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Nat Lipstadt Feb 2014
In the end, where is the courage?
~~~~~~

a festering poem~notion
that can not be kept down,
in the making, long,
in the scrivening, short

even the simplest life,
the most ordinary,
cannot ever avoid the question,
where is the courage?

this journey, near complete,
packages delivered, dust and mud,
a canvas of the well worn, conceded and deeded,
nearly done, in the corner almost all that's needed,
a scrawled illegible, encircled set of initials

but never mind that,
for that doesn't obviate, or explicate,
what is important, no matter where and when
you are GPS dotted on your particular travelogue,
the quest, the question that does not come or e'er go,
but permanent, like the dimple, given at birth,
where is the courage?

threescore and more and therefore puzzling,
what matters now this solution in need of resolution?
this easy to provide the clarification notification,
perhaps you are young and the future looming large,
courage in ample supply, for when and where
life requires resuscitation, even enunciation,
you easy answer, here, within,
below the surface, just underneath,
at the ready, in service, a call awaiting when asked,
where is the courage?

the sword of mine so oft drawn and bloodied,
my exploits, I unashamed, but yet new war cries recirculate
and they call out "give us the veterans,"
whose courage spoke of and tale recorded,
let them lead us once again to succor and success!

they cannot know or be told,
my chain mail armour, my heart's amour,
rusted and weakened, and battle memories
too well recalled give me not wells to draw upon,
but wells to be drowned in, fears of fear of it,
it cannot be done again, the supply all drawn down,
the well overused and dry, history revisionists
cannot bring back what once was just by asking,
where is the courage?

the temple in Jerusalem sacked and burnt,
but the Israelites returned and rebuilt,
in ages and days when miracles were a dime a dozen,
no one could not imagine exile permanent,
but it came and lasted but tho many,
ceased to believe, a hardy few knew the answer,
when the the quest, the question that does not come or go,
was flaunted both to and by the fearful, the tired~souled,
where is the courage?

here, within, but this time dig much deeper,
under grime and desultory historic rhyme, it be buried,
just sip and sup of it, but a taste will reignite hope hopefully,
of
what is only dormant, but never gone complete,
that is what they whisper, in my one good ear,
but I know better, tho eyes dimmed,
my heart replies, the inky dark answer
that I hate but recognize as truth,
when it inquires
where is the courage?*

what matters where,
when, when,
there is no choice,
you know what to choose,
choose the pretense in hopes
that the muscle memory will return,
and restore what was once yours,
and must be yours, yet again
and if you fail,
fail well
for that will be you at the last, and the
lasting medal of courage tendered
Nessun dorma, None shall sleep.
This I know all too well,
you cannot leave or retire from the struggle
We call life, and
Tho my chin upon my chest weary rests,
Nonetheless, it my fingers under yours,
Under you chin, raising it up,
For that is what I have left,
That is what I do.

Feb. 3, 2014
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...

circumcised: to purify spiritually

On the eighth day,
from my nativity,
circumcised,
as is the custom of my
wandering tribe.

marked thusly,
perma-identity carded,
thusly begins the path,
a pink-bricked road this one,
not to the Mighty Oz,
no phony curtain pulled aside,
where anyone goes to get
spiritual purification
for a price

Ah, you suspected something else,
something explicit,
not me~style,
give you honey,
road provisions,
come along for the observing his
clickety clackty clock

Ready?

For where we venture there is only
one exit,
And you are so not ready - I am who I am and I am
not ready too...

every line an enunciation,
every stanza an annunciation,
Angel Gabriel, a solo duo, unlike
Beyoncé and Jesus
we be on our way to any kind of purity,
poetry can buy

who knows what awaits us,
could be catholic, universal,
even the uncircumcised
get a chance to enunciate.

let me offer a clarification.

proclamations and sensations,
conditions and exploitations,
brown eyed girls, and surfer boys,
functions and malfunctions too,
abbreviations or adjudications,
conjugations in the congregation,
exhumation, the final excommunication,
I shun none,

I enunciate this:
false starts and junction boxes,
too many so so tired,
when can I lay down my shovel
and cease the decreasing deceasing of the body

this day nears complete,
and soon to eat
the last meal,
and still I ask

when can I lay down my shovel,
when will purity be mine,
my spirit's circumstances
repeat the commercial,
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...

forgive my abstrusion,
my metaphors always offer perfect laxity,
choose the interpretation that pleases most
and my drift is toward the end of days,
when will my brow be a motif of
anointment and crowning head birth?

This is my Enunciation.

I cannot yet lay down the shovel,
and this writ is as of yet, still uncircumcised -
completely incomplete, it will be finished
when the spirit says
you are the purity,
the trinity of two hands holding two others holding two others holding two others and the chain is perfect because
it is broken perfectly, a forever repetitive respective handle with care
process

Forgive my visionary words that
give little clarity,
so summary due you,
This is my
Pronoun citation
I am
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate
on my way to the purity of spirit.
It just happened  on the way to sitting down to supper.
"What is your talent? Can you show me?" He asked me, obliviously.

"My affinity isn't something that can be seen." I replied. "It isn't a fancy circus trick, like juggling, nor is it the astonishing spectacle of a painting. It isn't the beauty of a voice, or the magnificent sound of music to the ears. My ability is from the inside, from the way one simple sentence could turn your whole life around. It's the way words could understand you like nobody ever can, the way quotes or phrases fill the emptyness of your heart, and the way it awakens a sensation you may have never been able to feel before. So, no, I cannot show you what my talent is, as it is the way I can transfer a set of emotions to you with just the enunciation of a word."

And with that, I, yet again, rendered another soul speechless.
C Sep 2010
Do you know what it means to have a moment encapsulated and remain enthralled with an utterance for what seems a century?
Or more?
It isn't your voice or your beleaguered indiscretion
it is not your rounded shoulders and body (language) speaking of consequential truths
its the way your words round my hard thoughts, softening and falling to slide off the firm curve of my breast.
Feeling each individual letter glide delightfully around my mouth
after being in yours
and I taste something new amid
a festival of enunciation.
There is false bravado in me and you
slip it off, along with my clothes.
I'm left naked and shy
almost hiding now, what I previously
wanted to share so much.
Almost, as your tender words guide an
embrace
I fall in love for the first time with a word
knowing you can only ever possess me physically.
Portentous enunciation, syllable
To blessed syllable affined, and sound
Bubbling felicity in cantilene,
Prolific and tormenting tenderness
Of music, as it comes to unison,
Forgather and bell boldly Crispin's last
Deduction. Thrum, with a proud douceur
His grand pronunciamento and devise.

The chits came for his jigging, bluet-eyed,
Hands without touch yet touching poignantly,
Leaving no room upon his cloudy knee,
Prophetic joint, for its diviner young.
The return to social nature, once begun,
Anabasis or slump, ascent or chute,
Involved him in midwifery so dense
His cabin counted as phylactery,
Then place of vexing palankeens, then haunt
Of children nibbling at the sugared void,
Infants yet eminently old, then dome
And halidom for the unbraided femes,
Green crammers of the green fruits of the world,
Bidders and biders for its ecstasies,
True daughters both of Crispin and his clay.
All this with many mulctings of the man,
Effective colonizer sharply stopped
In the door-yard by his own capacious bloom.
But that this bloom grown riper, showing nibs
Of its eventual roundness, puerile tints
Of spiced and weathery rouges, should complex
The stopper to indulgent fatalist
Was unforeseen. First Crispin smiled upon
His goldenest demoiselle, inhabitant,
She seemed, of a country of the capuchins,
So delicately blushed, so humbly eyed,
Attentive to a coronal of things
Secret and singular. Second, upon
A second similar counterpart, a maid
Most sisterly to the first, not yet awake
Excepting to the motherly footstep, but
Marvelling sometimes at the shaken sleep.
Then third, a thing still flaxen in the light,
A creeper under jaunty leaves. And fourth,
Mere blusteriness that gewgaws jollified,
All din and gobble, blasphemously pink.
A few years more and the vermeil capuchin
Gave to the cabin, lordlier than it was,
The dulcet omen fit for such a house.
The second sister dallying was shy
To fetch the one full-pinioned one himself
Out of her botches, hot embosomer.
The third one gaping at the orioles
Lettered herself demurely as became
A pearly poetess, peaked for rhapsody.
The fourth, pent now, a digit curious.
Four daughters in a world too intricate
In the beginning, four blithe instruments
Of differing struts, four voices several
In couch, four more personae, intimate
As buffo, yet divers, four mirrors blue
That should be silver, four accustomed seeds
Hinting incredible hues, four self-same lights
That spread chromatics in hilarious dark,
Four questioners and four sure answerers.

Crispin concocted doctrine from the rout.
The world, a turnip once so readily plucked,
Sacked up and carried overseas, daubed out
Of its ancient purple, pruned to the fertile main,
And sown again by the stiffest realist,
Came reproduced in purple, family font,
The same insoluble lump. The fatalist
Stepped in and dropped the chuckling down his craw,
Without grace or grumble. Score this anecdote
Invented for its pith, not doctrinal
In form though in design, as Crispin willed,
Disguised pronunciamento, summary,
Autumn's compendium, strident in itself
But muted, mused, and perfectly revolved
In those portentous accents, syllables,
And sounds of music coming to accord
Upon his law, like their inherent sphere,
Seraphic proclamations of the pure
Delivered with a deluging onwardness.
Or if the music sticks, if the anecdote
Is false, if Crispin is a profitless
Philosopher, beginning with green brag,
Concluding fadedly, if as a man
Prone to distemper he abates in taste,
Fickle and fumbling, variable, obscure,
Glozing his life with after-shining flicks,
Illuminating, from a fancy gorged
By apparition, plain and common things,
Sequestering the fluster from the year,
Making gulped potions from obstreperous drops,
And so distorting, proving what he proves
Is nothing, what can all this matter since
The relation comes, benignly, to its end?

So may the relation of each man be clipped.
Pagan Paul Feb 2018
.
For some it is a poetic crime
to ever use an imperfect rhyme.
As the Emperor of enunciation
I embrace differing pronunciation.
So chain not words up in a prison
let them go with their own rhythm.
.

© Pagan Paul (Sept 2015)
.
Old poem I found in a notebook, previously unpublished.
I think I wrote it for another site where there were
a lot of snobbish 'academic' poets.
.
Don Bouchard Jan 2012
Uncle Joe,
Quietly a bachelor,
All his 77 years,
Never spoke an unkind word
I ever heard.

Most afternoons,
He sat in his brown chair
Behind my Grandfather.

Two old French men,
Smoking pipes
Talking slow and low
In English, French-laced,
Laden with Quebec enunciation
Though they'd not been back
For sixty years.

I didn't think he'd ever loved a girl,
My Uncle Joe,
And then his nephew spilled the beans
One day to me.

Alice was the damsel's name,
But innocence was not her style,
And so my great-grandma,
Memere, disapproved,
Clucked her tongue,
Hands on hips,
Glared and crossed herself,
Whenever Alice came around.

Still, Joe pursued
Until the day she walked out
To the field where he was plowing
Behind a team of horses.

She didn't think ahead.
So when her dress billowed out
As she walked up,
She set the team in fright.

Uncle Joe,
Too shocked to act,
Fell feet first into the foot board,
And down the field the horses dragged
The plow and Uncle Joe.

They stopped before disaster came,
And Uncle Joe crawled out.

When he stood up,
He ended any chance that Alice
Had with him.

"Dat **** girl near got me ****!"
His exclamation.

So it was
He lived sixty more years
Safely and alone.
Sally A Bayan Nov 2016
...gives a shiver.....it shames me,
my weaknesses, are on the surface
needing, rises this misty evening.
this cold, cold night, further emphasizes,
i need God...His Light and Shadow, to
reassure me, when gray, covers blue skies
my loved ones are my inspirations
they feed my need to write
yet, they have their own concerns...

i humbly accept.....i am not my own island...

there's this urge to run...to race with gusty winds,
arrive fast, at my desired destination,
.......but, i am halted...always reminded...
...i listen to two soft voices within
..one is guiding...the other, almost rebelling...
i feel the chill from this empty space next to me
i'm a mix of want........and fear....for,
i need you this moment of twilight,
...and each long night that i stay awake
floating, in this expanse of darkness...
my conflicted soul...sends out signals  of fear..
do my fears make me a craven coward?

the evening breeze makes its presence known
i weep in a hush, from thoughts of sailing...alone,
................ on life's lengthy moonlit bays........

..after enunciation
...of my true voice, my conscience
i could use some company
......like, i need you now
.............to help me make it,
...................through this night of exile...



Sally

Copyright September 19, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
C Jan 2011
Listen closely and hear our collective vernacular in a state of constant mitosis.
Live and see our language begin to rival our own complexity.
A myriad of inter-connecting word highways with more twists,
turns and travelers than that of any physical road.
A body of thought massing in our collective conscious,
an infinite man-made addition to our finite physical reality.
Every addition is another color, another taste,
relative to the user in enunciation,
becoming ever less limited by geography.
Emotion attaches and tints the tone of individual words as we grow with age.
Without it enabling us to define ourselves, we are left ignorant and insular.
Memory accumulates casting a shadow and adds depth,
communication cultivating perception to leverage change in corporeality.
Pulsating slang spreading locally with fresh life to be globally colloquial.
A wordsmith may use this power to celebrate
or condemn their perception of reality,
more still- will wield words like plowshares
and escapism flourishes with such an expansive field
where all of humanity is brought out to play.


And sometimes-
for me,
it is just barely enough to grip a word with impunity.
wehttam Jun 2014
The movement of speech,
speaking swiftly with eloquence
alliterative, quixic, elloqution,
enunciation, pitch, tone, intensity,
sensivity, proper, and evident,  
prosody, and brilliant speaker,
followed by a brilliant speech,
we all would love to listen to
a great idea.  Or write down
the secrets to success, to pay
bills and not get hit on by voodoo.
I heard them lye, lie, and then lie.
Lye like ***** hands needing soap.
Lie like there are no stars ever in the sky.
Lie like in bed with a ghost,
and then a ******* mindful of racists
with a passing grade for the bar exam
treated the 3 above outstanding resources
to the trinity to tell us to work with an Oath.
The availability to be independant is a solvency
to a cross examination, and the property of freedom
is a handsome reward if you can pry open the
jar of Trinity.  We wanted a badass to be the President
and I know, that we just might get what we ask for.

Remember to study your own favorite poets
a dedication to a life in the fast lane of the
most Amazing manner of all time.

We may just be the newest monastery in the world.  

So when we all say something, like all 7 billion of us.
We GET it.

DO NOT F&%^$^$ TOUCH ME, EVER!  Lol.
Love's the manic in my head.  At home on Saturday night, maybe Mexican food after church tomorrow.
Brent Kincaid Jan 2017
"I always wanted to wander."
"To wander? To where?"
"From Walla Walla to Uganda."
"That's a wide world to wander!"
"You wanna?"
"Wanna what?"
"To wander?"
"To where, Uganda?"
"Youbetcha!"
"I don't want to onomatopoeia anymore!"

"Are you refusing me?"
"You're confusing me!"
"Do I do that usually?"
"Yes, and it's abusing me!
"I didn't used to be."
"But you see it's no use to me,
So start talking lucidly!
You're coming across abstrusely
By talking so loosely.
You've got a lot of 'splaining to do Lucy."

"It started out grand!"
"But quickly got out of hand."
"But you fail to understand."
"You should have planned."
"Is that a reprimand?"
"You're like the ampersand."
"I don't understand."
"It means 'and per se and';
The pronunciation became bland
And three Latin words became 'ampersand'."

"But, don't you need a vacation?"
"What is the relation?"
"It's a matter of pronunciation,
And sometimes punctuation.
Some words deserve elimination.
Yes, and some deserve illumination.
Thus my original illustration.
In the interest of communication,
Some things deserve enunciation."
"I will accept that explanation."

"But, I'm still hugely fond of
The two of us going to Uganda;
As we internationally wander
I'm sure it will make you fonder
The more the two of us wander."
"But I really don't wanna!"
"Don't wanna what?"
"Go to Uganda!"
"That's what you don't wanna?"
"You betcha!"
"It's okay. They probably won't letcha."
He’s trick, like enrapturing
Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon
Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions
Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence
Its redolence a savory waft
The evolution of psychic clarity’s élan vital
Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity
Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention
Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication
Pandemically  phatic  propriety venerations
Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution
Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma
Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix
The individual must remain sacrosanct
Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s xenobiotic barratry
Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid
Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression
Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve
Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany
Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities
Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic
My sad attempt at social contiguity after reading poetessa diabolica's
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1268186/bella-donnas-intrinsic-nuances/
Oh to be so artistically aesthetic as she
I think I need to work on my
Enunciation
Because every time I say
“I Love You”
It seems to come out as
“Good Bye”
Vicki Acquah Oct 2015
Make love to me with
your poem ,your poetry.
Flow slowly-do not rush it.
not so fast.
Let your words last.
Stroke me slowly
Put your back into it.
Caress my totality
Draw me into your world
let me succumb -to your glib tongue
I hear your commands
As you slowly express
how capable you are
Expanding my mind
taking me places I've never been
Firmly holding me in the grips
of your suspense.
I was tense
Waiting for the end - you letting me
down gently as your poem ended
I bask in the after math-of a poetry bath
Thinking of the ecstasy of
where your poetry took me.
I let down my hair-because
you swoon creativity
I get off on your enunciation
and affections- inflections
Word erections-sensitivity
and vulnerability
Allowing me to feel every word-
as you speak slowly
you enter me with your "diction".
Slow and easy you speak to me
Stroking me with your poetry...
You took me to peaks
of ecstasy-with your  
sweet glib tongue
and that's why I -
let you make ...
Make sweet Poetry to me..
.© Vicki Acquah
Letting the water rush around my ankles,
I whisper your name to the seafoam.
I roll my tongue around each syllable,
as if enunciation alone could draw
fate lines between us.

The water recedes,
and takes with it my breath.
I see now that the ocean is what taught you
to leave me gasping for air.
Hello again friends, it seems my voice has found its way back to me. I wonder what I will learn from it this time around.

As always, I'm at a loss for a title.
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations

Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations  
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications

Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications

Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbrage ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Annex annul, implicite implement implicate!!!
Jayanta Apr 2014
Please repay me
My childhood!
I want to listen
My lost assonance in my mother’s enunciation!
To refresh myself with melody of eternity!

Please bestow me
My childhood!  
I want collect dew from the leaf!
To amass nature’s blessing!

Please confer me
My childhood!
I want to flee my kite to perpetuity and
mist in the hallowed invisibility!
Remembering my childhood days out of materiel world
jeffrey conyers Dec 2012
I'll always admire the English.
Their enunciation is so clear.
And it makes you wants to speak better.

To some it's the accent.
And that's apart of the attraction.

Sean Connery, perfectly sound of Scotland.
Tom Jones, Welsh sounding voice.
Has you wishing one was yours.

Then again.
None of them have to be famous.

We should try to sound our best.
Even if we never be English.
We can pretend to be one in our fantasy.
Unless you are one.
Then you'll know, what I'm talking about?
Destiny Berry Mar 2019
the soles of his feet were the foundation of a greek god physique. his legs were lengthened; muscular, beyond well-defined. his ivory teeth all set where they should be like the stars in the sky aligned.
his ***** defined his virility. my heart gasped to catch its breath as i gripped his manhood. already i could tell he was trouble. yet, little did i know, he was surprisingly humble.
the sculpted 8-pack hidden underneath every shirt, that hung loosely from broadened shoulders, was the symbol of masculinity. without him there’d be no existence of my femininity.
he had a thing for wanting to become one of the “bigger guys”. you know, with the pulsating veins and the bulging eyes. his determination had never ceased. maybe not in body, but in the heart he was a beast.
in my eyes he was adam. perfectly molded from dirt by the hands of God, you see. there was no need to change anything about him, especially the unconditional love he continued to grow for me.
those slender fingers never failed me in times of comfort. wherever they had laid upon my body, a sudden feeling of importance came rushing to me. he made it known, i was his one and only priority.
unlike the man known as “father” who left me shattered. i was a glass vase that slipped from clumsy, oiled fingertips, pieces scattered. “why didn’t he want me?” the amount of times i’ve asked myself this question couldn’t be measured. but you know what they say, “one man's trash is another man’s treasure.”
this new human being removed all of my pain, regret, frustration and spite the moment his eyes locked on mine that one night. and that’s all it ever took. then after a gentle kiss on the front of my hand, and a promise that i’d never feel abandoned again. i was shook.
the feeling of countless monarch wings fluttering in the pit of my stomach, was all the proof I needed to know he was real. with every beat of his heart, all doubts were killed.
for he yearned for longevity. he fought for peace. he lived for happiness. he prayed for love's keep. his neck held the scent of his ebony skin. the exotic collision of lingered cologne and sweat from practice filled my nostrils and made me think thoughts of sin.
lips, full and pink indicated ****** needs and ****** desires. he’d brush them against mine not knowing it was only adding fuel to the fire. a slight touch behind the ear allowed my brain to send goosebumps running all down to my feet. a stream flown from my womanhood when his hand and my inner thigh would meet. the words “don’t stop” flew from my lips without hesitation. there was a rising from his pants from the thought of pleasurably *******.
languages from different parts of the world rested on the tip of his tongue. they slipped from his lips like a slow sax piece echoing in a bayou. it was something about his range, his tone, his enunciation that had the power to do something to you.
a feature that had always stood out- his nose, boldly displayed the ethnic background from which he came. his ancestors were traced back to their original roots in Africa, the culture was obvious from his last name.
his ears possessed the will to listen to problems, thoughts and even opinions of others before his own. although i knew him well enough to know he’d only release his emotions when alone. somehow he knew when to say more or less, or if being a listener in silence was for the best.
his brain held as the control center for intellect and psychological being. if you weren’t sure of something, he was the one to go to for meaning.
he had owned a mind i had never come across in my eighteen years of life. the day he met me, he’d told me he had found his wife. his dark skin was the protection of many layers, each one a step closer to his soul. is it bad that when i’m not in his presence, i don’t feel whole?
glimmering in the sunlight was his deepened melanin, smooth as the petals of a rose. it was him, the man i chose. and he chose i.
until it was time my temporary lover and i had to say goodbye.

- d.berry
Ryan Gabrish Apr 2013
Less ‘ave a spot of fun, shall we?
Sumfin fun to do in ma spare time fo no particula reason,
An’ I like ta share it wif you.

Drop the T’s and pronounce yeh U’s like ew’s
Enunciation is key on heavy consonant words.
Forget practicality an be silly wif it.
Pretending fo a moment,
That there is a glob of peana butta,
On the ref of  yeh mouf.

****** ell and bullocks only take it so far,
Yew must remain natural wif towne
But, simply mumble mimzy’s
Followed by ratulsnakes ‘n’ wota fawllls.

Tha best practice comes wif accenting ull day.
An than ull tha kids will think its ace!
Dowent get aggro, jus ease into it.
An fa ***** sake its Herb not erb.
Berne Aramaic Element

From Bethlehem the messages of the fields of Moab are felt, after the death of Eimelech and sons Mahlon and Quelion, Naomi remaining alone, Alone in the middle of the ears. Lepidoptera would begin to fly in all the lands of Judah after this distressing event. From the far reaches of the fields in the hot afternoons, Ruth could be seen in the fields and in the Hera united tightly with Naomi, where each one fence after fence will go the other in the name of Jehovah. Ruth deliberately gathers the grain and ears with the sheaves, between the reapers and the swollen sheaves, to provide sustenance for a whole past life of famine brought by Naomi's lamentations. Then Ruth after gleaning the grasses, thanked Boaz by looking into his eye fixedly, being able to see in him, how to lift the hay and run it to the world of the midwives to feed the newborn children, that way everyone will eat and be satisfied with the pottage until they are very satisfied.

From this land of ears of corn, will arrive the celebrations of Shavuot and of good grace for the stay of the Hexagonal Birthright in Gethsemane. The actors and landowners of these lands are making a great contribution to this phylogeny (with the consolidation of the Aramaic language in the garden).

Ruth appears saying: “Look well all the field, we are all in it, we have water and enough heat from the Shemash ignition, to grow the ears of wheat, and here is the refuge of Jehovah who gives us his protection, making us an equal part of his children to sustain us. I feel great pride in being deferential to Naomi; she will help me with the ears that will migrate to Gethsemane, with the transcendent visit of the Apostle Saint John. The bumblebees, bees and wasps will be satisfied; they will provide the nutrient food to those who will have to make the communications in the garden. "Blessed is the food that it gives you by harvesting, preserving and lavishing it"

A great axiom of archaeological heritages begins to be evidenced in this agriculture of transmission from the field to the expression of the cognitive and emotional areas that represent the oropharyngolaryngeal endocranial molds of sheep that become inert with crops and insects. Here the beloved rhetoric of insects will intervene with personal wings from the basic prop of their emotions, attracting signals from the fields and their images described by the flocks of insects that migrated from this Ruth book passage, to be able to retransmit them with the phonetic signals that go beyond the spike, which is rather a settlement or a Kibbutz, current to mold or settle archaic civilizations under an idiomatic link, which will address the phylogeny as cephalization of invertebrate animals with those of the benefits of support of adhesion between so much science and simply the invocation of Jehovah bringing us food languages with nuances of religious joy.


Phylogeny in Gethsemane: **** erectus crossed multiple evidences of pro-adaptive evolution beings, - Neanderthal / **** sapiens. The children of Israel wrote parables, epistles, verses, stories and books ..., their vocal and phonetic tract spoke of storms and environmental factors between heaven and earth, of the "Great noise outside of us, but little silence in us." The elementary thing is the larynx that only has to pronounce the image that denounces a concept, evokes the minimum sounds in different positions of its instrumentalized mega sound. Talking about how language varies according to history, and the civic-environmental environment instructing us in its threshold and descent, by detaching itself by the air effusions of language at the laryngeal level. It authoritatively collects the intervals of vocalization and relationship with agriculture in all its dimensions, descending through its internal walls, but rising through our parietal emotions outside of itself.


Of the little air that the world has left, to continue digesting temporarily, it has to let the air flow, which is possessed of mechanically inert particles, and unsanctified prophecies with corollaries of miracles.  Inherence that has made the super existence of those who still do not perish by the hand of a monarchical mandate. Thus the mute swallows air in asphyxiating and polluted halves, while others redistribute them for those who need to sit at the table to pick up the Bread and share it with others. "Here the echo of my Christian body resounds." That in Aramaic, it will signify much more than the language in its blood, grapheme and phonemes or stylistics, it is the shock of vibrating beyond the deep ground, reverberating with the grace of its divine enunciation”. Joshua, swallows spikes and olive leaves simultaneously arranging us in his arms, as his children, a sheep in his arms giving us milk-hydro milk from the sustenance of his creative verb.  "A strict fact of preserving the Aramaic and not misleading them by turning the pages in history." The Aramaic must be incorporated for the times that Joshua after more than two thousand years He is still here walking from one place to another, to tell us that He is still here, only suggestive of your walk plagiarizing with your larynx the sound of his expression DE shepherding. The sheep is a mammal ..., more mammal than man, since its statement always reflects in the bases of its skull, for the rest of its offspring as a biblical language, under all the rainbows of the cherubs, together with the children surrounding them in identical intention. **** habilis - **** Sanctus, in a process that has a Christ base and peripheral anatomical capacity for language in the wandering of the sternum to confuse them with each other, not altering the structural or functional complexity. From the potential of the Lepidoptera and winged insects, the phenotype will arise that will relate and relativist the mechanics of the Aramaic or the Aramaic method, of not misplacing the tongue because it is divine, as well as divine and laryngeal torque of those who have Aramaic blood and body, since his mechanized mystique is to devour the smallest words with the maximums in a whole range of sounds of the field speaking of: "Come to my field here the spikes and insects will speak more than the mechanical potential of your Voice."

They continue through the field Ruth forming phonemes in small verses, which go hand in hand with the words and those that refer to them; They are settlements of those who do not speak only suggest the presence of Jeheová without being present, but if after being with his stomach satisfied, parodying the activities of the field with his poetry made reality in a poetic-hydric whole and of the transgenerationality of the ancient peoples who no longer speak .., "They only express their wisdom with agro-phrases of wheat ears and olives in all their songs."

After Walking through narrow cobbled streets, now they are full of character with the Bedouin fumaroles, it is like walking through a heart hungry for alkaloids and lipids; to tour its synagogues evoking an outstanding barrage of pilgrimages without knowing how much more they will have to accompany our steps. Jerusalem, the walls that protect it, are witnesses to many battles that have been fought "in the name of God." As well as the soil that speaks for itself. Without a doubt, the Mount of Olives can be seen from Jerusalem beautifully, but not in the same way the other way around. The trees, whose fruits contribute positively to the economy of the region, in addition to symbolizing strength, security, prosperity, give hope in the journey of history with the same thing that never tires of the same. The orchard or garden of Gethsemane, a name that refers to the olive presses that are used to extract and process the oil. According to the Gospels, the Lord came to Gethsemane with his disciples to spend some time in prayer. But, as the environment in Jerusalem was one of insecurity and high tension, due to the celebration of the Jewish Passover festival in a context of political and military occupation of the Roman Empire, Jesus, very saddened, began to feel anguish ... asserting himself from the branches each once felt an olive near his fingers.

Etréstles says: "All the physical, emotional and spiritual forces of Jesus, here are smelled digging into the organic tissue, experiences that go beyond the intellect ..., it is the own and unequivocal admissibility of military feet walking on the ground after their meditation and recollection. From today, when the lights in the shadows will fill the limits of the garden with ecology, the giant camels will have to graze when the atmospheres have to make the tribune grow grass on his evangelizing poetics, to have it for tomorrow in the dawn meditation. All the pros and cons will have to be lost with the guests prayers that will inhabit the spaces that human reason does not have to intervene”.

Meditation with the Cherubim, the hexagonal primogeniture and insects penetrating the divisions of time that the cessation of a breath is obtained and being able to offer with the imagination the inclemency of having everything just beginning. That is prayer; it begins cyclically and then returns to the beginning, without leaving us comforted to finish what does not enclose the lapse circle of the meditative circumambulation.

Apostle Saint John said: More than pain and worry, after praying, he regained his strength and courage to face life, with its troubles and betrayals, with courage, dignity and hope. But more than this atavistic-anthropological complex, it is the salvific integrity that the verb saves the verb, through the vibrational prayer of the sound and perception of the words, and more with the Aramaic sound that is narrowing like the streets of Jerusalem, to distinguish biases of praising essence in the elements of noise, almost to the harmonic limit of a sound perfecting in a psalm or parable, which emerges from its oropharyngeal movement, leaving without expiation the abrupt change towards Hebrew thought and doctrine, together with the external sound emancipating the perfect cacophony of its vibratory inner howl, beyond the ritual that satisfies our needs by having a Father. He sanctifies and purifies because it is life and the dawn of new land that lies in the garden of prayer, every time I have to get up is to take the Bible and look as in a whole interlocution for me prostrating, and every time I get up and that I speak with my father I am attentive to close myself to his dimension.

The food that returns and feeds back, is the blood provided with justice to inhabit the body that synthesizes its protein oratory. The food that you go there from a breeze and merriment, puts on the tables all its clothes to sit around, it is the lament that smells like seed that evaporates from the hands, it is the heat of the holy field. The food that speaks of inviting so many to sit next to us is the one who least thought he was lacking in love, and that he should not be prepared, being the one who would eat everything until he was satisfied, leaving nothing in the compote or yeast, because of he will persist the food that satisfies only for the one who has the excessive spirit of the famine of whom it can be satisfied. Gethsemane is a flowery field where Lepidoptera, drunk with angels, fly, who only have one mission; “Give food to those who owe the desire to eat and nothing else, because the rest that suggests it is abstention, and this will be procrastination of the verb, which ceases to create and endow even if it wants it, since all the support of life can cease at risk bread and wine more than a toast and cheers! Rather, it is due to the devotional nurtured circle of the action of lavishing the Son-Father circle, granting the establishment of hunger-satiety to forge genetic and paternal seeds to recirculate them in the procreation chain.

Eurydice speaks: “My body flames like a spike towards my beloved Joshua, I come from the mask of a ship. I went to Jerusalem to look for flowers, which pour out aromatic herbs to bring and bless their words tied at their feet. I was late and I have lost my way, unable to find my way back. I only saw that from afar some lights in the northern area of the orchard lit up like cycling olives exploding in the air in fireflies that swarmed next to the Lepidoptera ..., they guided me here. But I repeat, when I saw the lights I go back as a child in my distant Greece, with my Orpheus when I managed to sleep Cerberus near Lake Styx. But I reiterate ..., beyond the lights I have been able to see how the insects are weaving and concocting his words, my beloved Joshua, which the auditors will be able to help the square and interpret for many more than thousands of years, taking us with their pre-recipients that we they allow you to feel your voice and hear it as far away as if it were closer than the olive branch that caresses your face. But I reiterate, I never thought that I would get lost, I am even arriving as if it were the figurehead of the prow of my ship, I always wanted to be near a world of light from the Olive Tree of Barnea genetics like this one that has led me to meet it "

Eurydice heads to the holy place, when she approaches the Fireflies and Lepidoptera come out to collect her, she allied themselves to the twisted shadows of the olive trees sharpening in clear harmony with the mirror archetypes of the dark foliage, reflecting the green shadows on the wild fruits by the oleaginous branches that went towards the branches embracing with those of the olive tree or thorny thousand-year-old olive tree, procreating the sacredness and ancient magistracy, for Eurydice it was clear that in her nation whoever wounded or cut an olive tree had the penalty of exile, she knew that she was in the House of the Olives, were in transit to their maturation in the autumn months of the boreal hemisphere, with their raps decorating the wisdom of have it with a favorite daphnomancy or divination of Joshua's message with the olive tree, with its white petals like the apostle's cassock, becoming lumpy in its texture when the olive begins to be born emitting crucifixion howls.

Just eleven days, before the ekadashi of the full moon, the phenomenon of the beat occurred, which happens after a year of abundant olive harvest and another in which the harvest is small, here the change in nuances is evident and corrugated textures of the countenance of the olive trees, without it being possible to think that this phenomenon will necessarily occur biennially or triennially. It was suspected and it was known that the developing fruits would go in this event through their hormones and the substances that intervene in their growth acting as inhibitors of the differentiation of the buds, so many of them would change when they were transformed into a flower to do so in wood, and from this process it was deduced that the turn occurs when grass and gospel are needed. The actions destined to promote greater harvests in the years that correspond to load, by taking care of the planting of meditation, and the abandonment of it in the years of discharge that contributes even more to accentuate the failure in doubts of faith. Some varieties of olive trees are truer than others, so it can be assumed that a genetic component generates this phenomenon. On the other hand, there will be the Christian cultivation technique, reducing the amount of time, such as watering or early harvesting of the olive, stop the tables that need to have it on their tablecloth. In such a way, that this phenomenon will help together with the genetic phylogeny, to reinsert lost words expired from antiquity in the emanation of God's wisdom, through the universe acting as a great Drupe or peach, which will assimilate to be the amygdala that will allow to assent the sent vibrations when they connect with the plagued ground walked and retracted of the Messiah, bringing to his earth the words in Aramaic of the sacred salvation of his prosapia, word and surveying work; which will allow them to transfer some appropriate property of their spirit to Patmos when they return.

Says King David: “like the olive grove of Barne of old stone, it will serve us for the harvest in the morning, with its fat percentage it will help us to feed the Shemash fat in the new Sun to wield the winds that will curb the nocturnal mist of the waning moon. All of us as kings have been baptized with oil at our coronations, also coins traded in Kar, to pay their benefits, with the allegory of Yotam, in the Book of Judges to choose the king of trees ..., the olive tree refusing because it had to produce oil, in the menorah are the two tiny olive branches, but large ones are lighting up the great temple of life. Now we will need it, since the eleven days come before we rescind the cessation of Aramaic as a lost language, rather to reimpose it in the entity of its gesture-visual channel- and spaces of what it hears or hears in repeated aramic oropharyngeal systems and voices when lamenting in Hebrew cheerfully passages of the Torah, with the same meaning and channeling source of pentateuch. To recast him in the Barne species to transcend genetics, together with his phylogeny towards Katapausis and the monastic cell of St. John on Patmos with Vernarth. "

Eurydice kept giving atomic waterspouts of momentum at her feet, to soon reach Gethsemane. When she arrived, she saw how the cherubs were pruning the Olives next to the Hexagonal Birthright. Everyone was preparing for the festival of the olive tree in the Garden. She was nearing the end of King David's itchy speech among the Roses of Sharon, but on the cobblestones where a Cherub was replying to her, so that nothing would be wasted if she was heard by her figurehead ears. He arrives and carries the aromatic trans essences and flowers to begin with intuitive adoration for each barefoot step he took, each petal and particle of his essence revere the base of the invested Messiah, reaching the perfect triangulation of the acetoso balsamic and the thorns with flowered arámicos of this revival of the path of the Barne olive grove species, to initiate a night in which to rest with its pinches that it deposited when brooding between the eyebrows of the spiritual garrison that was stationed in Gethsemane.
Berne Aramaic Element
He’s trick, like enrapturing
Wherein lies the paradox of his pantheism parapet’s paragon
Extraversion embezzlements and euthanasia extortions
Embark embargo extraditions
Diction’s enunciation echoes of opaque opulence
Its redolence a savory waft
The evolution of psychic clarity’s id conclusions
Bizarre dichotomous augur the singer’s aural austerity
Gypsy Queen, his guitar’s moniker, romanced aimed intention
Elaborate elliptical empathy endeavors for posterity’s predication
Pandemically  phatic  propriety venerations
Their apex crux axis beyond finite solution
Carousel ceaselessly ceremony chaos character charisma
Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix's vertex vortex
The individual must remain sacrosanct
Traipsing through the fallow furrows of assimilation’s synthetic synthesis
Like capillaries' capricious and intravenous intrepid
Incalculably sensual beyond emotion’s expression
Impetus intrigue's intuitional verve
Ethology’s entelechy, theosophy’s theophany
Zoomorphic zoolatry's social contiguities
Futurity's corporeally preternatural fatidic
Elan-vital's apotropaic apotheosis
importunacy
Eriko Jul 2015
Ever heard of ghoti?
Take a peek,
they are everywhere.

Swimming against currents of hardship
Of problems to solve and work to get done
To catapult through the puddles of rain
and early morning jogs with the sun stretching
To fill out charts and complicated equations
To finish stacks of papers to be written
To help pickup a stack of fallen belongings
The wisdom to say no,
The strength to say yes,

It's impossible to miss
these kind of people...
                                tough people

Riding the escalator
Waiting in line for a latte
Sitting on leather seats
smooth as sheets of polished obsidian
Or walking down the street
steps loud as the echoing dissonance
which resonates in the vast expanse
of concrete walls
Or the soft breaths
which kiss the curve of a flower petal

They are everywhere...
                women  
(and they are not hiding, either)

Well, have you been listening?
Have you been pay attention
The signs are everywhere
Species have been disappearing
off of the face of the earth
Or endangered
Or suffocating underneath the layer of
intoxicating oil
Or crippled and screaming and trashing
as another plastic wasteland
strips the water of purity

...Or you might have seen them
on a silver platter
or in a sandwich pertaining only to 45%
Or in glass tank
waiting to be flushed
when its fluttering heart stops beating
                   Don't understand? A little enunciation maybe?

They are everywhere
ghoti
fish
ghoti
fish
          tough people
                      women
come on.... practice a little
*enuncation
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2014
Please read the notes first.


Tally time, conclusion forming,
"Some day," grown nearer.
Tree's longest branch,
Coming to reach, reaching to come.
Soon to beat and plead upon
Cottage window and door.
Rooted whisperer, jealous reminder,
Revered warning, timely sounding,
Your time of *Reckless Choice
arriving

Destination's unnamed coordinates, uncoordinated,
Journey from wherefrom to wherever, unrecorded,
Observed by silenced overlording sky,
Testimony of the seeing voiceless clouds,
All nought and to no avail, destination head-shaking,
These white witnesses,
Muted, deaf, dumbfounded,
Knowing, yet  incapable of telling

State of sated steady staid,
Sundered by sharp silent sounds,
Reckless surpasses Riskless,
Life is a recitation, an enunciation

When my less to say is soon none,
My Reckless Choice, now chosen,
Unforced but enforced,
I shall be gone
The Sound of Trees
BY ROBERT FROST

I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
Swanky sauntering swagger of a sashay.  Verve’s chutzpah, moxie savvy's panache, dexterously agile acuity.  Articulate coordinated excellence and prowess’s talented exceptional.  Objectified manifest's eidetic prospectus's invertible investiture's infinite possibilities perpetrate incorporeity ideology's perfectible ontology!   

Intrepid intuitive intrigue, mystical magical multifariously versatile nefarious nemesis.  Malfeasance evocative tout, execrating eventuation evocative expletives, executant tour de force entelechy's apotheosis.  Ne plus ultra irrefragable opulence, erudite illuminism numinous piquant poignancy.  Dynamic livid lurid vagile puissance.  Lucid orotund sonorous fecund resilience.  

Eloquent exuberance felicitous transcendent epiphany.  Nuance tactile audacious preternatural metaphysical clairvoyant imperative.  Augur quantum ominous avant-garde profundity, virulent vivid indomitably indefatigable cogent fatidic, quintessential deft.  Celerity innovative veracious metamorphic, adroit nimble avid austere. 

Fulgurous astute atman clever crafty rapacious sagacious.  Effulgent zealous fastuous temerity machismo enunciation diction, imperative repartee.  Exserted protuberance educement proclivities succinctly ostentatious.  Ardent arduous inductive adamant incursion ostensible hornswoggling swashbuckler!
oneiromancy's apotropaic!  Chicanery dynamism's fealties.
Cee Valenso Jun 2015
Captivating, conspicuously charming
A fragrance so enthralling
Bewitching the senses
Enticing the unfocused soul

Hypnotizing, hardly hypnagogic
Such unparalleled grace
A peculiar dancer
Coaxing the mind to perplexity

Anodyne, aberrant anesthesia
Resembling an ethereal angel
A touch appealing to tame flames
Surreptitiously gathering fuel

Sacrosanct, superficially sacred
Donned with deceptive modesty
An ambiguous spark
Threatening to begin a wildfire

Efflorescing, escaping encumbrance
Soon, a firm grasp on freedom
The freedom so prematurely served
Too early to be maximized

Incantations, whisper incantations
Silence the demented demons
An unconventional ritual
To fortify the continence
Ebbing continence
Another attempt made
Stall the impending debauchery
Enunciation is needed -
Esurience is never innate, but provoked
PK Wakefield May 2010
from between 2 somethings
arose a kind erosion
saying, "your you is a light lie crusting on the tongue of truth"
i could not
find a suitable
vocal enunciation to repeal
this tepid assertion
so i gave
him a measure of myself
laughing
Collaboration's implicit excitations explicate expectations
Unity's myriad augurs geomancy's indications
Demagoguery's ostensibly intuitive impetus coordinations
Extravagantly exorbitant panaceas appreciate exaggerations

Prolifically profuse profundity's autonomous gestations
Empirically emulate epistemology's exogamous creations
Intrigue's imperative promulgation's quantum fecundations  
Fealty's ephemeral enunciation's explicit complications

Hypercritically exponential prophylaxis protocol's interpretations
Sacrosanct unary's preternatural predilection's extrications
Eventuation's evocative illuminism avant garde's ostentations
Corrupt costume counselor's indicative explications

Assimilation's synthetic synthesis' ascensional implications
Ominous phenomenon portrayal detinue's integrations
Umbrage ultraism's penumbral platitude's objectifications
Futurity's spontaneous flamboyance's apotropaic expiations
Implicite implement implicate!!!
Zubair Hussaini Feb 2011
Dead on the inside
I can't conjure any inspiration
to lift my imagination
from this barren plain

Searching for stimulation
I've stumbled across enunciation
In those rare moments
when the torrent of my heart overflows

But now my chest is  lacking
since all the valleys and hills have been flattened.
In the mountains where my muse reposed
All that remains are empty paths of prose

So I'll write.
Where once I put pen to screen
to catch my screams
Now I'll clatter away to
Escape the doldrum of emotional boredom

— The End —