Hello weary star farer,

You have come a long way,
bumping through every asterism,
wondering if you would one day be
part of an art in the starry night sky.

I am but an old star with a dying heart,
plummeting to knave abyss.
As hope crashes down with me,
I come across you, oh weary star farer.

You took me to dance on the moons of Jupiter.
We sang our lungs out through the milky way.
Suddenly, all the other stars faded,
and giving up was overrated.

Your tired soul ignited mine,
giving birth to love so divine.
Rest now, oh weary star farer.
We are now home in each other's radiance.

"O where are you going?" said reader to rider,
"That valley is fatal when furnaces burn,
Yonder's the midden whose odors will madden,
That gap is the grave where the tall return."

"O do you imagine," said fearer to farer,
"That dusk will delay on your path to the pass,
Your diligent looking discover the lacking
Your footsteps feel from granite to grass?"

"O what was that bird," said horror to hearer,
"Did you see that shape in the twisted trees?
Behind you swiftly the figure comes softly,
The spot on your skin is a shocking disease?"

"Out of this house" ‚ said rider to reader,
"Yours never will" ‚ said farer to fearer,
"They're looking for you" ‚ said hearer to horror,
As he left them there, as he left them there.

A mariner on the ocean of the eternal,
Looking above the bow,
A panoramic view of the presentation of self,
Nautical boundaries and jurisdictions,
Inhabiting and found,
Consciousness of all,
Abound.

As I lie beneath the starlit sky,
Thoughts of you and I fill my mind.
Not knowing how or why,
We meet in this grand old starlit sky.

I cherish each text,
Delivered with love, humor and adoration;
The darkness that you feel is you,
Will, hopefully, fade into
The light, which I claim to be.

Never going nor coming,
This path feels uncertain,
And steps are shaky as untraveled paths are said to be.

Living in the moment
Of stillness and glimpses of grandeur from above,
It is all I see now.
Perhaps the stars will lead me home,
As they did not so long ago,
When seafarers roamed the ocean,
As I now, roam the earth beneath the starlit sky.
- By the soul farer! -

Greetings and salutations m'lady
Thou hast been absent and missed
Most notably thoust smile and
thine choired voice espousing deep longing and
opining of distant and never-presentness
despite opportunity and invitation.
Lulled into sleep by your gently warming coo,
flightless i remain.
Turn, I will again,
'gainst the mournful draw of your beckoning, and slip into
dream, once more.
Cool is the pillow upon which i rest my weary head,
restless is the mind inside.
Tumbled and tossed, like an ocean-dweller upon
crashing waves,
waiting to be heaved breathless
upon your shore.
The fire has been ignited,
flames dance brilliantly around me,
a barefoot saviour, pulling me through
the wet sand,
offering sweet coconut water
and reminding me to breathe.
Twinkle, twinkle million stars embedded in
desolate black woven fabric,
eyes make contact.
Blue-green ocean-farer with autumn-acorn islander.
Universe unravels, and sits aback
allowing truth and impromptu correlations
to take hold.
For this is the work of God!

In Rājagaha the Well-Farer lectured
On wisdom, concentration, morality…
The monks listened, devoutly, calmly,
To the message replete with practicality.

On to Ambaliṭṭikā they journeyed,
To Nālandā and Pāṭaligāma as well.
The Buddha continued to spread the Dhamma--
Or teachings--at which he was known to excel.

After passing over the Ganges,
To Koṭigāma they made their way.
The Buddha repeated the Four Noble Truths
That still guide many people today.

At Nādikā the Teacher referred to the Mirror
Of Dhamma and said to always begin
By looking first at yourself to discover
The truth that lies deep within.

On to Vesālī the ascetics wandered,
Where their Master continued to share
The power and value of mindful living--
The importance of being clearly aware.

During the rains the Awakened One rested
In Beluva, where he postponed his trek.
While staying there he grew ill, but he knew
It was NOT his time, so it kept it in check.

"Live as islands," he said to Ānanda,
"With truth as a refuge. And grasp not, for I
Have always told you that all things dear to us--
Whatever is born--eventually will die."

After the rains, the group traveled
To the Great Forest--to the Gabled Hall,
And the Buddha repeated the Eightfold Path--
A message of wisdom pertaining to all.

Bhoganagara was their next stop,
And then to Pāvā the wayfarers did go.
Their host, Cunda, served "pig's delight."
The Buddha grew ill. Why? We don't know.

Despite his illness, he continued
To Kusinārā and lay down to rest.
Music sounded and flowers fell
From the sky to honor the One-Who-Is-Blessed.

"The Dhamma will now be your teacher.
Strive on untiringly. My time has passed."
After entering deep concentration
The Great One died. Those words were his last.

Thunder sounded and the ground shook--
As it does when any great teacher "goes to sleep."
The Buddha is Dhamma; the Dhamma is the Buddha.
Because of that there's no reason to weep.

The compassionate Buddha's Teachings have spread
For over two thousand five hundred years.
His Message of living in wisdom and compassion
And loving mindfulness perseveres.

- by Bob B

*** står foran ham finere end nogensinde  
Hendes hud er bogstavlig talt silke, i en nuance af hudfarve han ikke har set før,
Glinsende silke med øjne og mund
Og frodige bryster, der pludselige ligner puder
Øjnene og munden smelten sammen lige foran ham og danner et kridhvidt kors
Hånlige grin larmer i hans ører og luften bliver udefinerbart tynd
Han ved det er hende, men en ondskab farer op i ham som om han var fanden selv
Grinet forlader hendes krop og svæver som uendelige gebisser om hans hoved
Langt væk kan han tyde hendes stemme der beder ham om at slappe af og komme til sig selv
Men, han lader sig ej snydes og er nu helt overbevist om det ikke er hende
Knytnæver markerer hendes krop og *** er ikke længere af silke
*** er blod og kød der snart ikke er til at samle
Pludselig er der et helt publikum omkring ham der studerer hans akt nøje,
de skuer til hinanden mens de ryster på hovederne
Tårerne har overbemandet ham og i kampens hede bliver der uendeligt stille
*** er ikke til at se nogen steder

Tårerne falder og maler gulvet sort
ligesom den blanke kaffe jeg spejler mig i.
Jeg ser din månehvide hud
alt imens natkanonen sender toner blå,
af melankoli gennem mine årer og bider sig
fast
på min krogede rygsøjle og
jeg kan mærke mine lunger.
Synet af dig skærer i mine blå øjne
Jeg tænker tilbage på tiden med dådyrøjne og cashmerehjerter.
Nu har vi kun reptilblikke og vinylindre.
Omridset af dit ansigt
har jeg glemt
og jeg famler hjælpeløs i tågen for at
nå dine krystalgrå hænder
med farer for
at blive spist af
fortrængelsen.
Åh. Jeg husker din pastelhud og dine øjne som
lilla ferskner.
Duften var som jorden selv.
Du smagte af knuste drømme og hypotetiske realiteter.
Jeg tænker på dig,
så stille som en marts nat.
Du er så smuk
Især når du er stille.
'Men hvad ved jeg også om det?'
Platonisk kærlighed.
Jeg har allerede fortrudt min tanke
og ønsket om at vende om,
sætter sig som glasskår i mine øjne.
Måske er du noget jeg har fundet på?
Mine kinder bløder og stjernerne danser røde og blå.
Lysår væk.

Dying to be born/ by me...such longing, unbearable bonding you seek yet none to be had!!! Miserably happy, intensively sad!
A freak to be alive. All motivational gatherer's gather to one drum, where day meets thy sun in snow tatted sty's. Where the wind gets heavy, your souls longing stays abliged...
The weathering of rainbow colors comes politely to what one shall meet, these beings seen as if actors, not your typical doctors and lawyers. These cuddled ways not your atypical streets! Soo/many Starer's, none farer than that blossoming I miss the most! Is it Me or they who have gone over trotted? I guess its all I suppose...
The smallest things to make man appreciate what he had, the child born to his fatherless widow, or unpopulaters from the trended fad!
What a loss we all were when it came to finding our other half's, when light meets the darkness, between thine good and thy bad!!!!

Surely man cometh to his senses, from iron bars and stressful fences to keep him on tight line,
Wherein brother's act against mother's, to be left behind as societie's slime!!

Gospel's lost to the calliburs blast heat shot,
Wherein projectile gets sprayed,
As graffiti to a page,
Where iron creases,
The fold and eggs boil the kitchenette's ***!!!

All things off limit at this time thou falsely accused criminal!!

Thief between the gypsies!!

What a constitutional laugh in we all shall have,
Mother and dad,
Positively these longing souls stay wistful!!!

Polio like feelings are popular focus,
Where the green is all smokeless,
Wherein alarms do not exist!!!

One for thy lungs,
Two for two trips!!

Oatmeal cookie cakes sweetened to sweaty pie night!!
Terrors are farer ,
Gatherer's are darer's to amtrack train polite!!!!!

The whole of my efforts have been,
as they say,
for the bush outside my house.

For whom are you strobing?
In tiny white and yellow flowers,
there, then gone, and then there again.

Whose bud refuse no way farer,
hermit  bees meander,
suckle, and depart in good conscience.

This is for all the ones I used to adore,
the ladies who left before we could explore
a love I have long since lost access to.

This is for each heartbreak that cracked
the beating bit of fabricated flesh that is
not supposed to be damaged like this.

The little red head, the blonde one,
the childhood friend who moved on before,
I realized that we were two coins
floating on the same side in this sad life.

This is for the little boy’s broken dreams,
all those starlight space farer’s fast schemes
of far off fantasies with romantic space queens.

This is for the last chance solo dance
as I face the place where I live alone,
preparing to die in a home
were my hideaway heart stays
because it is tired of trying to play a part
in this human race.

so... ah ha ha ha...
what's the difference
between,
performing

                        oral ***
on a *******'s ******,
eating a heterosexual
"version" of an oyster...
and then...
   catching
Berlin's trans-
            -ex- "usual"...
   eat a watermelon?
you... you're seriously
going to call that
"fiddly bits"...
  originating from...
oh... right...
   bread & wine...
doesn't really begin
to cut it, for the church
attendence...
   sure... soak enough
bread in wine...
   it's still not going
to end up,
as crisp as a watermelon
and...
   all the minus worth
of giggles...
now,
i did think the channel
contra points was
weird,
when discussing incels...
but... this current stuff?
hector dejean...
i like art,
esp. when it's ******
inhabited...
   like... moving beyond
the danish girl
sort of canvas...
       yeah... oral ***
and eating fruit...
  if a phallus is a banana...
what's the best replica
of a ******?
ah... trick question...
if it's not a watermelon...
it can only be an oyster...
get the "paradox"?
sure, rhythm section
on the drums,
the guitar,
   and the hushed bass guitar
of a metallica track...
much more visible,
     when revised...
bass was there,
before the tragic death
of the original bass-player...
i'd love to visit berlin
though...
   trans-
     and... whatever "gender"
is...
          like:
people remember what
punk was all about?
   really?
                   i thought that
green day perfected
the approx. 30 minute LP
     extension, model...

point being...
  you can watch
the vinyl, spin...
   and...
   whatever EP you're
listening to,
a 35 minute side
finishes as much as
a 40 minute side on
the silence ripple
                         end...

                    me?
  i like to imagine
literature...
   in the Islamic world...
around 1955...
and the city of Tangier...
having "invited" itself
from h'america...

         i just can't forge
a reminder of h'american
literature,
   within the confines
              of östlichberlin...
i know the story
of westernberlin:
        an ****** epidemic...

and ****** is not
synonymous to opioid...
                  savvy?

Mongols in Warsaw...
pollack tongue
on the signs
    with Ukranian...
Ukranian smugglers
in the western-bus-station...

remind me though...
  a simple banana will
do for nuance
in gratifying a man...
what sea-farer is
to be made equivalent
to a banana?

    oral...
      testimony... mouth...
to genital interaction...
  last time i heard...
it was either full gob
and slurp and oily face
when bustring on the scene
of orange or other citrus
fruit...
    subtle variation
when it came to
ingesting an oyster...
    or nibbling
             on a watermelon...

well... we're talking
about, "the forbidden fruit"...
given that men were
circumcised in this
nomadic religion...
   and *******
was deemed taboo...
        because, why would you?
if you have been
circumcised,
yeah... ******* would
be kinda pointless...
well then...
  what if the metaphor of
Eden...
of the "forbidden fruit"
is actually associated
with performing oral ***?

what then?
      every time i ate a *****
i was thinking along
the lines of... oyster...
          orange, watermelon...
   given the ingenius
naivety of hebrew poetics...
i'm giggling...
   because i do think
that the, "forbidden fruit"
of Eden,
was...
     how casual eating out
***** is...
      hell...
a woman performs
     *******:
          a skyscraper is erected...

covert metaphor
is the standard base for verb...
esp. if it is
         overtly-nuanced:
                           niqab-stressed.