of reigning pain
Where the perpetual fog of isolation dwells;
an inversion,     preventing dispersion
  of the nimbus  cold  and  dark

In the darkness, there bides a suffocating
  emptiness,  
  A swelling silence what loudly knells,
  leeching through a perennial ache

An abating voice within hollers unheard,
  invisible as a bitter cold wind howling
  relentlessly through the hollow pang;
  Echoing the subsiding say
(squeezed out) ... of an orphaned soul
  deep beneath the light

Awakening to realize  ―  once i was alive
  and
i could feel me holding on to you



//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Written by:   harlon rivers ... 12/30/2017

Thank you for reading this personal introspective journey  ― peace
kiryuen Nov 2015
each morning it dawns on me I am not that fragment of myself I was the previous morning
rebrand and reveal, rebrand and reveal, fall in love with every character I play
I am always murdering and resurrecting every facet of myself
an endless and repetitive series of seeking the light, being the light and rejecting the light
forever I remain The Obscure And Terrifying Great Unknown
nobody recognizes me. little parts of myself keep falling away like this
in helping people forget me, I am always both safe and at risk of vanishing
now watch me materialize into everything you ever wished for, now watch me flake and disappear
this life is but a massive game of Now You See Me Now You Don’t and nobody can ever win
read about Alice in Wonderland shrinking and growing, changing and morphing
read it ten times in my childhood before I realized I am the girl called Alice
if The Looking Glass was a glass prism, I am a ray of white light
I step into the glass only to shatter into seven different people
I am not that fraction of myself you first encountered
when you first glimpsed me glowing, I was only the moon reflecting the light of something else
if anyone tells you it’s not possible to be four-and-a-half people in a day, they are wrong.
can you remember what it’s like to not be losing yourself?
please tell me
I always wonder what it would be like to observe me in a magnificent divergence.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
i can't imagine a better maxim for a marriage:

   when both of you are young...
and... instead of being
these "star-crossed lovers" -

with a rubric
                  of the thwart(ing)...

to marry: when both are still in love with life...

                    from a nation-state into
the ***** of a diaspora...

what a fine word...
   the mass-influx of hyping around
the otherwise, fake:

       migrant workers...
like the current argument for
british sovereignty:
we will not have any of the bureaucracy
from Brussels...
but, we, will! have...
those romanian fruit & veg pickers!

it's hardly a joke:
more like a choke...
                    what's the difference between...
leaving one part of the country
for another: part of the same country...
and then... being daring enough...
to leave the country: thoroughly...
and have to learn a new language?

dual-citizenship...
go back? stay here?
hmm... i'm not really fond of speaking
or writing in ******...
the germans dissolved...
the russians too: dissolved...
i'm pretty sure that language can
remain intact... as it is...
under the law & justice party...
once they focus on the breeders
with tax-free incentives...

Chicago! what a fine diaspora hub
for the ****** "expatriates"...
good thing i never made it to
h'america: in stripes...

the friends of my youth...
most of then? crimminals...
        the nicknames we had for each
other:
i remember being taunted as being
an... "angol"... because my father wasn't
their father and wasn't part
of laying down the foundations
of "bones" for the dockland light railway...

i left a nation: still in its infancy...
and to its infancy i will drink!
but as a language: not a people...
not a geographic location...
a metaphysical manifestation:
if the word be a faustian signature...
yes, my lord... i see the pinching
itch of the natives squandering it...
like it should not have been...
a frederick hohenstaufen II experiment
in a nunnery on Sicily...
mute children... raised by nuns who didn't
speak: pretending...
to see... what language was genesis primo!

my allegiance is to the tongue...
it might allude to the fife and drums...
but dealing with the rascal
who deems...
that god save the queen be treated
with irreverence...
i'm not as daft and yobbish to glare
with a hydra giving birth to an extension
of its neck-load girth...

give me! the british grenadiers' fife & drum...
and i'll show you le marseillaise!
i have long ago pledge my allegience
to the tongue...
              
because? well... to be honest...
under all the supression from the...
(a) herr meisterstuck:
         the day:
        
        the prussians... "forgot"...
they were jumbled up with the lithuanians
as the last pagans of europe...
and then they decided: whatever it
was that they decided upon...

i hear some russian... i hear a down syndrome
person talk...
it's all lovely and sing-along...
but it's hardly by strict obligation
to the latin script... is it?
i have to nibble at pitty-worth jokes
to aid my...

diaspora: involuntary mass dispersion
of a population from its indigenous territories...
last time i checked...
i was born into a city famously known
for its practice in metallurgy...
i was the never-to-be grandson
of Die Krupp ambitions!
    i would leave my hometown and...
well... there was Warsaw...
or the... brain-drain train "elsewhere"...
from a nation into the grand...
vacuum of the diaspora...

except in england...
       the no. 303... most of which settled
in either Scotland or... Stratford-upon-Avon...
elsewhere... some other... "elsewhere"...

well...
   given that i have had had a choice...
ha ha! comma? sir?! that that?
      given that i have had - had a choice...
well... imagine... perhaps there's something
about Fwench... but i'm chosing sides...
it's not in Norwegian...
so... b'leh b'leh b'leh... b'leh...
                      
               i just have to borrow some german...
speaking this... hybrid saxon having
buggered enough afghanistan-esque brit druids...
the zeppelins were always dropping...
soap-bubbles...
          i tease oh god...
i tease... but this music is so... so...
oh so delight-ful!

                   die könig im gelb!

ah... to marry: when both are in love with life!
terrible affair: should... "life" somehow
matter: to disappear...
this love a suffocation for the best ****
they had in... ever...
and there's nothing of what life is concerned
with...
either children or... being infertile...
but to be in love with life...

the russians can't proclaim a diaspora...
then again: the "mafia"...
i've heard of an italian mob-esque...
      disposition... subsequent undercurrents
to boot...
an... irish mafia?
bothersome details...
         i still pledge my alliance to a Dickens
over a a Shakespeare...
because...
by chance... i might find some poetry
in the prosaic? by Shakespeare alone:
i'm... "expected".... aren't i?

bad news from York-and-the-shire...
Rotherham... and the... prefix ****-
   and the suffix -stani "debate"...
                   do you even know
how... let's not go there...
to term a bogus inconvenience of...

'what the hell is concerning you...
to fathom from cloud-9 a ****** notion of...
being out-bred?!'

an economic war... is a slow war...
it takes time...
it would take the amount of time...
to turn a once proud town focused on
metallurgy into rubble...
some stayed... some moved to warsaw...
some... played: a joker hand de facto...

i am: this... subtle... p.s. curiosity...
had i only come to breed...
rather than to otherwise...
nuance... allegiance...
zu die zunge?! alles!
             die menschen?
                     jeder seine haben!
             die schwach wind und der flagge?!
ist: die schwach wind: und der flagge: nein?

perhaps there's a stressor
of impetus in german that's not allowed
in english...

     ich bin hier für die sprache...
              
it must be translated... such it being:
oh such a wonderful... phrase...

   to marry... when both... are in love... with life...

zu heiraten... wenn beide...
                           sind im liebe... mit leben!

art-*******-and-funky-funky...
parsley-sage-rosemary-thym­e...
        what? thyme? there's a phi or a theta
to posit... instead...
you took the Dubliners' route of: paddy...
tad... and toink!
                'ucking scoundrels!

i will call... the greek-chinese ideogram...
I(ota) the key... and... "thereabouts"...
a keyhole of O(micron)...
it's an id: representation...

                 squashed: yes: 0... for better...
"graphics"...
    
to be young... and to share a half of both:
of being in love with life...

       Φ = the key enters the keyhole (I, O)...
    Θ = the key is turned... (Io)...
         Ψ = the door is opened...

        enough... Beijing "abstract" concerns...
for anyone?
       what's the abstract of rotation?
                                   oh... i guess: 'micron!

so much for abstracts as: only from boing-boing-xin...
some letter can qualify to be
apprehended in ideograms...
B - bossom or a fudge-yeast-byproduct
of a full ***...
              etc. or... Φ, Θ, Ψ...
       now by adding the brackets...
and time has a geography...
from the height of mythology...
to the depths of journalism...
that's... a vector:  (Φ, Θ, Ψ)...

     it's a key... a door... a keyhole...
                            an opening... n'est ce pas?!
hey! let's complicate it further
with: mr. squint... chop-sticks...
dragons... live vermin sushi...
    and counting dry grains of rice...

i'm not: Česlav Miloš...
to begin with... Czesław Miłosz was...
a Lithuanian...
because Copernicus wasn't ******...
"because and because"...
                     sides... all this talk of:
"allegiance"...
**** it... it's a cosmopolitan allegiance
to... the commonality of tongue...
shared to the point...
when... old fictions wrestle with me
and i'm confined to my own cubic...

for english is a language i can
entertain...
allow... yes... this parasite can erode
its host's cranium und...
                                  grauangelegenheit...
it was never... so imposing...
as a german tongue or a russian tongue...
therefore and thereby?
      an easily qualified tongue-donor
with the expanse of thought:
a complete and utter brain-drain on...

now...
there's a difference...
the english will not know it...

there's the nation... and there's the diaspora...
can the english... claim h'america...
or canada... or... australia...
as a nation-extension toward the confines
of a diaspora?
no... i don't think so...

that: quintessential inconvenience of
being merely: english...
   more prone to a local geography...
a devonshire... a derbyshire...
               someone of york...
  lost in new york...
                    a people with...
an imploded seance of diaspora...
    from the humble little island...
to: whatever fraction that was supposed
to make one impose on...

had i just been Irish... and "somehow"
forgotten my Gaelic...
or been that Welshman and no longer
with any Cymru...
well then...
but i come willing because...
      beside the mother and father...
the maternal grandmother and -father...
who will i speak my "native" and "mother"
tunge / zunge to?
          
i rather imagine marriage:
as when both of them are in love with life...
and in love that being said:
a little tale o' whittle england:
make it big in h'america...
        
         this... the most complete...
antithesis of a diaspora...
                    or rather: what lingua franca
was... and what l'inglese is...
and how: even if arabic tried...
and even if: mandarin would hope for...
well... hardly...
jackie chan kung fu and muhammad:
english is more popular than islam...
**** it up: camel jockey!
oh sure... they're "muslim"...
conflicting opinions... once:
speaking in english "arrives"...

                   i'm here: to turn up the volume...
because... i might as well have been
born in estonia... and speaking... estonian...
and never having left estonia...
been very much happy for the euro
and the... thumbling russians... somehow...
"retreating"...
well... if the russians are retreating...
they're: trying to revise being
an indo-european mongrel with...
accents of scandinavia concerning
the founding fathers of Kiev...
and them being russians:
what the hell do we do with the ukranians...
and the mongols that settled and became
tartars?!

yeah... the russians are on the retreat...
    this little island that... hopes for a diaspora...
instead... shuckles...
it has to settle for a h'american empire...
an australia... a new zealand...
ogh! mein! gott! no expatriate diaspora!
no tea with mussolini typo excursions!
mein gott! v'er vill youz goez?!

         zee f'ikkin moonz?! on a sputnik flarez?!
light up baboon *** numero uno:
then whisper among the fwench...

yes... very much brilliant...
         to be alive... and to marry so young...
and be helped: so young...
and not be thwarted...
   'coz crazy bunnies had the best ***...
great: to be alive, so young,
and married: and married to each other
and at the same time: having life marry you
to love it: to be together and married
to a love for life:
and... just... somehow...
having a co-dependent... of reciprocated
self-interests...

                            even in poland...
a soviety satellite...
with concrete chicken-shacks... ah yes:
that... "once upon a time"...
better the ******* state as my landlord
than some grubby liquorice ****** 3rd party:
libertarian "full dislocusre of mammon's
expression of par-tay"... sort of *******!
give me the state, the grey-suit and the gimps!

or? shackle me up for a stipend
working the sloughterhouse...
to boot... a house filled with 20 dobermans...
and 5 rottweilers...
i'll slaughter your cows... for the steak chops...
as long as i have the dogs to cuddle
and imagine myself doing the greater:
cosmic-karma-good...
the dogs... the harem of dogs...
no... women need excuses...
the dogs!

                 hell... a woman would require...
anniverseries... flowers... pinnace for a tsunami...
crumbs... what's a loaf of bread?
details... something to be minded as:
once being a plughole...
blah blah... hands for cushions...
        
              plus... women can't drink...
let her everything else: apart from the whiskey...
if she really wants to drink...
tell her to sober up on some Stendhal or
some Balzac... but don't let a woman
try to outcompete a man drinking...
she can drink...
but not... in that most... ugly: crab-feast
of... "detail"...

the english man... england...
h'america, australia... new zealand...
oh... wait... you were hoping for a diaspora...
weren't you?
yeah... clearly i didn't find an affair of
the imitation of greece...
took charge of the latin script...
inverted the mediterranean sea...

i speak your language: doesn't imply
i've shed the "ethno-nationalist" tattoos of "d.n.a."...
for a people to have made it bitter...
with the teutonic order over access to the baltic sea...
what's the baltic sea?
it's like the black sea...
the baltic sea is about as useful as...
well... the danes and the norwegians
held the toll and price of passing...
just like the turks or the byzantines held
the key of the bosphorus...
the baltic... is a "sea"...
just like the black sea is a "sea"...

did you know... there's a caspian sea?
yeah... it's a "sea"... more like... a lake would
be so much better...

the english could be akin to the arabs
from 200 years ago...
instead: sitting on a tonne of salt...
and waves...
and open horizons...
while the arabs sat on camel ****...
sand... and dinosaur juice...
and materialistic leprosy and limp-****
viagara palm tree impromptu...

sure... the lottery ticket of the past,
oh the most glorious past times...
        nothing lasts forever...
       so it seems...
            here's me celebrating Dickens
to the last... breath... because...
keeping up with speaking my native
language: when there are no
prussians, no russians...
           no austro-hungarians...
and there are only...
ukranians and lithuanians readying
to guilt-trip me over the failures
of the polish-lithuanian commonwealth?!

in this language i can...
ale... nie... w... tym!
///

One day these bricks and buildings were meadows
These fields the processions of spring garden

One day on these meadows used to play the cowboy’s melancholy flute  
These fields the playground of the furious grasshoppers

These bricks were rivers
These buildings processions of water

In these rivers the moon's dispersion played on the uprising waves,
How softly the sailor sang his lonely song, disappearing within the shadows!

Travelers,
Have I told you a fairy tale?

///
A Fairy Tale
...
..
Much before the door closed
Can be seen regularly when walking on the road
Though dark, see the mass of trash
But did not hear any noise ever

On the side of the sky touch wall
My constant movement
Though shadow yet trademark cynicism
I can go away even closed eyes

Closed eyes within the dark
Yet unbelievable, but brings a dream
A dream within the dark,
See a diamond crystal
Where only light and light dispersion
From each dimension

Suddenly, in dream
I am in front of the closed door,
See a footprint,
Known voice with tune,
Can hear the illusive song

Now neither there exists any tall wall
Nor any closed door in the mind
...
..
Onoma Feb 2015
...You, dearest vagary, aplomb--were
brought to bear.
Vicissitude of memory which is the
dispersion of identity.
Of a time, and of a place--you, a
mellifluous bronze dusk poured upon
a meadow, a solitary immersion, a
moment that harnesses the whole of
the earth, as you are...dearest vagary.
You were afforded as by the citizenry
of the air, lent by an intercontinental
wind.
An undying eloquence featured for all
time--the swaying bud blown to bloom.
You...the beautification of possibility,
its matrices never left in want.
As in withstanding place the round is
made, and remade about you, the whole
of the earth.
Thus, you've no confounding words...
have you?
Thus, this sidelong expenditure that you may--
shall breach the earth you shall.
*A poem to the "Pregnant Point".
The growing day has
Handed over the doyen
To the dawning evening,
Yes, it is the
Responsibility of the
Father to make the
Sacrifices for the son,

Ask the son to wake up
Early on his soul day,
In preparation for the ceremony,
For Ntikuma has exposed
Kwaku Ananse once again,
Perhaps, it was our fault,
For Boakye Danquah has
Gone to the village without a cause,

Now, sprinkle the divine water
From the calabash,
Three times on him,
Oh yes, on the son,
And ask for the Gods blessings
Right after the libation,

Indeed, anyone who does
Not know the drums or horn
Message of his chief,
Gets lost in any dispersion,
Joseph Boakye Danquah,
The true father of Ghana,
We are debtors to your soul.

            II
Who is this father?
Ask him to use the three
Fingers between his thumb
And the smallest finger
To smear the mixture of white clay
On his forehead, chick and wrist bone,
For Boakye Danquah has
Gone to village without a cause,

Ah, Boakye was born
In the period where
The stormy rainfall causes
Small ***** to abound,
Hmm, the nations have drunk
The water of affliction
And have eaten the
Strange bread of adversity,

Was anyone there,
To quench his throat?
Was anyone there?
To drink his blood and sweat?
Was anyone there?
To witness this transfiguration?

Indeed, the horns cannot be
Too heavy for the head of the cow that
Must bear them,
Joseph Boakye Danquah,
The true father of Ghana,
We are debtors to your soul.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
i'll be honest, i lost the second volume  of Kant's critique
in the house, i lost the rhythm of reading the first volume,
but then i found the second volume
like a breadcrumb, where i left off:
the thesis v. antithesis section,
accurately
                 antimonia of pure reasoning
(the fourth conflict between
                   transcendental ideas)
cf. the only dualism allowed is a bilingualism,
no mono-lingual dualism is verifiable,
it's too abstract and therefore non-practical /
non-practisible - missing adjective
            i.e. without having an allowance
    to be practised, indeed almost every single
word cannot transverse all grammatical classification,
a zebra cannot be a noun, a verb, an adjective,
an adverb etc., hence what i tried to experiment
with was whether a mono-linguistic system
could practice dualism purely, no, it couldn't,
mono-linguistic systems abstracted dualism
without a useful process within them,
the whole good and evil, chaos and order dichotomy,
such dichotomy that never approached a dialectics,
hence mono-linguistic systems could not convene
dualism, because they were mono-linguistic and
not bilingual...
in reference to translating
                                            the fourth conflict between
                   transcendental ideas,
i.e. czwarty konflikt miedzy ideami transcendentalnymi,
English stress of articles / vectors, meaning
a point be made, or the point can be made,
one is wishy-washy wave of the hand (dispersion),
the other is definite, microscopic, vector
from co-ordinates (0, 0) leading to (23, 12) of the (x, y)
graph; i went among the Celts and learned to write
drunk and be happy;
                                      ironic though as to why
Darwinism gained such popularity given the English
use of indefinite and definite articles: a-      -the    
end up with some sort of ism.
there's a warning about the fourth antimony, and there's
also this poem, indeed i was bemused by the antimony
i'm not surprised that he didn't understand the narrative too,
narrating philosophically is a hard craft,
you can't really engage with dialectics, cartwheels sure,
ouroboros (snake eating itself) sure,
it's hard to reach the Pre-Socratics, but almost every
philosopher after Socrates is doing just that...
to internalise dialectics (i'd rather criticise the lack
of diacritical marks in English), and that's why
philosophy compared to standard literature of fiction
and novel can be termed pure, narration.
it is pure narration, the practice of -
hence off character study, hence hardly memorable,
but an antidote to what the present system of education
prescribes the young: dates (1066 a.d., 1945, 1914),
or Pythagoras... qwen the queen was born (on purpose, and
why? exactly, q / queue, why / i, etc.)... it's like they're
taking a test on becoming Britain's residential candidates
with questionnaires that no one talks about in pubs
over pints. i mean the warning against the fourth antimony
in the antithesis ends up stating poetically:
both proposals were sound. depending on how one
peeled the vantage point, from which want came to
observe the lunar motion.
Nature has this innate ability to take in many sounds
both unpleasant and kind, insulated its core, penetrating deep, it unravels the mysteries, mysterious its ways, in dispersion to diversity
always bears and offers fruits, fair
Nature Inspiration moments
chimaera Nov 2014
then
he made a gesture

like a farmer with a full hand of seeds
he made a gesture
and colours spilled over the world

and words

like water coloured worlds
dripping in my window sill

flooded in

waves
of forbidden wanting
in a dispersion of me
luths and flutes
silky veils and a galaxy

i made a gesture

walls of cold glass
intangible all the colours

his sail is a wing
a hiatus in the blue
hollowing me

i tie an iron ribbon
to my heart
and watch it
drowning

silently

12.11.14
It was a long sad story,
form a long, a long years ago
an Angel came down from the haven,
there was a love light fallen on the horizon
and the Poet heard his first angelic song

The Poet made his commitment on her
He fallen into love and
after then,
the dispersion of light spreading
throughout the sky -

Angel taught him the moon’s beauty
and the Poet taught her the large sky,
after then they made a dream
that was more than a dream

The Poet lived within her moon
And the Angel played within his sky
It grew love more and more
between them the light,
only the divine light
That gravity attracted them more and more

After a long dispersion of light
one day Angel came down on the horizon
took the Poet,
and enfolded him with her arms,
wandering upon an ocean

The Poet kissed the Angel
and they lost within themselves
suddenly the Poet discovered themselves
beneath the ocean but the Angel could not

She was drowning,
drowning beneath the ocean
the Poet tried to rescue her
and picked up her on the horizon

Then so many angels came down on the horizon
blew her from the Poet’s sky
and the sky grew dark at once
But the Poet still sees her Angel again
When he recites the* Poe’s Annabel Lee
*In a very slow Autumn -

@ Musfiq us shaleheen
*Tribute to My beloved romantic Poet Edgar Allan Poe*
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
poetry can resemble a jackson ******* method - but it can also resemble sitting on the stairs in the garden, just when winter starts to dig into it's cold at night (but still not cold enough) for a man drinking beer and smoking cigarettes to feel the skin etch out in itches from the mild freeze, and imagining himself holding the beer bottle with skeletal fingers... then the thoughts come... nothing is really planned by a narrator working out a fictional linear process, it's more like that soviet invention of a game of tetris, thoughts come, the ego disappears, thoughts arrange for a brief narrative, then disappear, new thoughts come, then a randomisation process takes over, until ex nihil complete dispersion, the faculty of thinking is exiled, and the faculty of memory takes over.*

after watching two grand movies in one day,
it felt really sour to return to the grand stasis of things,
the only constellations that are visible
without any ******* notion of light pollution
are scorpio and the big dipper...
the litter dipper is more dim this year,
so dim i mistook the earth's celestial geographic
route as spring summer the big dipper is
when in autumn winter the big dipper is
the small dipper... but seeing the two in the night
once i became aspirational in my error -
if only the prefix aspi- existed, derived from
aspen to the added continuance of the word
left: rational: rationality based upon unforced error?
but these two films: kingsman: the secret service
& the hobbit: the desolation of smaug
you get penetrated by so many active ingredients
for the narration via images, that when you
un-glue your eyes from plato's cave (actors
are the best conclusive interpretation of shadows,
no rabbits in the hand to be mistaken for the real things)
you get this drawback sensation of having to focus
on inanimate things in stasis -
and it can & does become pretty glum,
esp. if you want to return to the realm of using
phonetic symbols, to not speak in reserve for
an up-and-coming stage performance
but to see the glaring starry composition of hidden
things in the things already seen...
so there with the beer, scorpio elsewhere
the big dipper only thing providing me with
a workable dynamic: in schematic
          
       .         .
                    
                       .
                .

       .
            .

               .


i had to active this arrangement of stars
to negated feeding my exposure to
so many images...
i began by coupling the stars: three couplets
one star the odd one out...
then i started to create a dynamic
on the basis of geometry, a geometric
non-linear representation of infinity,
but the constellation into a circle,
and therefore thought of infinity as not
beginning                         sequence                    end,
after all, infinity as a constant interchange
of 10 distinctions 0 - 9 can be ridiculous,
whereby infinity just becomes a randomisation:
either 14123480345792340834 etc.
or 12300984393657499393030, etc.
so using geometry i need to acquire
a infinite parallelism, infinite parallelism
implied as non-convergence.... two points
small enough (atoms, sub-atomic particles,
stars) to interact in parallel, but never converge,
for if convergence was possible...
i wonder: me being conscious of being
the olympic gold swimmer to the ****?
i hardly think so.
i can perceive atoms via the greek imagination
or with the galileo of small-print via the microscope,
but i can't individuate an atom of some sort
to a specified functional guarantee: well yeah,
sulphur stinks... but i could technically
atomise the one unit in my capacity to a state
of an atom... my self... given the number of people
and all the chance interactions in an environment
big enough to all a minuteness of the atomised self...
which is perhaps the counter to that old chestnut
known as solipsism: how to get the right phonetically
chemical concoction to get an etymologically word
out of this? atomipsism? no philology in me just
yet to open the bible of philology (the dictionary)
or bother thesaurus rex for comparative literature.
but anyway, as things go i was musing this other thing,
the fame of achilles with the modern fame machinery...
back then you really had to push the right buttons,
and your actual fame was post-mortem, in order
that you might be glorified in some way...
modern fame seems like a bad orwellian joke...
it's translated into our modern themes of catchphrases
slogans and trademarks as c.c.t.v., a ****** camera
on your shoulder... it actually is a bad orwellian joke...
no double think i rephrased into:
there are more c.c.t.v. cameras in england than in
all of europe put together... so the double think
is as this:
a. should i be bothered, or
b. should i not be bothered?
i'll answer with my usual enigmatic methodology by
just changing the subject -
we left the realm of philosophic doubt and thinking,
we entered the realm of modern denial and thinking,
i dare say i prefer doubt to denial,
it makes all our apprehensions, petty fears and
all petty concerns a bit smaller - via the maxim:
the only fear to fear is fear itself... denial doesn't
provide what doubt provides, doubt is like
cushioned fear... if there's a fear to fear as simply itself
doubt puts a lid on it, a spontaneity,
a kantian noumenon by definition, fear-in-itself.
Westley Barnes Apr 2012
Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the
light falls.
Streetlights glowing,
Like bedcovers laying,
Over the harbour waters inky as
Freshly-spilled car-crash blood,
Reflecting deep as a thought can penetrate.

A parade of gunfire
Startles silent rage into the frightened round-up locals
Eyes cowering and arms raised like scarecrow’s overhanging,
While in a side-alley doorway
A soldier anxiously caresses
A girl who he will never speak to again
The tequila-resembling sun standing watch
Their sole clandestine companion.

A child is given relieving news,
Having arrived not without frustrated effort
That she no longer has to follow the same life-stifling routine.
Her doctor, after the dizzying business of congratulating her parents,
Looks out his window without witnessing their departure
Until his eyes are cast back to dispersion
Appreciating fresh rain turn a week’s snowfall
Into puddles upon the ground.

The mind resists the heart’s attempt to repress,
We resist our own borders admitting a consistency of strain
Memory indulging in a fleeting spectacle of sin,
The Sickly exterior of the heart’s delight.

Regardless of the contrast or depth of the lens, it all depends on where the
light falls.
Moments throughout our lives repeated in the stock footage of the
mind,washing thoughts matted out of stark exposure
seeding out  a negative frame.
GaryFairy May 2016
inverted purpose, a hurting version
verses for this urban exertion
first curse, the burdened dispersion
unworthy service of incursion

perverted circus, a working aversion
reversing their verbal coercion
the first thirst is the verse's assertion
immersed in an urgent excursion
I reposted this because i got a message saying that i don't write poetry. They said that poetry is all about metaphors and imagery. Well, for me it is about emotion, rhymes, and wordplay. Also, alliterations have been done over and over, but not inner alliteration. Here, i worked with the "er" sound.
The Dedpoet Jan 2017
Notes, musical keys, rythmic changes-
A modification of the Word
Which purifies her soulfulness
And expresses clarities in the fog,
The hint of Dickinson in her words,
The scent of reality in her reflection,
     The words become a path:

One wet summer I heard your words,
The vibrant sky breaths
And the sun became as embers
Of poetic sacrifice,
Through reading your poem
I became as a double being,
Movement began
A sudden dispersion of birds
Followed by the Humm of water
On stone,
Murmurs of infinite moments
Painting them all like some
Poet Saint,
The words became a lineage
To the unfathomable depths of you,
In the helix of hours
The beat of the sea and the stilled
Shimmers of light on water can be found
In the edification of her poetry;

Master strokes,
Like a naked liberation
Of a diamond body beyond
A turquoise sunset,
A co concubine of words
That form constellated meanings
Among the pnumbra,
Reminiscent of the March of hours
In which the words come
And a fixed glitter in her eyes form,
The form of woman,
A form of dizziness
Like a dance of wind and water,
I read between the words,

    Vicki,
         Vicki,

I imagine a lamp in the middle
Of the night,
A pen and a womans scorching
Words as God had spoken
The First Word,
Like a moon in heat in midday's
Grasp, she counters every word
Of expression
Like a cell for my tortured soul,
She became my solitary star,
I wander in her hours,
Hungry for more words,
A memory inventing itself,
Masterfully,
She makes the sky walk the land.
For my infinitely talented friend Vicki.
Nemis May 2019
Days of laughs and midnight blue,
From walking on broken glasses to morning dew.
Do you know where the blinding eyes lead you?
If you do will you still go through?

The ashes of past and the echoes of present,
Interwoven together with surprises enchanted.
Driven melodies of magic and miracles,
With moments of dry tears and laughless chuckles.

Waves of time against the tides of tries,
Deep you sink and high you fly.
As the sound of silence slowly reaches,
And closer the end of race towards the grave.
About life.
a voltage feeds my mind
like that of a brief rainfall
where there is an asterisks
of insignificant social commentary
whose reality pertains
to disproportionate events
whose commission
makes a profession out of trivia
which is no more ******* durable
than accumulated dispersion of adrenalin
that of a psychophysical explorative
exploitation of unrealized
perpetual fermentation
that seethes with the singeing smell
that accompanies its lie
those demanding untruths
that lock each and everyone
in a burning prison of panic
a prism of unfocused
visionary liberation perhaps to some
the realization of the cosmos
that lives within the poets interior
a mighty roar of space
waiting to be filled
with visions of future worlds
of future social commentary
Waverly Jun 2014
The candle,
That burning dispersion.
The wick prespires.
The nitro-oxygen air
eaten up with every breath,
in such commonstance as to be ordinary,
and unrevealing.
But how much do you know
about yourself,
about it?
Can you blame a flame?
Can you truly hurt a fly?
Where are you now?

In some place so stuffy,
that you can only wish
that you were something more,
something stupid enough to live,
and not feel the pangs of your billion needles,
cascading down like a waterfall
of death, disappointment, and disorder.
Dacia B Apr 2015
is it strange then to long for wild mountains that spring from all angles?
and stretch to the a sky filled with clusters of white
which escape from view quickly with an ocean wind
to see the unordered grass trompled over by livestock
on their way to the sole tree in the pasture
seeking a brief salvation from a stark ozone-less sun
no bureaucrat planned, manicured this land
he did not sit in a lofty office, feeling the cool breeze of electrically chilled air
it was not voted on, the way the waves are to crash
he did not need the approval of his lay out for pebbles on the beach
corruption did not intermingle the trees, making it cumbersome for humans
or the reclining alp's angles
they were left to the law engrained in movement
the unknown dispersion of marbles across the ground, scientific wonders

now they sit, in their building, living monuments of time
springing up from the ground like ant hills
not understanding
standing on the previous lives of men
entitled
my land
my city
my country

and i long for, my archipelago
stretch of green, a harmonious chord
pining after the days
in D.O.C camps
barefooted
gritty
the feel of sand in the bottom of my sleeping bag
and the wonder of no-man's-land
One could might hypothesize
That the tears would have
Drained more than
The veins drawing out
Of the confines of the muscle
Pumping sweltering anger
On such a transportation
Of creating a new home
Out of one recognized for three years.

The stacks upon stacks
Of emotional drainage
After the physical had worn out
From problem after inconvenience
After incompetency.
A departure I wrote an outline for
Before I stood at the border
Of goodbyes,
I quickly threw out.

The itch and discomfort,
The aching and drainage
The constant questions in my mind
Throughout the entire time
Divorced me from the clouds
That I foresaw above us
Hugging goodbyes.
The storm was in the lies
That made me hurt
To see such discomfort in your eyes.

Here’s to the storm’s dispersion,
No good deed can split the coming tidal wave.
32 lines, 221 days left.
Ylzm Sep 2020
The greatest enemy is the enemy within
The most evil is one most believed as God
The Shepherd sacrificed sheep, and sheep cheered

How can anything not be what it seems
How can I mean other than what I said
How can eyes see soul, when there is none

An apple can be nothing but an apple
A patriot hugs the flag, a christian waves the bible
And the loser, unarmed, accursed, hangs from a tree

In robes of peace, prosperity and power, reigns evil
In dispersion, despair and death, are its enemies
In friends with cleaned feet are traitorous deceivers
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Mist
Irrelevant timeless drift moisture in a collate state triggers dispersion of thoughts and intent what to

Pursue an airy void trouble and worry automatically release the hold on the mind and heart to become
One with density and mystery the familiar evaporates it lays thick and low on the country lane just a

Haze a disjointed broken maze comfort it announces in the softest tingled ease touches your cheeks
What pleasing sensation engulfs you the freedom the same way that fire and colored lights hold you

Transfixed childlike wonder to question to ponder the unseen and the unknown without caution the only stumbling will be that of surprise a gentle moist kiss a touch of a cool hand it is time to assemble

In all the places that are at other times forbidden but now all restrictions are lifted those submerged
Weighty thoughts begin to rise they sway with the sweetest rhythms an unheard but felt symphony

Accost your deepest emotions go with the flow release your inhibitions to the undertow take up the
Oars of this imaginary boat paddle out in deep waves add the silver streaks of moonlight you are only

The lightest shadow mix with all of existence restore depleted stores that were wasted and burned up in
The chaos of life you possess powers that run beyond all reason answer this how long are you going to

Last surge with that truth lay down many items inferior to your nature pick up the bright pulsating bars
Of energy drain them then lay them aside march in the heady knowledge an immortal stands here and is

Passing through the shallows of an earthy walk to strands invisible and their treasures are indescribable
They are my inheritance now they too are surrounded by a mist this day I have bridged the gulf and

United the two the secret place of the most high is to be my dwelling place I think I can soldier on until
My change comes and it will but until it does periodically I will come and sojourn in this tapestry of the

Gloaming and be reborn refashioned by truth that destroys all enemies and affords to me victory
sadness is her grounding  ******* her release fantasizing bizarre scenarios escaping in literature movies music clothes she wonders if men feel cheated by her small ******* her mouth and hips not wide enough even though she has not slept with a man for years her aging depresses her stiffness of her muscles dryness of her skin thinning of her hair lapses of thought memory yet she manages to appear quite astute and stylish

2

what if you realize there is no god no one listening to your prayers no one watching over you god is preposterous myth like santa claus there is no reason to conduct yourself morally responsibly monkey screeches laughter claps wildly swings tree to tree

3

if wars were won by spiritual psychological intellectual development we’d be a different planet yet wars are won by technological advances and brute force we are an over-populating world many parents unfit unqualified inexperienced to raise children of the future this madness is heading to frightful reckoning massey mining british petroleum monsanto wall street g.e. (it’s not a light bulb more mutual fund of entertainment banks and loans appliances washington lobbyists more) these ******* **** pillage mother earth our home with unconscionable deceit greed cruelty

4

magic is tricky sometimes sincere most times contrived face of moon is woman she is sad maybe crying do you remember us making love i don’t like seeing men give in to bribes i turn away lose interest twists my stomach when will we learn i don’t know anything about planet venus yet wish she will help us with her love i’ve written too many words not sure if i’m repeating ideas do not want to bore burden you with tremendous sorrow tried seriously to **** myself twice i’m old school still pray it doesn’t matter that no one is listening i need prayer need god dear god please help me us find happiness love success weary of isolation every day i fight between self will and destiny fate patterns signals i am so conflicted where is peace?

5

this dispersion is no good way to start the morning sun is up sky is blue birds are singing flying around teasing each other no matter where the world is heading i’m going to seek find fun gratitude beauty i've just created something that never existed before each breath a birth each breath a death tiny thoughts lives micro existence the cliffs of dover are made entirely from skeletons of ancient sea creatures i stepped over rocks encrusted with shells vacant inhabited we come and go oh the fossils oh the dreams stepped on coming out of their shells spider dreamer weaving web of life whose life? mine? who am i? i am you you are here with me pure unrequited love nothing matters but our spontaneous dance nothing matters but our crying over red wine passionate search for truth oh goddess of compassion let love come to us all truest holy love uniting opposites filling all the holes not a single inch of emptiness genius of love the poets creator of all genius exquisite satisfaction in emptiness forever unfolding paradox flower of paradox infinite petals forever blooming eternal spring breeze petals of paradox falling from my hair falling all over streets houses limestone cliffs granite giants fertile valley farmland my hands form a cup i offer up to you
Christian Bixler Apr 2018
losing nothing
light's dispersion
through cumuli
It's a joy to be back.
Hal Loyd Denton Sep 2012
Irrelevant timeless drift moisture in a collate state triggers dispersion of thoughts and intent what to
Pursue an airy void trouble and worry automatically release the hold on the mind and heart to become
One with density and mystery the familiar evaporates it lays thick and low on the country lane just a
Haze a disjointed broken maze comfort it announces in the softest tingled ease touches your cheeks
What pleasing sensation engulfs you the freedom the same way that fire and colored lights hold you
Transfixed childlike wonder to question to ponder the unseen and the unknown without caution the only stumbling will be that of surprise a gentle moist kiss a touch of a cool hand it is time to assemble
In all the places that are at other times forbidden but now all restrictions are lifted those submerged
Weighty thoughts begin to rise they sway with the sweetest rhythms an unheard but felt symphony
Accost your deepest emotions go with the flow release your inhibitions to the undertow take up the
Oars of this imaginary boat paddle out in deep waves add the silver streaks of moonlight you are only
The lightest shadow mix with all of existence restore depleted stores that were wasted and burned up in
The chaos of life you possess powers that run beyond all reason answer this how long are you going to
Last surge with that truth lay down many items inferior to your nature pick up the bright pulsating bars
Of energy drain them then lay them aside march in the heady knowledge an immortal stands here and is
Passing through the shallows of an earthy walk to strands invisible and their treasures are indescribable
They are my inheritance now they too are surrounded by a mist this day I have bridged the gulf and
United the two the secret place of the most high is to be my dwelling place I think I can soldier on until
My change comes and it will but until it does periodically I will come and sojourn in this tapestry of the
Gloaming and be reborn refashioned by truth that destroys all enemies and affords to me victory
it was over. finished and requiring further complicity for another onslaught of banal narrative to be revealed before my to half opened windows when i sought a habit that, as a friend warns me, is most deadly.
12:15 AM
me
**** it im out. but wait everyone is asleep. so take a flashlight with you dummy. no. the click makes too much noise. a lighter? NO! even worse. grab a phone in the remote chance that while im alone, aside the ever-greening pool, she might call.
12:17 AM
me
that stupid ******* glow-in-the-dark rosary! it ruins me every time and so does the 14th 16th, and 9th step from the bottom with their relentless creak. i should have learned by now their pattern but, then again, i only need it when nefarious action is in play. shame on me. my phone served as an appropriate guide (as long as it shone away from my parents door, of course). tip-toeing over the debris that still remains from a "successful" marriage i arrived at the back door.
it has a trick though.
12:21 AM
me
it depends on which way you are going, but to eek out of it properly you have to pull in and then turn the handle. NO SCRATCH THAT REVERSE IT and vice versa. the out of doors is only slightly more liberating than being cloistered in a room bound by roddenberry. on this night, however, the night provided what might be considered, by people in towns whose greatest income centers around cattle feeding and slaughter, as breezy and cool.
12:24 AM
me
where ARE those cigarettes?? **** it. a **** will do. clip clop around the green until you realize you know where ever piece of debris is. you are stepping over the things that you cannot see. surreal. ****. look up to ascertain your spatial coordinates.
earth.
figures.
12:26 AM
me
**** it. again. some more. if you keep looking up looking at the flaming ***** of helium trillions of light years away and someone comes out they will probably think that you are just contemplating your own existence as opposed to the other...thing. something that really has no name. the place between dream and reality. this place, though, has a certain specificity. a clarity. so i consider what i am privy to.
12:30 AM
me
small dots above me. white dots in a globular dispersion above me. what im told is that they are steadily--NO--rapidly retreating from me. i am told that all of these dots have more dots, that i cant see, that move around them. on /those/ dots sentient things might exist. might. what i know for myself is that I DO. as well as i am able to ascertain, other people like myself exist too. and, if they are anything like me they must experience something similar to my experiences.
12:33 AM
me
well ****. these dots. these ******* white dots, as they flee with their potential other lives, make realize [yet again mind you[ that i have things that might be unique to me and only a handful of other things like me on this sphere.
12:35 AM
me
if i were to ignore those statistically remote similarities here, near me, i would be as foolish as the pin ball that thinks it belongs among the bumpers. i belong in a hole.at least one that fits my shape.
i am no pinball.
but i live amongst those things that tell me what i know. what i have known. what continues to reveal to me the nature of nature.
12:38 AM
me
startled i ***** my cigarette on the bench my father and i once made for an easter get-together with my family and withdraw my phone again to return to roddenberrys lair. over the pile of old coats near the back door. beyond the 52" plasma still playing a re-run of diners, drive-ins and whatever the **** and, shining the light away from my parents door i climbed the stairs. making sure to hit 9, 14, and 16 on the way up, cursing myself at the top."you mind if i pseudo-rant for a bit while," i smashed on the remote keys.
no edit
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
i never knew when forgiveness of ******
deviations equated to
the obscurity of citizen allowances,
whereby i was excused from doing ****
like i was excused from having a conscience
stealing your herd of sheep...
but i guess i must have a medieval mentality,
*******, childish, having to interpret
the profanity of the tetragrammaton
with the canonical gospels' acts of dispersion,
you said ****** were akin to
meat cleavers... fair enough...
god forgives me butchering you like you
were forgiven having a frolic in the hay...
and we're all one big happy family...
'cos i swear that's when ambiguity on the dogma
entered and the nadir was expressed:
sin - ****** ambiguity - equated itself
to crime - citizen ambiguity -
you want to put that forth to Buddhist
authority chaining ******* bandwagons of
thieves en route to the Tibetan Vatican?
only so much is allowed,
given you're championing one Jew of your fancy
while giving others the gas-chambers...
ain't it just Prince's 1999... we're gonna party
like it's 19-99.... i think you mistook sin with crimes...
that's my "doctorate" opinion...
you said **** with thieving being synonymous,
Christ was saving Greek intellectual culture
with the pederast **** to boot...
St. Paul was encouraging circumcision,
****-like people with a statue of Buddha asking
whether head meant the shaved one ******
or whether it meant the prickly one gagged on
was on the cards - goose-pimple **** frostbite...
the moment when the forgiveness of sin
turned into the forgiveness of crime...
hence such ****** freedoms right now,
and a... ah... whatever... of challenged citizenship,
why would i? why would anyone even bother?
**** it, let's go crazy, Las Vegas is waiting for us,
the cowboys will never churn out a Thatcher
to "rule the world".
12:15 AM
it was over.
finished
and requiring no further complicity for another onslaught
of banal narrative to be revealed just before my the half opened
windows creaked.
i sought the most deadly habit,
against which she had warned.

12:17 AM
**** it im out. but wait everyone is asleep. so take a flashlight with you dummy.
no.
the click makes too much noise.
a lighter? NO!
even worse.
grab a phone in the remote chance
that,
while im alone,
aside the ever-greening pool,
she might call.

12:21 AM
that stupid ******* glow-in-the-dark rosary!
it ruins me every time and so does
the 14th 16th, and 9th step from the bottom
with their relentless creak.
i should have learned by now
their pattern
but, then again,
i only need it when nefarious action is in play.
shame on me.
my phone served as an appropriate guide
(as long as it shone away from my parents door, of course)
tip-toeing over the debris that still remains
from a "successful" marriage
i arrived at the back door.
it has a trick though.

12:24 AM
it depends on which way you are going
but to eek out of it properly
you have to pull in and THEN turn the handle.
NO SCRATCH THAT REVERSE IT and vice versa.
the out of doors is only slightly more liberating
than being cloistered in a room
bound by roddenberry.
on this night
however
the night provided
what might be considered
by people in towns whose income
centers around cattle feeding and slaughter
breezy and cool environs.

12:26 AM
where ARE those cigarettes??
**** it.
a **** will do.
traipse around the green until you realize
you know where every piece of debris is
you are stepping over the things that you cant see.
surreal.
****. look up to ascertain your spatial coordinate
figures.

12:30 AM
**** it.
again.
some more.
keep looking up looking at the flaming ***** of helium
trillions of light years away
and someone comes out
they will probably think that
you are just contemplating
your own existence
as opposed to the other...thing
something that really has no name.
the place between dream and reality
this place, though, has a certain specificity
no clarity
i consider then what i am privy to

12:33 AM
small dots above me.
in a globular dispersion beyond
what im told is that they are steadily
NO
rapidly retreating
i am told
all of these dots have more dots
that i cant see
that move around them
and
on those dots sentient things might exist
might
i know that I DO
as well as i am able to ascertain

12:35 AM
well ****.
these dots
these ******* white dots
as they flee with their potential
i realize [yet again mind you]
that i have things that might be unique
to me
and
only a handful of other things

12:38 AM
if i were to ignore those statistically remote similarities
here
near me
i would be as foolish
as the pinball that believes
it belongs among the bumpers
i belong in a hole
at least one that fits my shape.
i am no pinball.
but
i live amongst those things
that tell me what i know
what i have known
what continues to reveal
to me the nature of nature.

12:48 AM
startled i ***** my cigarette on the bench
the bench my father and i once made
for an family easter get-together
withdraw with my phone
again towards roddenberrys lair
past the pile of old coats near the back door
beyond the 52" plasma
still playing a re-run of diners, drive-ins and whatever the ****
shining the light away from my parents door
i climbed the stairs.
making sure to hit 9, 14, and 16 on the way up
cursing myself at the top
"you mind if i pseudo-rant for a bit while?"
i smashed on the remote keys.
Odd Odyssey Poet Jan 2023
Oh- falling to the floor
falling off the bat; a swing at love, again
It's not all the same, indifferent but still
the clueless cliché. Anyways what could
I say to not seem the clingy type
a softie sometimes, knowing he'll marry
a strong wife

A dragon, fierce fiery breath
she speaks a word of fantasy, and unlike
the rest- she has a tougher flesh, and presses away
my insecurities with an impressive hug pressing
on me with an impressive chest

Self control out of the handle of my reflection
perhaps my emotional side is never-ending
Cherished by a face that could never disguise a smile;
my awkward smile, belonging to Mr always nice guy
Confidently shy, shying away from being a razor
of cutting words to chat up a girl
My mistake to chat sensibly after a little rude talk,
mixed in those silly jokes. I choke on my physical words,
a silent face and volumes of confidence only in these poems

Club scenes are meaningless to me
meaning less of me would be less active than seen
I'm falling in between an introvert, and a little
extrovert trying to creep out a bit
It's always a risk, and amidst in the mist of dispersion
of a stretched out imagination of a ******
Told always, "you really need a girlfriend"
good at making conversation with just a girl friend
Till feelings are involved, it sort of does in my head

Spares to a secondary nature of testosterone
spiking at a random
Making passes of being a little passive- my confidence
isn't so massive, although my caring eyes and heart
are at times attractive

But I still have the eyes of a jealous man; possessive
to means if I find you as a potential. Potentially pointing
out my heart's gun to shoot around your lines
I'll still be a little awkward saying my hie, and wanting
long hugs goodbyes

I'm just so sorry for being this constant shy guy
Hal Loyd Denton Dec 2012
Irrelevant timeless drift moisture in a collate state triggers dispersion of thoughts and intent what to
Pursue an airy void trouble and worry automatically release the hold on the mind and heart to become
One with density and mystery the familiar evaporates it lays thick and low on the country lane just a
Haze a disjointed broken maze comfort it announces in the softest tingled ease touches your cheeks
What pleasing sensation engulfs you the freedom the same way that fire and colored lights hold you
Transfixed childlike wonder to question to ponder the unseen and the unknown without caution the only stumbling will be that of surprise a gentle moist kiss a touch of a cool hand it is time to assemble
In all the places that are at other times forbidden but now all restrictions are lifted those submerged
Weighty thoughts begin to rise they sway with the sweetest rhythms an unheard but felt symphony
Accost your deepest emotions go with the flow release your inhibitions to the undertow take up the
Oars of this imaginary boat paddle out in deep waves add the silver streaks of moonlight you are only
The lightest shadow mix with all of existence restore depleted stores that were wasted and burned up in
The chaos of life you possess powers that run beyond all reason answer this how long are you going to
Last surge with that truth lay down many items inferior to your nature pick up the bright pulsating bars
Of energy drain them then lay them aside march in the heady knowledge an immortal stands here and is
Passing through the shallows of an earthy walk to strands invisible and their treasures are indescribable
They are my inheritance now they too are surrounded by a mist this day I have bridged the gulf and
United the two the secret place of the most high is to be my dwelling place I think I can soldier on until
My change comes and it will but until it does periodically I will come and sojourn in this tapestry of the
Gloaming and be reborn refashioned by truth that destroys all enemies and affords to me victory
bobby burns Jan 2015
carpal tunnel
born of first-serve lets
and second-serve ace
comebacks --
from
sloughing off
winter coats
to share between
twelve --

my wrists are
less than echoes
and may have
been little more
to begin --

suspended
by gossamer,
brass-covered
lichen
and ticking fungi,
like man, (with his
whirling gears
and mad metals)
replaced
nature's course
with an automated
system --

i would rust
just to crack
but they keep
me too clean --
my sunspots
have fled to
warmer pastures,
i am milk-buckets
on overcast farm
dawnings, but surely
even they have seen
the light of day --

splashed my face
with wine
and rooibos
to see if i
would stain
like the canvas
metaphor
my generation
ascribes to --

maroon dispersion
in terra cotta wash,
twining around
a spiral course --
the folly of it
went ignored
'til my lost and
floating freckles
gathered at the
drain and clogged
the sink to overflow.
///

the big river has moved toward the sea
and this tiny path has gone to the dark forest
the earth itself a rounded shape
but that spiritual whirls has no dimension

the diamond is a crystal that has too many faces
it shines and attracts all of us
you have also too many faces
but sometimes a few of it seems as the moon or the diamond

the crystal diamond
the moving earth
the dark forest
everything has a dimension
and that everybody has mentioned

but your long road that moves to dark
find a dimension
but you could not mention
always that has grown your tension

the silky moon
the crescent, half or full
has a distinct dimension  
but its dispersion has no dimension
even its beauty,
the spiritual face has no dimension
but it has attracted you and me

the forest that too dark at night
creating sound in your heart
the dark,
the sound
has no dimension at all
but we see the thunder on the sky
that has grown a certain dimension for a few seconds

you see the light in love
that has no dimension
but its gravity beyond
you can feel it into your soul,
when you are alone at a spring dawn,
and you see the god who has been calling you from the end of the path
though god has no dimension at all

///
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
where is the existence, either in matter or non matter and we trying to find all around......... even where there is a dimension or not but the ultimate........ ?????

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