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Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
cliche. click
I'm lost without you

you glanced my way and said,
"how do you know?"

I don't.
I won't.
I can't.

You glance away and say,
"maybe so."

Life's the test.
----
stand alone or be rejected
objected
the subject of the action word
conjecturing the meaning

Hector's pride brought the mass.
Was that made sacred? Yechhh.

Higgs's made real,  massive change
end of the world
as we knew it, 2012, mass means more than x-mas

The message in the messenger from Greece's God,
"Hold fast, hold on, Hector, be
hold-- what a drag"

Achilles, shoulda had anger management.

Suppose, Achilles's momma had trusted
whatever the protection was to be,
divine, that kind o' dad,
it warn't gonna let 'im drown.

She coulda just tossed 'im in,
sink or swim, knowing, in her inner parts,
the protector's promise,
memorized, since the red tent.

Pandora's last hope trumps fire,
and flood,

Wee Achilles woulda squirmed, and swam,
invincible, every inch soaked,

it could been, but, you know,
Achilles's momma could not let go.

And the rest is mythtery.

---
the sign said follow the money,

but money is invisible, so I played like
I could see what other folk
saw.

Lot o'them took time to tell me,
"Only believe", or "trust, and obey".
Streets of gold,
we'll slide back
down on silk stockings
hung on spider thread

above the flames

that boil the kettle in the center of
the whole round world,

nobody in our family ever once
believed the world is flat,

nor that Jesus once was blue and had four arms,

stop me.
I was wrong, I, myself, can imagine
Jesus dressed as Rama,
who was blue and had four busy arms, in truth.

hallowed ev'ening of the light,
settling sun, lead in the night, when all
see monsters, every where,

no one will notice me. Watch and see.

OH OH, ****** me by my pigtail, lift me to the third
floor, two stories past tellestial,
kingdom come,
which the mormon at my door testified
the angelic ***** had told Brigham 'n'em,

in the spirit, he agreed, not face to face.

tellestial is as close to hell as a Mormon man can go,
and,
he said, "If you could see it, you'd die to go.
It's so much better than this."

Joe Smith, said that, according to his agent.

I pondered,
chewed a cud, as I could recall, holy cows do.

I leaned back, put one boot to rest,
on the bricks behind my knee,

A modified Crane pose, I suppose.
I folded my arms and stared that boy
right in the eye.

I said, "Wanna try?"
"We gotta bridge up the road a piece,
sure as haell,
we'll see if it's a lie, at least."

Then I repented.
That hell imagined by Joe and all them zionic-messengers,
they was guesses, at the best. But the feelers at my door,
they was bein' tempted
to put their own faith to the test.

I grow bolder. The experiment worked.
I know.
Same ol' story...

-She said it tasted,
okeh,
first time that word was ever heard or tasted.

Cool,
****, cold, evil, winter, summer, sweat, mosquitos, evil cold,
I'm sorry!

How do you know?
What's blame?
Oh, that, and shame, I know that,

epi genetically be guile-ish. gullibility
gone in one bite.

Taste and see, he saw her say, or thought
he did

Like a switch, with more capacitance,
than the cells of knowing can resist,
in the first few months of being matter in time.

Knock a fella in the head
with knowing all the hows of evil,
along with all the why of not,

the most beautiful woman in the world,
no contest,
naked, and he knows.

Thinkin' straight ain't in the plan.
Precedent set forever,
no plan survives first sight of a naked woman after learning what naked means,

according to the tutor in blame,
who sat glumly on Adam's shoulder
explaining as the jist
of the story unrolls, "naked is evil,
you are naked", no word, just
thinkin'

good luck if yer helpin' him stand,
Wham

spoken words heard and
obey essence initial instantiation
revere
lionize,

oops, Idols. The idea of idols. Don't imagine anything like that.

Gabriel came with that very message all over his face.

Knowin' evil and doin' it, not the same.
Learn to drive and do the math,

Then we talk about artifice beyond the ken of mortal minds,
not worry,
it is written, We have the mind of Christ,

but as an augmentation really,
we can fact check,
but, honest,
a heretic has to use any augmentations right,
or the being powers will

objectify his reason for being, and reject him, for

the sin of defining the happiness he ensues.

You with me?
----
This was to be my comment,
but it called out for search engine priority of purpose

Nothin', I was thinkin' --
we never get trick or treaters,
tho' an occasional Mormon team will try to climb my hill,
then I un cussed my thoughts
with my inner self and we agreed.
He who would catch fish,
must venture his bait.
Net criticism's needed, if anything is to get better than this.
Wise ones say, it ain't easy,
but true rest,
I can testify, it's found along the way.

Hallowed be your even-ing, level up,

trick or treat?
not on that old man's hill,
somethin' weird, too peaceful there.
Nothin', I was thinkin' -- we never get trick or treaters, tho' an occasional Mormon team will try to climb my hill,then I un cussed my thoughts with my inner self and we agreed. He who would catch fish, must venture his bait. Net criticism needed, if anything is to get better than this.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2019
Euphoria
Eutopia

Europe, eurturn
eugenic

eusless
eudaemonia

euphrenic phor ever

ah, phor naught, all for one

out, out, ****** spot, eu for Rhea,
me for a mnesic urgency,
we have done this all

before, while entangled ina

silliness of soma ancient sort
aitia
is joy strength
ening?
is love weak
ening?
was peace a state of mind?

Were they singing Sym-pathetic Sym-ethotic

silliness of some baser sort? Altamont

December 6, 1969,

rolling hills of green, like Windows 98,

where was I? Speeding

North of Sedona, I remember now,

lugging a tater sack
full of peyote
toward Christmas, far from the maddened crowd
thinking nothing
of
the future
March 7, 1970 solar eclipse as I was
walking
to Chicago, from San Jose, to see

if I could retrace my steps, per haps
find signs
I may have left on history,
exams
I may have cheated on to get by,
but my
cheatling left a gap

how now
how now
the we of me, includes your idea of we
with me intuitive as in
we,
the people who hold certain truth,

assumptive as possible.
real in this sense.

seeming not to fade.

Wandering in cyber-realms impossible,
with in-ness being me, my mind being out-ness...
me
touch, sense, taste, feel
me... let me
be
rhyme on rime, frosty, right on or i'm gone,
eh. Mimeme mnomena phem kiss me lest I

fade away

dysphoria
dystopia

dysrope, dysrturn
dysgenic

dysless
dysdaemonia

aha, phor naught, all for one spot

out, out, ****** spot,

is not joy strength
ening?
is not love weak
ening?
is peace a state of mind?
Being as how we was,

I'da reckon, we was lost.

As a whole,
we forgot who we are or if not who,
what we are

in terms we find undefined in our minds.

As Mobius means nothing in 3-d, until you
seal the twisted stripe and find an umlaut,

imagine seeing,
holding twixt thumb and any finger,
a ribbon, yellow on top,
blue on bottom… hold it eye level, an end
of the ribbon
in each chiral appendage, with the dominant hand,
no, poor biases on dominance

but right has a bias in forms  designated right by use…

crud risc -- we gain speed in the missing info
therefore,

we are born knowing nothing but which hand is right.

Using that right hand, twist the ribbon so the right thumb
touches yellow and the right finger is touching blue.

On the other hand, take up the opposition.

Now, bring the ribbon ends near enough to merge and weave
into a loop, an unorientable or unoccidentable
band ( imagine no seam),
twirl it round
not an eight, a Möbius band, a nifty invention,

ever in public domain and open
science of the non-con kind

confidence games. remember those?
bumpkins in the Naked City buying the Brooklyn Bridge?

laugh at the bar bar
heko heko har har har barbar aryans

swept into the south
as the younger dryas looked on… tic

-- okeh there was a break in the tension--

Möbius trails of information may be wownd,
'round spools of
do-nut shape entangled by the loop which,
as you know now,
has one edge and one side
in the world you live in, remember Muntz Stereo-Paks?

these days you gotta have an old soul t' remember those.

I stole the first one I ever saw, but that's another line of reasoning regarding the path behind me,

not regarding the path in front of you.

We are lost. Or asleep. That's been rumored as
have wars.

Ah, reason in a maddened being,
such a tangled web.

look for a yellow fuggitchew ribbon,
wit the seal broke…
The events are true as perceived at the moment, but if you are stuck in a loop, I hope you know the physics won't change if you break a construct, socially.
SøułSurvivør Jun 2017
I have been grumbling
And complaining
I haven't thanked
The One sustaining
All my needs
The One restraining
Worse events
Than I'm retaining
I'm in need of
Some retraining

He is waiting
He is listening
For grateful heartstrings
Moist and glistening
For something He
Has seldom heard
A chord of thanks
In spoken word

Let us poets, as a crowd
Speak our thanks
Right out loud!
Of course, my friends,
You have a choice,
But read this poem
With your voice!

I'm grateful God
That You're there
I'm grateful I can
Breathe the air...

I'm grateful that
You made a tree
I'm grateful for
Our poetry
I'm grateful i have
Eyes to read
The inspiration
That i need...

I'm grateful i can
Take a drink
No muck and mire
For to sink
No sewage that
Brings death
And stink

That I have a
Mind to think
...

I'm grateful that
There's food to eat
No mud cookies
For my meat
I have a roof
I have a seat
I have shoes
Upon my feet...

I'm grateful,
Though there's
Pain and strife
I have this chance...
... for a good life!


There! You've READ IT!
All the while
Jesus listened...

*... and He smiled!
I'm not going to preach... much.

Haitian children were observed
Making mud cookies...
... and EATING THEM.

Even in the U.S. (Flint, Michigan)
The right of having clean
Drinking water was taken away!

We (I) have a LOT to be
Grateful for!

I'm going to visit
my father today. God willing
I can read tonight.

I want to thank all
My faithful readers...

♡♡ I'm grateful for you! ♡♡
ryn Nov 2015
.
*•••••••
•here lies
the  rema-
ins• that once
beat with  superb lustre•
caring not for worldly gains•on-
ly undying  hopes  of pairing  with
another• but fate had tipped  the scales, not in his favour
•when  it  sent an  oncoming  car to share  the  same lane•
driver was behind the wheel but alcohol had  taken over•
causing the car to swerve recklessly
in the rain• the last  few moments
was punctuated with a deaf-
ening sound•his
day began
not know-
ing  death
was  writ-
ten   from
the  start•
so here li-
es *he
, whose
heart had thus
been crowned •
his love is immortalised with this tombstone as his heart•
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Concrete Poem 9 of 30

Tap on the hashtag "30daysofconcrete" below to view more offerings in the series. :)
.
Kendall Mallon Jan 2014
§
Battle of New Britain

Lieutenant Jim G Paulos led elements
of G Company in a savage counterattack
that ousted the intruders supported
by Lieutenant James R Mallon’s improvised
platoon of H/11, which remained
to help man casualty-depleted line.

Improvise (OED):
One: to compose on spur
of the moment; to utter
or perform extempore

two: to bring about or get up
on the spur of the moment;
to provide for the occasion

Three: […] hence to do anything
On the spur of the moment

Improvised platoon
Df James R Mallon:

When most of your platoon
lies dead in the pumice sands
of the South Pacific-Japanese
bushido bullets tear flesh and spirit
out of the corporeal—husks of limp
limbs you fought to defend and they you
Japanese mortar fire, machine and small-gun fire
fifteen yards in advance of the wire
how do you bring about or get up
the courage to grab whoever—
the nearest marine
talk through ears drums burst by mortar succeeding shockwaves
forget for the time the men
you spent months training
sipping beers in Australia
laughing over bar stool drunken jokes
men you shared your dreams about after
away from the mosquitoes
away from the constant moisture
rain rain rain day and night
soaking through fatigues through skin through bone
never enough sun to dry out
air already saturated
sweat or seawater—it is all the same
now you must find new men—men you have seen,
but do not know the same as your own platoon
their life and yours in each others hands
alone in a group of stranger-brothers
always faithful
keep composure in the face
your buddy’s entrails pouring into the pumice sand
hence to do anything
on the spur kicked into your side
to block what no man should ever be asked to see
and do what you can in the moment
to save your division from enemy fire.

§
Cyclops Black Eyes

One summer e’ening drunk to hell
He stood there nearly lifeless
A gal sat in the corner
And it’s how are ye ma’am and what’s yer name
And would ye like a drink?
She looked at him, he at her
All she could do was accept one

And rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ she’ll go
Through his pair of blue eyes

She knew not the pumice beaches and streams
Sometimes walking sometime crawling
amongst blood and death ‘neath a screaming sky
Where Cyclops black eyes waited for him
Was it birds whistling in the trees?
Always the Cyclops black eyes waiting for them
So they give the wind a talkin’

And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ he’ll go
Away from those Cyclops black eyes

And the arms and legs of other men
Were scattered all around
Some cursed, some prayed, some prayed then cursed
Then prayed and bled some more
All he could see were Cyclops black eyes looking at him

No Cyclops black eyes waiting for her
And a rovin’ a rovin’ a rovin’ she’ll go
And never know what saw his pair of blue eyes

Could she forsee in that pair of blue eyes
Decades he’d spend drunk to hell?
Sometimes walking sometime crawling
Rovin’ and rovin’ away from those Cyclops black eyes

§
Colt 1911**

I was nineteen when I learned
my Dad his father’s Colt 1911 pistol

when Dad was young he
and his brother found
the gun—hidden in the rafters
of the cinderblock basement
their father built; magazine bullets and pistol
on one rafter—separate, except
the bullets lived in the magazine

my dad and uncle, like any
young boy, were fascinated
by the pistol; though too young
to feel and know the power
and danger in the cold blue metal

when their father and mother were
away—home alone they snuck
to the hand-laid basement
reached around the rafters
through years of dust and darkness
feeling for the colt and mag
scrape-click-pop—ca-chick
round in the chamber—“freeze!”

so played boyhood fantasies
cowboys & Indians
cops & robbers
with a lethal toy


so my dad kept it a secret
locked in a tarnished steel box
locked through the trigger guard
magazine separate
four silver, dimpled, bullets rolled round between
their queue and releaser

I was struck by the weight—heavier than I expected—I felt the years of use polished into the wood grips—thick hand grease sweat blood humidity sand saltwater gun oil mud tears life saved and taken.
At the bottom of the wood grips ticked notches deep in the grain—both sides—different numbers; “What are these?” I asked running my finger across the nocth-ticks feeling their depths their absence consciously carved with his next best tool—kabar: workhorse that can baton through five inch diameter logs, machete through two-finger branches, dig a hole to burrow while machinegun fire mows down jungle; easy to sharpen, keeps an edge; full tang to hammer temples or tent posts

“I don’t know; the only thing we have is the lore.”

fI counted seven
the number the magazine carries
eight total, if you have one in the chamber

You have to commit to fire
a 1911, the cliché: don’t pull
the trigger—squeeze
is how the 1911 fires—a button
fits the crotch of the thumb and index finger
opposite the trigger on the handle;
to unleash the hammer then
lead, squeeze the two—firm
tight at the target; no shot fired
by accident—no Marvins with the 1911.
I am trying a new form of poetry called 'documentary poetry'. This is the story of my grandfather who fought five campaigns in the Pacific Theatre of WWII for the United State Marine Corps. (This is a work in progress)
Mayank Garg May 2022
To criticise others seems soothing as cool breeze
People say anything without a single heed.

Without aknowledging how their words might impact someone's life
They keep passing opinions with ungrateful pride.

Some are able to overcome these comments and try to move on in life
While some are demoralized and end up with commiting suicide.

People must know that its not an achievement to criticise someone at every point
Maybe that person is already going through a hectic life.

No-one knows what it would have cost him to reach at a specific point
And some unuseful words may leave a never-ening depression in his mind.

He might not be able to excel in any aspects of life henceforth
And might end up thinking his life nothing more than a unbearable load.

If you think of yourself in the shoes of the person you critice
Then you might understand that its not a thing of pride.

Years of hardwork, sacrifice and dedication comes to an end with some criticising words
And thats the point where we might lose one of our precious jewels on earth.

So lets stop critising someone just to put him down in life
Despite help him in overcoming difficulties and achieving great heights.

No-one knows how your small support can lighten up someone's darken soul
With such deeds we might end up being a true human as a whole.
How th' very mention of my lover's name, still makes me even rock with helpless vigor! And red doth I become, painstakingly red, until t'ey hath no more choice but swivel around until everything, everything of t'eir collective bodies is but a giddy blur in th' young-capacious distance; and rapidly doth I slosh forward afterwards; like a blade of remorse being sadistically hurtled onto th' chest of a savage, lying clairvoyant. But killeth him it not; ah! Just like a maturing star-guess, my ardent reader-how it flashes-piercingly, and flows about-doubtfully, with a swamp of questions in its godly eyes, before stabbing itself calmly, into th' realm of holiness on its side! I am t'at blade, yes-t'at blameless blade-guileless and chaste just as its courteous rim hath never hurt any life. And I indeed am, t'day! Wordlessly doth they bound away, o, until t'eir lithe figures art but th' mercenary of a trifling shadow of consecutive breaths on a faraway ground, meanwhile storm I, plausibly, into th' nearest ajar door! What a gouty, sickly constitution doth it bear on its wooden shoulder; clogged by dewy sobs it wasth-with droplets of girlish rains giggling to and churning about its hinges! How cruel indeed, t'is oddity is! But canst no-thing refraineth me onceth more from smiling, as now I doth know th' very luck of mine-and its returned feelings, today! Perhaps, just perhaps, he might have simply been too bashful to utter any due phrases. Still, grinning quietly in my new knowledge of womanly joy, ah! Leap I upwards and into my plump room, to supersede my obstinate foggy layers-prior to my other subsequent journey-oh, on discovering my truthful lover in his current runabouts, and accomplishing my destiny-by surrendering my crown into his charms, and truest affection, finally! Shaking all over with passion and speedy heartbeat, petulant bursts of laughter doth I t'en utter, and danced about as I doth-majestically, until my heart is thoroughly enveloped, and sanguinely bathed, in its long-lost, principally sought-after pools of happiness. Laugh doth I, in incurable fascination! As t'is day hath just been too exquisite-yes, too frantically ecstatic, reader, to be inanely waned away-without any poem; ah, especially with all th' virile, ye' soothing, humming of th' boyish songbird! And shrink I again into acute-o, even unhealable felicity, upon harking to th' panoramic-and harmonious scene t'at's all enlight'ening th' tender ambiance of affection, out t'ere. What a perfect concord as it is, with t'is inevitably dear-and o, invincible loving feeling of mine. Oh, my Kozarev, I have only words to play with!
Ken Pepiton Jan 2021
Check engine brings in the sufficiency of evil.

How does this work? Re
cognition, I suspect, a seemingly tireless system,
each day releases a sufficiency of evil,
just
enough to re
mind me-you, I see everything, I know

--- within the system of ignition and motive power

peace is after the first explosion begins to turn the crank.
all the piston resistance is pushed toward fore,

and we are off
the line ready

-- and I drive on to exit 28

The Madness of Crowds,

find what my tweets should be today,
read all the madness streams venting
into
the
new ideology of
entertainment,
consider comes up as a word, verb, I paused to look to the stars,
with their shine
to see me

as some bit of all that.

Far from the madding crowd maddened
by the noise we make in preparing
for war

from the foundational texts, in context,
time relative to everything, before
now, position point
meta data do the ID ea, ificate,
ego, go go on, wonder if

what if
hapt
ha, that one worked, eh? We.
You read, I write,
output input output with the effect of input,

loop once, and get the idea that this may
go on, never off,

well, we may imagine that goes nowhere,
round and round, balanced, as the best
1800's steamy perpetual motion patents were
compared
to vaporous IPO's in 1999,
which were overly faith-biased,
as a man thinketh in his heart, the whole world
seems to be… what the mind of the crowd can
conceive, with grip taken, hold on and lift
toward the top of the ripple,
balance
to the tip… of next…

here, put a gate.

Leave a legend of a fiery sword,
impressed
on the mind of a child living in a world
lit only by heaven and fire stolen
from the earth,
go mad with kuriosity

mad on me, mad on you, mad in us is used
to make us choose to believe or not,

dared? were we dared to doubt,
dared we be of two minds
in the matter of time and my being any thing?

Aye, and art, the wit of knowing, we are mortal,
don't forget,

how happy shall we be in ever, is there a demo?

May we try your way a while,
at the speed of thought
in unspoken words

read words in constant presentpast state, the angel
or the thought asreal,
read, but add the phenomenal experience of knowing

this one word is coming to me
from one level lower than the creator of all,
from one little measure above common
mortal humis based life…

where is peace in now?

An intention pledge, above the ethic moral tide,

as sea levels rise, tides rise, settle
us…
be the unem, see the top, from the bottom.

I look up.
BUT THEN SEE
the word realm I reside with
in time and chance,

such as the first fit word was serendipitously sung
in the sixties most recent,

along the marked ***** twisting thread through
the eve of destruction survived
by everybody getting ******,
according to Phoebe Zeitgeist, my once intimate
Tinkerbell fixation,
**** pixie,
in words.

Spin or real, side real, re
al Rheastatically
Hopft hopes to

twistit
little bit,
{which way, apriori flaw, *** of u and me}

-lefty loosy, righty tighty was known at the ***** line
so, ***** you, tighten
the connection,
let less - power - flow, {force me, Luke, make me look}

Hopfordsensation spun'n'set to spin on and on unless

- un less, add, subtract prove this equals that
- this is odd
- what if there is always a way good wins?

Spin or real, side real, re
al Rheastatically
dimmed to minimum spark, flash 10 second rewind,
I lost my mind
I set a reminder for a live feed proper propaganda
event for the latest contender
arisen to question the faith that is in me,
is me, I am
after all, covered
in the entire line of promises which,
culminate in Christ, if you know what I mean,

other wise,

you call truth liar. And there you are.

Wishing you knew if I were
you
would I lie about something as serious as happiness,
the state?
the condition?
the I'll go rhythm schism prism sparkling down the dusty trail…

mind wandering in ever after, as we have done, un
thinking, epi-
evolved by
tuning to those early greyscale programs with random snow
of many colors, when
you were of a bubbled state happy to watch the noise
of the universe
rippling through time to me via amplified CRT bursts
sans earthly input filtering output.

The white room we all remember,

staring in white room mode at whatever is on tv

see, think, imagine doing, that's it, that's it… nope, no good,
you feel bad when things go wrong,
even on tv,
we see.
These bits of us that make no sort on reality verification,
- there is no standard zero to divide by,
- and all the ones are whole
physical, hardwired, nurtured knots and nuts and bolts and
fast-ening things, thoughts that snag
hang-ups,
run the silk, expose the flesh, pierce the epi dermis

determinus outer-most
me,
into innermost you. In a given word, long ago, I think.
Life began to leak from ever before into ever after,
through now,
like this… quarkishly entangled with every thread of ever,
from then to now,

at any point in time, imagine, this is peace of mind, I MADEITUP!

--- a lessoning, to me today
--- opportunity to take responsibility, noticed,
there in our perifery,
leaning
left horizontal attitude adjust

POV straighten up
fly right.

Cultural norms super impose, form a me you may re
cognize in any mirror here on in…

that is not a clue, that is what you do. Now, or re boot day 7.
While masked and waiting for the solution to mystery, what was my car programmed to alert me to pre-vent, ssssssssss pirate spirit escaping to confuse
K Hanson Aug 2014
I accept
only
wish
to change what cannot be
changed
delusions of
ecstatic
union
fade
smothered
under
silence
disinterest
triviality
joylessness
wouldn’t be minded
if the brief
glimpses of
affection were
less rare
but maybe
they wouldn’t be so
noticed
cherished
guarded
shepherded
into my secreted soul I
forget
on purpose
that which I cannot
swallow
learned to
eliminate
the day-
to-day
deflect
small building
damages
yellowing
psychic
bruises
or absorb
dead
(ening) shrivel
(ing)
cells of self
I wanted
to share
but now
can
not.
Jay Nov 2014
Your soul
A place all your own
But meets light at opening of
Your beautiful brown eyes that only
Can be stared into for moments
At a time for the beauty
within is blinding
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
Wandering in cyber-realms impossible,
with in-ness being me, my mind being me... me
touch, sense, taste, feel
me... let me
be
rhyme on rime on or i'm gone,
eh. Mimeme mnomena phem kiss me lest I

fade away

Euphoria
Eutopia

Europe, eurturn
eugenic

euseless
eudaemonia

ah, phor naught, all for one

out, out, ****** spot

is joy strength
ening?
is love weak
ening?
was peace a state of mind
pedantic antic

— The End —