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"disputes" poems
the angel amongst us ~for Alexander, master splasher~ *flexibility is important when poetry writing in a warm tub and a long day ahead is scheduled; so willingly accept the autocorrect for I am both an experienced poet and bath soaker and believer in wondrous mystery and unexpected fumbles that lead to to miracle touchdowns ~•~ the two mathematicians examine the angle, measure the degree of difference at intersection and bless it with an identity, calling it by its name, perhaps obtuse, perhaps right, perhaps both two sets of eyes examine the angle, study its ****** expression the old man says: see the angle on the clock formed by the big handle on the twelve and the little hand on the eight? this is angle of eight o’clock: time to stop the splashing and start the get-readying for we have miles to go before the ocean can say hello! little angel says angle no go and slashes the water with both hands to establish the firmness of his views and change Einstein’s time from present to future the angle depends on the perspective of the viewer the old poet comprehends leaving a warm tub is a regretful thing but he measures the degree of difference at this intersection of time and bath and blesses it with an identity “time to go” the angle of my angel is now 2 pointed arms, pointed straight up, at the twelve o'clock, as he stands up in fevered protest, my arms sweep his little legs to a point at eight o’clock, angel, commenting on his swift flight disputes the grandfathers physics "no go now, now go later^" though the angle is unchanged the perspective of time and space (and traffic), yet differs one sees an angle, the angel sees time eternally folding in on itself* that is the angle amongst us
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Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
the angle amongst us
the angel amongst us ~for Alexander, master splasher~ *flexibility is important when poetry writing in a warm tub and a long day ahead is scheduled; so willingly accept the autocorrect for I am both an experienced poet and bath soaker and believer in wondrous mystery and unexpected fumbles that lead to to miracle touchdowns ~•~ the two mathematicians examine the angle, measure the degree of difference at intersection and bless it with an identity, calling it by its name, perhaps obtuse, perhaps right, perhaps both two sets of eyes examine the angle, study its ****** expression the old man says: see the angle on the clock formed by the big handle on the twelve and the little hand on the eight? this is angle of eight o’clock: time to stop the splashing and start the get-readying for we have miles to go before the ocean can say hello! little angel says angle no go and slashes the water with both hands to establish the firmness of his views and change Einstein’s time from present to future the angle depends on the perspective of the viewer the old poet comprehends leaving a warm tub is a regretful thing but he measures the degree of difference at this intersection of time and bath and blesses it with an identity “time to go” the angle of my angel is now 2 pointed arms, pointed straight up, at the twelve o'clock, as he stands up in fevered protest, my arms sweep his little legs to a point at eight o’clock, angel, commenting on his swift flight disputes the grandfathers physics "no go now, now go later^" though the angle is unchanged the perspective of time and space (and traffic), yet differs one sees an angle, the angel sees time eternally folding in on itself* that is the angle amongst us
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44
Walkin' thru the grocery store section, To that aisle, yeah, it's not just con-cession... Turn every crunch into Hea-ven, -yeah (Oh, you are...) Crun-chee on the coldest day Taste buds explode, every, 'kind-of-way' Make me wanna savor every moment of cheese-y, slow-ly You pleasure me, my taste, taste buds, you put it on! Got the taste-y, know how to turn it on... The way I nibble on a pair, a clutch of fried corn, not an ear... I take it easy, baby, so we can last long! Oh! you, you feel crunchy 'in-my-mouth,' salivated, not full... Mouth like tasting, like an, an amazing plan Feel your taste, my mouth a pulse-Oh! Oh, yeah -Ya, ya me in store aisle, so nor-mal Tostitos and Doritos, I say No Mas! And so, no chip will, will replace you! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! Please respect, it's just Cheetos, No, no, I don't want no Doritos! No matter what you ask it's not Dorit-o-os! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! Nothing taste quite like Cheetos, No Tostitos, no Doritos, nor a burrito. I sound Spanish or Latin when I end words in a -oh, Oh, OH YEAH, Oh-o... When I end my words in 'O' Sounds like I know Something like, I'm not loco? Cheetos brands, -favoritos (Favorito, favorito, ba-by) Morning I don't like to 'Eat-oh' Breakfast, eggs or -gritos Instead I woof, -the Cheetos! And know I voted, twice for Obam-ma, Didn't even have, -American Mom-ma! Car tires, Yoko-hama... Back to my Latin voice, now, Oh-o... You say to get that face and taste -eh he bang-bang You say why doesn't it explodo like me mi bang-bang? For me those chips you know there is no other No question, fill your mouth, tongue, smother Yo no other makes me sing it so suave Impressive crunchy, disputes 'saliv-eh' Pass it to, pass it too, suave to cheese oh? No want your Doritos, doritos, ha doritos Put that bag back in front, me, I'll destroy ya Stop being malicious or I'll destroy yah! Pass it to, pass it too, suave cause it Cheetos, No want your Doritos, doritos, ha doritos You want friends you better break out cheesus There's no other way now to please us! Oye! crunch Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! When I end my words in 'O' Sounds like I know I know... Something like, I'm not TA-CO? Cheetos brands, -'favor-AH-ri-tos' (Favorito, favorito, ba-by) Morning I don't like to eat no Breakfast, eggs or -gritos Instead I woof, -some Cheetos! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! This is how we do it up in Long Island,  boroughs, No tacos, burritos and no churros all we ever want is those Cheetos! Ay-o no burrito Pass it to, pass it too, suave to cheese oh? No want your Doritos, doritos, ha doritos Put that bag back in front, me, I'll destroy ya Stop being malicious or I'll destroy yah! Pass it to, pass it too, suave cause it Cheetos, No want your Doritos, doritos, ha doritos You want friends you better break out cheesus There's no other way now to please us! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS!
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Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 9:00 PM UTC
Des Puh -CHEETOS(remɪx)
Walkin' thru the grocery store section, To that aisle, yeah, it's not just con-cession... Turn every crunch into Hea-ven, -yeah (Oh, you are...) Crun-chee on the coldest day Taste buds explode, every, 'kind-of-way' Make me wanna savor every moment of cheese-y, slow-ly You pleasure me, my taste, taste buds, you put it on! Got the taste-y, know how to turn it on... The way I nibble on a pair, a clutch of fried corn, not an ear... I take it easy, baby, so we can last long! Oh! you, you feel crunchy 'in-my-mouth,' salivated, not full... Mouth like tasting, like an, an amazing plan Feel your taste, my mouth a pulse-Oh! Oh, yeah -Ya, ya me in store aisle, so nor-mal Tostitos and Doritos, I say No Mas! And so, no chip will, will replace you! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! Please respect, it's just Cheetos, No, no, I don't want no Doritos! No matter what you ask it's not Dorit-o-os! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! Nothing taste quite like Cheetos, No Tostitos, no Doritos, nor a burrito. I sound Spanish or Latin when I end words in a -oh, Oh, OH YEAH, Oh-o... When I end my words in 'O' Sounds like I know Something like, I'm not loco? Cheetos brands, -favoritos (Favorito, favorito, ba-by) Morning I don't like to 'Eat-oh' Breakfast, eggs or -gritos Instead I woof, -the Cheetos! And know I voted, twice for Obam-ma, Didn't even have, -American Mom-ma! Car tires, Yoko-hama... Back to my Latin voice, now, Oh-o... You say to get that face and taste -eh he bang-bang You say why doesn't it explodo like me mi bang-bang? For me those chips you know there is no other No question, fill your mouth, tongue, smother Yo no other makes me sing it so suave Impressive crunchy, disputes 'saliv-eh' Pass it to, pass it too, suave to cheese oh? No want your Doritos, doritos, ha doritos Put that bag back in front, me, I'll destroy ya Stop being malicious or I'll destroy yah! Pass it to, pass it too, suave cause it Cheetos, No want your Doritos, doritos, ha doritos You want friends you better break out cheesus There's no other way now to please us! Oye! crunch Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! When I end my words in 'O' Sounds like I know I know... Something like, I'm not TA-CO? Cheetos brands, -'favor-AH-ri-tos' (Favorito, favorito, ba-by) Morning I don't like to eat no Breakfast, eggs or -gritos Instead I woof, -some Cheetos! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! This is how we do it up in Long Island,  boroughs, No tacos, burritos and no churros all we ever want is those Cheetos! Ay-o no burrito Pass it to, pass it too, suave to cheese oh? No want your Doritos, doritos, ha doritos Put that bag back in front, me, I'll destroy ya Stop being malicious or I'll destroy yah! Pass it to, pass it too, suave cause it Cheetos, No want your Doritos, doritos, ha doritos You want friends you better break out cheesus There's no other way now to please us! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS! Des Puh -CHEE-TOS!
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83
....................terrorism...................... I Opened my window and peeped through. Heard the loud panicked voice of screams. Just I saw the world of dreams. People were shouting'crying'runing here and there. Destructions and dreadful scenes seemed everywhere. Streets were covered with huge blood. Just like I lost in terrific flood. Dark smoke raised over the sky. War jets and gaints were so high. When i glanced all the round. And didn't believe what I found. Street lights were broken and dim. Everywhere laid down the corpses of muslim. Muslim children and muslim babies. Their white shrouds turned into red. War jets bombed,killed,left crippled & then briskly fled. Only innocent people were on their list. People were wraping them and taking away by cist. My eyes burst into tears. By the thought of terrorism whom everybody fears. The thousands of people are now lifeless. And remained so helpless. Taken away the poor children's future brightness. with War,conflicts,disputes and violent fray. Unjustly killed so many people also by slaughter and slay. Everything for them is just like a game to play. By the war demons everywhere,everybody is sad & depressed. Why Only innocent people are being harassed & oppressed? Violences and wars only left miseries and sorrow. Nobody can imagin what will happen tomarrow. that's such a big shame. blaming only muslims and giving them terrorist name. Why the Muslims are only labeled of terrorism and extremism? Come and recognise the real face of terrorism. In the name of religion why people usually fight? open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light . Terrorism has no place in Islamic religion. It teaches the supreme wisdom with real vision. I pray when will come in this world that day. One person will unite the world and bring peace oneday.. ............. ((((By shaffu)))) Alhamdulillah I am a muslim but not a terrorist.
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Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
(((....Terrorism....)))
....................terrorism...................... I Opened my window and peeped through. Heard the loud panicked voice of screams. Just I saw the world of dreams. People were shouting'crying'runing here and there. Destructions and dreadful scenes seemed everywhere. Streets were covered with huge blood. Just like I lost in terrific flood. Dark smoke raised over the sky. War jets and gaints were so high. When i glanced all the round. And didn't believe what I found. Street lights were broken and dim. Everywhere laid down the corpses of muslim. Muslim children and muslim babies. Their white shrouds turned into red. War jets bombed,killed,left crippled & then briskly fled. Only innocent people were on their list. People were wraping them and taking away by cist. My eyes burst into tears. By the thought of terrorism whom everybody fears. The thousands of people are now lifeless. And remained so helpless. Taken away the poor children's future brightness. with War,conflicts,disputes and violent fray. Unjustly killed so many people also by slaughter and slay. Everything for them is just like a game to play. By the war demons everywhere,everybody is sad & depressed. Why Only innocent people are being harassed & oppressed? Violences and wars only left miseries and sorrow. Nobody can imagin what will happen tomarrow. that's such a big shame. blaming only muslims and giving them terrorist name. Why the Muslims are only labeled of terrorism and extremism? Come and recognise the real face of terrorism. In the name of religion why people usually fight? open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light . Terrorism has no place in Islamic religion. It teaches the supreme wisdom with real vision. I pray when will come in this world that day. One person will unite the world and bring peace oneday.. ............. ((((By shaffu)))) Alhamdulillah I am a muslim but not a terrorist.
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44
your soul is what tumbles from your old youth; toothless, mute - and beautiful. it disputes the diluted musical that unfolds you... proof-less, your lute is full. your soul is where you twist rocks and fell from - a great height, below your skin suit, dull. it drew you with resolute ink, with a needle and spoon... etched on the cuticle, a portrait of your skull. and you're every nebulous moon.
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Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
If you wanna see this, pack up your eyes....
dear... frien- i don't know if i could call you that. a friend. we've had our disputes. you and i stood face to face, eye to eye, and i could do nothing but hate everything about you. i'm sorry. i'm sorry that you've had to live this life of mine. your body held a paper soul, it burned over even the lightest flame... please, do not think that that makes you weak. i'm sorry, that you stand in a constant state of hesitance. not all people are cruel, you know... but you don't, because the world has taught you otherwise. i'm sorry, because once... once upon a sometime, you could see only the best. when all those who were close to you left, so did your purpose. the fire in your eyes sputtered out, extinguished by the person you loved. do not let others define you, for that will be your downfall. you are so much more. i'm sorry, because i shaped you into the person you became, because i gave up on you so fast. i was so eager to try to leave you behind. i never should have tried.
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Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 9:38 AM UTC
a letter to the girl i used to be.
February Morning! How gracefully you in your nostalgic attire trigger memories and this profound understanding; The rushing energies before school How I wish I could go back and take hold, Of those hours of pure fantasies that wasn't disturbed by the thought of my parents getting old; February Morning! Maybe your fragrance wouldn't have hit me so hard, If I wasn't preparing towards a seemingly fresh start in the lands of the lake poets; And I now wonder, Intimidated by your Swift withering, how life has hypnotized me into singing words of worth for the synthetic and tangible shimmering; I feel you've woken me up from an hazy conscious; Next year, If I'm to feel your caressing light again, It mightn't be from my beauteous and evergreen nest; Maybe you'll come in a different costume, bearing a distinct scent That I'll both adore and hate; Maybe because your wind will then carry a cold solitude and I'll terribly miss my brother and our silly disputes; while the chaotic kitchen clangs would seem so distant comparing to the silent heaves of crocuses in outside gardens; February Morning! I know if I get to know you there, My heavy hours in library won't stop me from reminiscing; Maybe, Nostalgia would strike me more violently but this time accompanying a yearning that'll pierce my heart silently;
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Feb 12, 2022
Feb 12, 2022 at 1:13 AM UTC
February Mornings
Can you stand there looking on As the innocent die? Will you speak up for your own good And for the sake of a life? The guilt may not belong to them An execution unjustified The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you When is it time to pull the plug On someone who still breathes? Who can decided when it's time For them to be at peace? Is it to act on their behalf Or to act selfishly? The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you When is the exact moment when A fetus is considered alive? Is it merciful to abort it when You know it won't survive? Was it carelessness or misfortune That has brought you here to decide? The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you Are we not all humans who may want companionship And might be willing to take that sacred vow? Then why are those who found it in the same gender Told their love is not allowed? Who is to say that it is wrong? Isn't love what it's all about? The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you Where does it say that you can't have *** Unless you are married? It is your own choice and we must respect The beliefs that each of us carries For we have our own  reasons And circumstances varies The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you When is it right to start a war And fight with bullets and bombs? Religious scuffles and political disputes About who was right and who was wrong Does the world need more bloodshed Or has it gone on for too long? The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you I ask you these things to make you think So we can find an answer hopefully These are issues we as one world must face And though we may not all agree We must try to communicate If we ever want peace universally The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you
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Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
A Challenge to Your Moral and Ethical Perception to Find Universal Summations of Truth
Can you stand there looking on As the innocent die? Will you speak up for your own good And for the sake of a life? The guilt may not belong to them An execution unjustified The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you When is it time to pull the plug On someone who still breathes? Who can decided when it's time For them to be at peace? Is it to act on their behalf Or to act selfishly? The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you When is the exact moment when A fetus is considered alive? Is it merciful to abort it when You know it won't survive? Was it carelessness or misfortune That has brought you here to decide? The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you Are we not all humans who may want companionship And might be willing to take that sacred vow? Then why are those who found it in the same gender Told their love is not allowed? Who is to say that it is wrong? Isn't love what it's all about? The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you Where does it say that you can't have *** Unless you are married? It is your own choice and we must respect The beliefs that each of us carries For we have our own  reasons And circumstances varies The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you When is it right to start a war And fight with bullets and bombs? Religious scuffles and political disputes About who was right and who was wrong Does the world need more bloodshed Or has it gone on for too long? The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you I ask you these things to make you think So we can find an answer hopefully These are issues we as one world must face And though we may not all agree We must try to communicate If we ever want peace universally The only thing to do Is pursue the truth And make sense of what's in front of you
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63
I happen to live in Central Indian- Forests, I collect wood and honey And have no idea about English woods And Manchester clothes, I belong To the soil, I’m anti national? I live on concessions, subsidies And support, And You call me- ‘Dark skinned untouchable’; today I don’t have bells over my neck I’m proud of me, I’m anti national? I always spoke of empowerment, Marx and Che run my blood and I’m a utopian reality to you But you cannot ignore my voice I’m not outdated, I’m anti national? I believe in ‘being human’ above all- Traits, I live beyond geographies And I cannot stand war and bloodshed You brand me as an activist, I’m Just humane, I’m anti national? I do not belong to the 80% of our Country’s population, but I’m as Much a patriot as you, My God Is same as yours, How am I an Alien? I’m anti national? I don’t believe in the power and safety You claim with a nuclear reaction. I see only explosions and devastation I want my children to be safe, I love The world, I’m anti national? I don’t like vegetables, I eat meat- Since birth. I will not force-feed you, I respect your choice and I expect you To be tolerant to what I cook- At my home, I’m anti national? I’m not Pakistani but I love them As much I love an American or an European. After all, we share Our borders. I want to settle all Disputes, I’m anti national?   I married a man outside my tribe, Love didn’t notice his 'official tribe', Our children are a mixed tribe And we celebrate life as it is, We’re human-tribe, I’m anti national? I stand with them with rainbow flags, They deserve justice as much as you And me. Give me one valid reason to Call them unnatural? I want S377 To be scrapped, I’m anti national? I celebrate my country’s diversity, I don’t need your certificate to prove My patriotism! This is India, I stand With my constitution and its democracy And I give a **** about what you think!
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Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
Illegal confession
I happen to live in Central Indian- Forests, I collect wood and honey And have no idea about English woods And Manchester clothes, I belong To the soil, I’m anti national? I live on concessions, subsidies And support, And You call me- ‘Dark skinned untouchable’; today I don’t have bells over my neck I’m proud of me, I’m anti national? I always spoke of empowerment, Marx and Che run my blood and I’m a utopian reality to you But you cannot ignore my voice I’m not outdated, I’m anti national? I believe in ‘being human’ above all- Traits, I live beyond geographies And I cannot stand war and bloodshed You brand me as an activist, I’m Just humane, I’m anti national? I do not belong to the 80% of our Country’s population, but I’m as Much a patriot as you, My God Is same as yours, How am I an Alien? I’m anti national? I don’t believe in the power and safety You claim with a nuclear reaction. I see only explosions and devastation I want my children to be safe, I love The world, I’m anti national? I don’t like vegetables, I eat meat- Since birth. I will not force-feed you, I respect your choice and I expect you To be tolerant to what I cook- At my home, I’m anti national? I’m not Pakistani but I love them As much I love an American or an European. After all, we share Our borders. I want to settle all Disputes, I’m anti national?   I married a man outside my tribe, Love didn’t notice his 'official tribe', Our children are a mixed tribe And we celebrate life as it is, We’re human-tribe, I’m anti national? I stand with them with rainbow flags, They deserve justice as much as you And me. Give me one valid reason to Call them unnatural? I want S377 To be scrapped, I’m anti national? I celebrate my country’s diversity, I don’t need your certificate to prove My patriotism! This is India, I stand With my constitution and its democracy And I give a **** about what you think!
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55
SUMMER MARCHES IN (Movement no. 1) It comes crashing down like doom. A martial fanfare begins a long conversation questioning fate, arguing for the human condition, and for death's open invitation, which we dare not deny. WHAT THE MEADOW FLOWERS TELL ME (Movement no. 2) Their blooming voices are oboes and lush violins. The sun is surely brassy bright in the sky above. Radiant alpine flowers and woodwinds from deep within their burrows make the case for a music well tended and serenely fed by sweet springs emerging from the depths here below. WHAT THE CREATURES OF THE FOREST TELL ME (Movement no. 3) The life force tends to run amok. Yet things do not fall apart, the center still holds. And though it is mundane - pedestrian, at times - we cannot deny the joy in this life, nor do we wish to. But know, traveler, that submerged in every caldron of joy is a small *** of darkness. And it will find you or you will find it - not only because it is fated, but for the sake of your sanity. WHAT MAN TELLS ME (Movement no. 4) Here darkness sings. Again the plucked string. O Mensch! You tell the tale! You take this story back to the mountain. A woeful tale you bring, but it is gilded with joy. A chorus exalts your condition. Deep is its grief, but joy is deeper still. WHAT THE ANGELS TELL ME (Movement no. 5) Bimm Bamm Bimm Bamm the children's choir sweetly intones. And what, pray tell, do Angels have to say to us? I've heard about love I've heard about emptiness I've heard about absence without presence, about nothingness and the void. But I have never heard such singing! WHAT LOVE TELLS ME (Movement no. 6) Sweet the air we breathe. Pleasant the sights before us. Words are stilled, anxious thoughts banished. There is nothing on Earth or in Heaven that disputes this sweet resolution all the parts made whole Nothing that could possibly speak against it (though French Horns will have their interests heard). But here it is. The end. O Mensch come to your last and best resting place. Also sprach Gustav Mahler.
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May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 9:19 PM UTC
Mahler's Third Symphony
SUMMER MARCHES IN (Movement no. 1) It comes crashing down like doom. A martial fanfare begins a long conversation questioning fate, arguing for the human condition, and for death's open invitation, which we dare not deny. WHAT THE MEADOW FLOWERS TELL ME (Movement no. 2) Their blooming voices are oboes and lush violins. The sun is surely brassy bright in the sky above. Radiant alpine flowers and woodwinds from deep within their burrows make the case for a music well tended and serenely fed by sweet springs emerging from the depths here below. WHAT THE CREATURES OF THE FOREST TELL ME (Movement no. 3) The life force tends to run amok. Yet things do not fall apart, the center still holds. And though it is mundane - pedestrian, at times - we cannot deny the joy in this life, nor do we wish to. But know, traveler, that submerged in every caldron of joy is a small *** of darkness. And it will find you or you will find it - not only because it is fated, but for the sake of your sanity. WHAT MAN TELLS ME (Movement no. 4) Here darkness sings. Again the plucked string. O Mensch! You tell the tale! You take this story back to the mountain. A woeful tale you bring, but it is gilded with joy. A chorus exalts your condition. Deep is its grief, but joy is deeper still. WHAT THE ANGELS TELL ME (Movement no. 5) Bimm Bamm Bimm Bamm the children's choir sweetly intones. And what, pray tell, do Angels have to say to us? I've heard about love I've heard about emptiness I've heard about absence without presence, about nothingness and the void. But I have never heard such singing! WHAT LOVE TELLS ME (Movement no. 6) Sweet the air we breathe. Pleasant the sights before us. Words are stilled, anxious thoughts banished. There is nothing on Earth or in Heaven that disputes this sweet resolution all the parts made whole Nothing that could possibly speak against it (though French Horns will have their interests heard). But here it is. The end. O Mensch come to your last and best resting place. Also sprach Gustav Mahler.
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88
I live in Moshi,Tanzania, As a child,one day I got lost, A maasai took me to his home. He lived at the foothills of the majestic Mt.Kilimanjaro, His home was a kraal (hut) made of  stone,sticks and cow dung. I cried for my parents, So he fed me milk and blood from a cow, He pierced a hole in the cow's neck, He put a bamboo and told me to drink the blood, It was warm but I vomited, Gradually, I got used to it. The maasai's  way of life is communilism, Hunting,gathering and raiding neighbours cattle. Theirs is an age set system for men, The children look after the herd, I joined them having fun, No  school, no lessons or homework. Then,there were the Morans,the youths, They wore black **** cloths, Carried a spear in one hand, Their faces were painted with white ochre. They protected the clan and the cattle, From predators and other tribes. They lived in a circle of huts called manyatta. After being circumcised the Morans were taught the art of warfare The bravest warrior got to wear the feathers of an ostrich. The senior morans could marry and settle down, The Moran who jumped the highest got the best girl. The Laigewenanis trained the morans to be warriors, My maasai was a laigwenani, Like all maasais, he was tall and lean, He wore a bright red shuka cloth with black stripes, A red tartan blanket was slung on his shoulder, He always held a long bladed stabbing spear, His long hair was tightly braided, He had ochre painted on his body, He had no children and treated me like his son, He would take me to teach the morans about warfare. But,he had to take the permission of the chief, the Laibon. The Laibons were the chief religious leaders, They settled disputes, They decided when and on whom to attack. Luckily,after two months my maasai and I had gone to a game reserve for hunting, A game warden found me. He alerted the police and I was taken home safely. But,I missed my maasai and their pastoral way of life.
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Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC
Maasai Way Of Life
I live in Moshi,Tanzania, As a child,one day I got lost, A maasai took me to his home. He lived at the foothills of the majestic Mt.Kilimanjaro, His home was a kraal (hut) made of  stone,sticks and cow dung. I cried for my parents, So he fed me milk and blood from a cow, He pierced a hole in the cow's neck, He put a bamboo and told me to drink the blood, It was warm but I vomited, Gradually, I got used to it. The maasai's  way of life is communilism, Hunting,gathering and raiding neighbours cattle. Theirs is an age set system for men, The children look after the herd, I joined them having fun, No  school, no lessons or homework. Then,there were the Morans,the youths, They wore black **** cloths, Carried a spear in one hand, Their faces were painted with white ochre. They protected the clan and the cattle, From predators and other tribes. They lived in a circle of huts called manyatta. After being circumcised the Morans were taught the art of warfare The bravest warrior got to wear the feathers of an ostrich. The senior morans could marry and settle down, The Moran who jumped the highest got the best girl. The Laigewenanis trained the morans to be warriors, My maasai was a laigwenani, Like all maasais, he was tall and lean, He wore a bright red shuka cloth with black stripes, A red tartan blanket was slung on his shoulder, He always held a long bladed stabbing spear, His long hair was tightly braided, He had ochre painted on his body, He had no children and treated me like his son, He would take me to teach the morans about warfare. But,he had to take the permission of the chief, the Laibon. The Laibons were the chief religious leaders, They settled disputes, They decided when and on whom to attack. Luckily,after two months my maasai and I had gone to a game reserve for hunting, A game warden found me. He alerted the police and I was taken home safely. But,I missed my maasai and their pastoral way of life.
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47
I’m interested in a free trial to the south of soil. Just a free trial, you see... Resting for a while in the roots To avoid such crushing daily disputes.
0
Mar 2, 2021
Mar 2, 2021 at 10:13 PM UTC
Exhausted
A small speck in a spectacular church. I seek some smaller, simpler works. A green man worms through wooden leaves, struggling for freedom from nature. Blank eyes return my straining stare. Sharp sculptings scratch my cautious touch. Brooding, symbolic soul, nightmare archetype, stalker of the psyche. Nature greedily grips the green man, growing through gaping eyes and nose, reaching for modern eco-man, who disputes to his final throes.
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Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
Green Man
petty disputes and untied shoelaces and spilt yogurt can break baby skulls in your brain, if you've got no reason to lean over and tie it all back up. man can walk on coals if  he feels somewhere deep that he really has to walk on those coals. woman can lift a car to save a child and she knows why. I can't brush my teeth sometimes. there's something I have to do before I die. that should be enough to keep my head above the muck at least for a little while. something is coming my way if I hold on a little longer I know it in my bones. still... I envy above all else he who has a why to live.
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May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 8:38 AM UTC
cheer up butterfuck
Youth of delight come hither. And see the opening morn, Image of truth new born. Doubt is fled & clouds of reason. Dark disputes & artful teazing, Folly is an endless maze, Tangled roots perplex her ways, How many have fallen there! They stumble all night over bones of the dead: And feel they know not what but care; And wish to lead others when they should be led
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2k
The Voice Of The Ancient Bard
Victory over victory means excellent and good success. Smiles over success can be contagious. It is a good sickness to share with others. It's infection is really encouraging. This is the only disease ladies are willing to show off when their men contacts it. Doctors recommended, pharmacist orders it, and nurses injects it, wives are thrilled by it. It is a bitter drug worth taking. One capsule daily dose drives poverty fever away, and keep ailing mediocrity at bay. It attracts mosquitoes, that's  parasites free. Without it nothing worthwhile works out. Success is everything. It has an attitude, It has a voice, a very powerful one. Put it into action and all doors opens, goes to war and settles disputes. Can unlock every door that refuses to open. It answers all things. Children are trained and groomed to have it. Pursued by everyone by any means necessary. Great risks are taken because of it. Those of the dark side of life kills because of it, anything can happen just to possess it. You are nobody when success eludes you. Even nations goes to war just to keep it. To be powerful and influential, it must be in your abode. To be successful is awesome. But you must plan and work hard to have it. ©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
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Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 8:03 PM UTC
SUCCESS IS EVERYTHING
Not many tensions, nor any excitement Life has ever been a placidly flowing river! Single and free! Over differences, never been any disputes never had to consult, nor seek consent Single and free! but doesn’t his house with its cold, mildewed air reflect his heart? A house so full of things: a hoard of well stacked books, exquisitely carved Victorian furniture, antique collection of curios, ornate drapery Yet so full of nothing! The prim order of the house never disturbed by naughty hands nor shuffled by dusty feet dirtying the Persian carpets  or smudging the glistening floor The well laid bed covers never get creased by the body’s desire and Love’s tight embrace and never, they bear the fragrance of female scent! Sometimes he would shake from foot to crown at a question hurled by an unknown voice; “Did you squander away your life?” Then he recognizes…. he has been a lone traveler ever walking through a one way lane that will wind off with a few more steps! If, by chance somewhere a new track branches out he would no more be a solitary ***** There would be a companion to hold hands! Now it is too late!
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Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 12:09 PM UTC
Now It is Too Late
My uncle. Who I love. Is a peculiar man. He once told me of the oddest conspiracy. He said that the reason major governments of the earth don't fight each other constantly, is because the already do. In space. Each country has a ship. Armed and maned to the teeth. And they just shoot at each other. Everyday. And that's how all of the big national disputes were settled. Star Trek style. So when I heard this, I tossed my thoughts into the atmosphere. Letting them swirl and shine among the satellites. What did they do, up there? Sitting in their spaceships. Thinking of each other. Wondering why they all were stuck in tin can time bombs. Surrounded by the icy void. Waiting for their ships to be shot out of the sky. The debris to fall through children's dreams and shooting stars. Spitting sparks like ancient dragons. And these people wait for that. Hidden from sight and mind. Only just to shoot at each other. Over a border, a mans wish, or a loaf of bread.
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Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 11:31 PM UTC
Conspiracies
Oh Atlantis where art thou? Deep within the abyss, far beyond the maze of madness, bewildered in the wilderness, hungry 40 days. Hidden from thine eyes are journeys unexplored where life begins within. How do I summarize what lies within the mind of your mankind, being of a kind, man in kind. Concealed in the center of your mental’s universe, dictating life’s travesties and endeavors. Stories unfold, as the ages pass unfolding reality, unraveling the mystery of the conscious deep inside. For what hath thou experienced? And what doth thou have to give? Wisdom forever disputes thine intellects irregularities. Forewarning us of the days to come embracing the adventures that lie ahead. Trial dare not stop us hinder us or beget us. We must fight through the mystery of your history overcoming adversity and demise, triumphantly striving. Many uncharted paths lie ahead therefore unlock your iron gates, which gives us vision. Bid us to come in. Release what the pulse knows true. Breakaway from the pain that has you chained, hiding beneath, aiding and abetting prophesy, so that those beyond will see… Oh Atlantis…Where art thou?
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Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
Atlantis: City Of The Mind
I was once called A communist, a fascist and an anarchist All in one sentence Which I thought was quite impressive And this was because I was a union man My fellow workers elected me to represent them In our dealings with management I was involved in negotiations About the application of regulations And other tedious vexations And on rare occasions I led disputes and even strikes And, over the years I helped to save many jobs Not numbers But peoples' livelihoods Some will say I was a rabble-rouser An agitator Some can say as they like All I ever did Was stand up for the underdog And I hope I always will By Phil Roberts
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Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 5:22 AM UTC
UNION MAN
There is always the world that does not forgive absolute unforgivess The unbroken trauma in an event Fearless Never wavering into the assumptions of indulgence Never paused long enough to be understood properly yet it drives the will to understand The intervals between events of indulgence in the frivolity of language making bare the absurdities Like fire that needs intelligent attention to keep us warm Neglect it and it consumes us all This world demands a history of its own Untainted by the acceptance or disputes of compromise Inalienable direction Weaving us together with unforgiving charm
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Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
absolute unforgiveness...
Hail the  hobo King sitting  on his throne of A stripped ford, engine no longer their Dismantled  of all that was worth a dime. His subjects bring offerings of dinner trash Food, fresh from the dumpster. Given to Those of ill health and malnourished need. He sits in clothes matted with his trails of The moments his feet have hit the pavement. Of life not as others had the chance to live. He wandered the land every concrete jungle Knew him as the hobo King, no crown gestured His head, only the word, the word of mouth. Settling disputes of those in homes of cardboard Of wood and used plastic sheeting sheltering from Those who would do harm and the relentless cold. He wonders the streets, knows the secrets of each City of the unseen spaces where those whom roam Now lay. The vulnerable have a guardian a keeper. Ignorance of those who do not see that which in Doorways sleep, of huddled masses under bridges Buildings to keep dry and an uneasy sleep. He is the hobo king a crown of matted hair he Wears, always does he have time for those Less fortunate because he is one with the street.
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Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
The Hobo King
This is a message to Scientology shills Only you know if you fit that bill I will NOT banter. I won't make a fuss. I will NOT debate whether you're one of US You may want me hurting You may want me crying If you're selling that, brother, I am NOT BUYING. You WANT people in pain. You WANT them to pine. Those are YOUR tactics THEY ARE NOT MINE. I'm not a cruel person. I'm in a bind, Cuz YOU think me weak *WHILE I'M ACTUALLY KIND*. HERE'S WHERE I STOP. HERE'S WHERE IT ENDS! You want disputes Between friggin FRIENDS! Here's what YOU do. Here's how YOU act. You come in like wolves and try to attack. Pull a young animal out from the herd. Say they aren't legit... on only YOUR WORD! I'm new to Twitter. So I'm out there, I see. So you want to sow discord *AND DISCREDIT ME.* BUT GET THIS STRAIGHT. DOWN TO THE BONE. IF YOU THINK YOU'RE WINNING YOU ARE DEAD WRONG IF IT COMES DOWN TO TACKS I'LL STAND ALONE. Catherine Jarvis SoulSurvivor (C) 3/1/2017
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Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 11:14 PM UTC
IF I STAND ALONE
She is beautiful, with her hair in disarray. She sets man against man, woman against woman, and both against each other She whispers into the ear of sleeping children, who awake as adults in her service. All fear her, for she cannot be known. She masquerades as order, enticing humanity; the fire that huddled neanderthals gaped at in thanks become the flames that consume. To fight against her is futile, but it is in our nature. She has never left us; she will continue without us when we are dead and gone. All the monuments in the world bow to her in worship or are crushed in submission to time and war. She played gods and men alike. She is both the catalyst and the conclusion. Some marvel as the fires of her destruction dance reflected in their eyes; others weep. To say that she is coming would imply that she has ever left. How could we impermanent things ever hope to banish something so primordial. She breeds hate, mistrust, and strife in those that capitulate; those that resist her only magnify her power. She bore Hardship and Ruin, Quarrels and Disputes, Lies and Oaths, Anarchy and Starvation,  Forgetfulness and Pain. Manslaughter and ****** were her giggling toddlers. War and Battle took after her brother, their uncle's favorites. She brings inedible food that is coveted by all who encounter it. She has bathed in the blood of civil wars, her most decadent vice. She renders man's efforts futile, to fight or submit is destruction. She will reduce the universe to an ever expanding hellscape of fire. She is the secret joy of many. Nothing will escape her. She is everywhere.
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Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 1:24 PM UTC
Typhon's Escort
She is beautiful, with her hair in disarray. She sets man against man, woman against woman, and both against each other She whispers into the ear of sleeping children, who awake as adults in her service. All fear her, for she cannot be known. She masquerades as order, enticing humanity; the fire that huddled neanderthals gaped at in thanks become the flames that consume. To fight against her is futile, but it is in our nature. She has never left us; she will continue without us when we are dead and gone. All the monuments in the world bow to her in worship or are crushed in submission to time and war. She played gods and men alike. She is both the catalyst and the conclusion. Some marvel as the fires of her destruction dance reflected in their eyes; others weep. To say that she is coming would imply that she has ever left. How could we impermanent things ever hope to banish something so primordial. She breeds hate, mistrust, and strife in those that capitulate; those that resist her only magnify her power. She bore Hardship and Ruin, Quarrels and Disputes, Lies and Oaths, Anarchy and Starvation,  Forgetfulness and Pain. Manslaughter and ****** were her giggling toddlers. War and Battle took after her brother, their uncle's favorites. She brings inedible food that is coveted by all who encounter it. She has bathed in the blood of civil wars, her most decadent vice. She renders man's efforts futile, to fight or submit is destruction. She will reduce the universe to an ever expanding hellscape of fire. She is the secret joy of many. Nothing will escape her. She is everywhere.
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21
you were the nicest guy i ever talked to. i wish we had the chance to meet. you were the funniest guy who made me laugh i wish we had the chance to talk face to face. you were the weirdest guy who made me feel normal i wish we had the chance to settle these oddly funny disputes. i never got to actually meet you i never saw your face. but you were my best friend's best friend. when i heard you were sick i knew we would never meet face to face.   but all those conversations were enough to last a life time. i felt that i knew you i felt that we would have been friends. i wish we had the chance to have been friends. you were funny you were weird you were nice all i wish is that i had a chance to meet you.
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Feb 3, 2012
Feb 3, 2012 at 6:55 AM UTC
the best guy that i never met
London lobster pie Served with a side of strawberry Plus one, please A dinner date. A musical extravaganza to Beautify the hideous Surgical aftertaste. A peace of mind is collected Engrossed in adventure The uncanny youthful exuberance Of energy flow through Stained glass windows. Watercolor painted pews Inside a church that was never Meant for entering. Robotic, the horses Gleaming with sweat Drudge the asphalt, Children’s fingers dripping Sweaty ice cream. Sun visors and family disputes. It will never be the same.
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Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC
Collage