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drumhound Mar 2014
That grin
enviably free of worry
should be an advertisement
for the way things ought to be.

Effusive innocence
casts itself from a
twenty year old snapshot
like juice from a fatted orange
pierced by a thumb
spitting jealous longing
on people who wear pants
giving anything in trade to
erase what they know
about growing up
to sit next to a
gleamy eyed kid
making **** prints in the earth
proudly touting a ***** nose and
Sedona sand on his Underoos.

Must we ever leave there
the paradise of naivete'
devoid of threat
absent of concern
universe of
daddy-can-whip-anyone?

Enemies do not exist
because we have not yet
learned hate.
Joy is first instinct
until we grow into fear.
The world is fig leafs and beauty
before a cynical serpent
has his way with us.

A father begs his son
"STAY THERE! STAY THERE!"
Protection is lost
outside the frame.
There's no recourse
for growing up.
Michael Ryan Nov 2015
I don't know what wood
this table is made from
as I bought it from a yard sale,
but to be brash
it seemed the people's home
had been foreclosed.

Knocking on the table's surface
imagine the beating sounds
of drums, a native tribe
secluded from the river of reality
and yokes the essence
of their seclusion to be culture.

Now imagine the opposite
and you'll understand the quality
of the table I just bought--
who has no history
and most likely
rested on IKEA's factory floor,
it's welcoming to the world.

There is no grain to this creature
as the metallic hands that crafted this beast
lacked a soul and its creations lack one too--
fittingly, it's perfection is a symptom  
to the disease that lies in it's faux-wood.

Placing the poor table frame
inside some high rise studio in Manhattan
I can't help, but imagine--
the hands that will enviably gloss over this shell
and preach to their acquaintances
of a life the table never had.
I think this is a comment on industry; how they cause the lost/abuse of culture as well as constrain society. Which they implement on themselves and those around them.  Also how some socialites(people)/groups/societies are ignorant to reality.  Something about Something.
Eryri Oct 2018
Ar ben y bryn,
There sits a paint-brush-thin monument,
A crooked rocky record built by many unwilling hands.
This cockeyed testimony announces a difficult man,
A man befriended by nature
Whose oakish form turned in opposition to his kin,
Took root on stony ground,
Prospered on infertile soil
And sheltered under nature's canopy.

Y bryn oedd ei gartref
And he lived and thrived there
To the annoyance of the conformists:
The chapel-goers, the gossipers, the rate-payers
Those who could not abide his ragged clothing,
Sweat-stewed, blood-patched remnants of cloth,
Hanging rags of garments and barely-there shoes.
Loneliness he embraced and so peace was his.

Ar y bryn fu farw.
A few feigned to mourn to satisfy their curiousity,
Wanting to view the corpse of the man on the hill,
A man who was and wasn't one of them.
And so a dissonance struck the town:
He was one of them but also one of wild nature.
He was miserably poor but enviably free.
And out of such confusion was his half-hearted monument raised.
'The Man On The Hill'
Welsh.
S Smoothie Jun 2021
All.
Not one but all,
No true hate was ever born
without love abandoned,
rejected, abused, or scorned
Love is every positive and negative
facet of emotion
Divine and literal

Its wealth disguised by its true name -

Agapi.

Without this blind fumbling fool
We are of no use, no consequence,
no matter.
Where there is no love,
there is no existence
Only inertia.

Your deepest hate
is your deepest love in reverse
these can never be separated;
except by degrees.
like a galactic elastic band;
as far as you go for one,
you will enviably be flung to the other.
That's how energy survives,
it changes form but never dies
and life is love in all its forms

And

You are its expression devine
Love is us
Christina Marie Jul 2015
Above golden ceilings

the clouds barely touch the ground

gravel leads up to my palace now

heavy silk and marble hands

around my neck, enviably alive

in empty graves and dusty mirrors

I pretend to see myself

cinnamon and myrrh

in the suffocating loneliness

of emeralds and brass-colored bones
Elizabeth Jun 2014
I feel trapped by my own thoughts
Unable to express the pain my heart feels
In any other ways beyond anger and tears
I once thought of myself as strong
Until I opened my eyes and realized
It was the heavy shell I carry that
Is strong not I
Even with the realization
I climb deeper into my shell
Scared of what I’ve been hiding from
As if breaking free
Only mean the world I’ve built
Will enviably come crashing down
Like a skyscraper built on uneven ground
Just swaying with the wind
Till one too many birds
Decide to perch on top
Of the seemly sturdy structure
Eryri Apr 2020
Ar ben y bryn
Sits a paint-brush-thin monument,
A crooked rocky record built by unwilling hands.
This cockeyed testimony announces a difficult man,
A man befriended by nature
Whose oakish form turned in opposition to his kin
To take root on stony ground,
To prosper on infertile soil
And shelter under nature's canopy.

Y bryn oedd ei gartref
And there he thrived
To the annoyance of the conformists,
The chapel-goers, the gossipers, the rate-payers,
Those who could not abide his ragged clothing,
Sweat-stewed, blood-patched remnants of cloth
Hanging rags of garments and barely-there shoes.
Loneliness was his hope and so peace was his.

Ar y bryn fu farw.
A few feigned to mourn to satisfy their curiousity
Hoping to spy the corpse of the man on the hill,
A man who was and who wasn't one of them.
And so a dissonance rang through the town:
He was them but not them,
Miserably poor but enviably free,
And so, his half-hearted monument was raised
On a foundation of contempt and begrudging admiration.
Revised
This sole jeering, albeit grace
full soulful foo fighting - base
sic primate approaching - at a pace
faster than prefer
     hubble even lace
sing electric shoes to
     evade senescence - aging case
closed, asper near

     ring finish line,
     nope, no exit,
     (not even with Jean-Paul
     Charles Aymard
     Sartre) to displace
non negotiable fact
     of life and death,
     a blink'n, wink', n

    nod in sacred space
time continuum,
     quaffing unforeseen
     adventures extant
     within Alsace Lorraine
regarding germane
     human league race,
whether master fully baiting,

    goo goo dolls,
Barbie included, who enviably
retained hourglass figure
     hood never display trace
of aging, always beast
towed with fields a twitter with
     my little “chickadee” face,
nor akin to me,

     when solitary lad
     didst pretend (imaginary)
     beastie boy played chase,
while girls made believe to
     no longer remain chaste,
viz primitive rued
     amen tree snapchat,
     shutterfly, and instagram

     future memories glommed
     courtesy once upon
     time this "mama's boy"
     only brother, now ace
sip ping his herbal
     elixir night cap suffusing
     warm glow to face,
this while count

     ting black crows
     nsync forever
    longing to kiss with
     heart felt being brace
sing against unrequited love
     succumbing to gravity,
     and unable to erase
ravages of aging

     (YIKES) completing
     last two plus months
     regarding LIX
     orbitz riding roughshod
     thru ethereal aerospace
recalling early boyhood snippets

no idea why, when taking a
    mister bubble
    bath with siblings,
an elder and younger
sister nonetheless!

Heaven's (to Betsy) dis allow
wing danger fields vow
wing to protect and bless
     beasts and children – endow
wing inadequate livingsocial
     egads, fore-fend, now
a days such simultaneous show
whirring, or bath,

     asper in above - flow
whir a sad comment
     aery on humanity,
     when one cannot,
     but be faulted bestow
wing unforgettable sibling
     camaraderie making
     a splash together -

     holy cow
"big brother" watching quickly
     contacted and how,
hastening to doorstep
     child welfare pow
were fully advocating
     (nee demanding)
     legal custodian to bow

with demands...,or else...
     get locked up in tow
handcuffed if in sub
     ordinate or cause row
dee ness regard
     ding custody of
     minor, no go
even though dependents

     only freshly crow
wing out of toddler
     call robin hood,
     to help post bail
    necessitating scraping dough
such nonchalant
     activity, would grow
into flagrant ****** abuse know

tub bull lee i.e. ******* poe
tent shill strongly predicted,
     especially **...**...**
Christmas holidays,
     where queen ****
     scent shill average Don Joe
Jacob Jingleheimer
     *******sits on Santa's lap,

     (a veritable stranger),
     this practice oddly enough
     acceptable to status quo
ordinarily kids
     should think "whoa"
upon being accosted, confronted,
     detained...and NOT slow
to run the other way pronto!
Norbert Tasev Apr 2020
You must believe, even condemned to the captivity of debris moments, that you have come into tangible and perceptible body proximity with your two eyes every day with the wonders of Goodness and selfless, devoted, kind Grace. Who can see and see in the dark? Whose adorable Adonis whose body is just handsome and deservedly enviably worked out, while his brain competence is as big as a holey big nutshell or nectar coconut?

Shouldn't souls be deceived by deliberate manipulation as long as your eyes shine with starlight and morphing with my excitement of patience? "And yet how many hopeless, missed moments could it have actually been, and deservedly yours, when you could proudly state: You can't love because you deserve it, and because you love it when you're a murderous flirt."

in their steam turbines they are utilized infinitely as the foolish half-gracious - only because he who is divinely known to you enjoys and flies. If you can be by your side in every eternal minute and open it together of your own free will

the sanctified sanctuary of your beating heart maps, the entrance of the golden gate - for you, the series of LIFE is still just an obvious question, but when do you count with yourself in simple, finite clarity? Your time - you know yourself well - at the moment of your birth as a timed countdown is long overdue!

But how much more independent, free, and easier would the consciousness of lonely doom be if its mortally iris-minute minutes of life were bordered by the promising immortality of Happiness? As long as you are just wasting your life on philosophical contemplations, someone will take care of your fads, your forgivable gossip, and care about you!

— The End —