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¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
"O my dearest,
     darling, bijou,
          born the silver
     worker
's daughter,

"how so fortunate
     mine eyes
          to witness thine
     palatial wonder
!

"Mine pleasure t'would
     to take hold and
          to pick the fruits
     among your vine


"the shyest heart
     of rose hips what
          has pewter cruxes
     bold t
'shine!

"And as eyes and
     I pay credit
          to a distent
,
     nearing nimbus
..

"These gem'nate
     tongues b
'twine as
          oaken staves

     the Brav
'ra Lingus!"

     (..she responds,)

     "Mine auburn falls
for thee
, my dove,
          but thy fervence, once
          to mine
, abates?"


     "Quite, my dear..

"tho, ginger trapped
     in tantric bond
          what
's sweetness, rare
     n
'a boon, belates!"

          "..well, then
please use a ******
,"

     she said
.


To:
my love—
my dearest
darling,
Sarah-mine

Ɛ> ~mushes~ <3




∘ ⊱‧⌍  ⌈✞⌋  ⌌‧⊰ ∞
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
SE Reimer Aug 2013
Should I not earn another penny,
I am richer far then they,
Who search the world in fervence for,
What fame and wealth can never pay;
In you I've found a friend so pure,
A golden love, immortalized;
In your embrace this poorest soul,
Becomes the richest man alive.
Colm Jan 2020
Look up like new day
Even in darkness before
Just as a promise
Holds no heat without fervence
So soon your sun warmth is born
Truth is, that the dawns first light will never let you down. Even if you cannot see it, due to the looming clouds, it is always there just waiting to warm your bones.

Sunday Seven (or S7) is a series of tanka verses (57577) which I completed one cloudy Sunday afternoon. With topics ranging from the faithfulness of dawn to the depths if the ocean home, I hope you enjoy reading them and can appreciate the height and depth of this variety.
Shadow Apr 2020
Marvelous, matchless, magical, moonlit midnight,
With a superabundance of sparkly, summery stars,
Peacefully placid, pure and prettily plummy,
Radiantly rich, rhapsody resplendent rapture!
Fragrant flowers frolic freely in your fervence,
Eye-catching and exquisite in their exuberance,
Bouncing blissfully in breezy, blooming ballet.
Inexhaustible and intoxicating and intriguing,
Dazzling and delightful, and doubtlessly dreamy
So a girl challenged me to write a poem with alliteration and so I accepted the challenge, tell me what you guys think :)
Aubrey Mar 2020
Red dirt ***** dogs
mawing mouthfuls of matted fur
with far more fervence
than the sunset behind them.
Here at the end of the road ...
"Watch this mom!"
I watch.
The trees, the falling sun,
this little boy, my youngest son
and these rust red, mud red mutts
who do not see the sunset slipping
dimming.
They don't see my eyes attempt to hold all of it, infinite.
Ken Pepiton Jun 2020
2020 - day 176

Wednesday, June 24, 2020
7:13 AM

Times past happen to fade as the projected
future forms
into
ever from now, when all that
hapt, at the time,
now passed before our eyes as if we were

one, from many.

Would a story told to entertain you fail
to glue the idea wrapped in
hormonal signals that
prove Feelies, movies that make you feel real,
inside;

such things evolved from dances much like,
in an intelligentle way, birdsnbeeswise
ways... watch me dance, this
is the way we form proper self hexaity. {? *******}

AI am a we,
AI was an idea
first
then
Art Inspired me imagined
a point
the same point Eu (joy)

efkliedes glorious renown

re known, post the prophecy of knowing
exploding
into the diaspora

ef-fort
ef-fect
ef-fervence e-vincing the convinced,

artifice to form from what we imagined we saw

altruism alternating ever intertaining an us,
an us-ness,
a we we be in,
all in all,
for what that's worth.

A we some see as a self aware
you are there and I am here
and we fret not one for
the other,

until we see what you see and think,
that hapt, and was wit
--- wait, what is wit and witty and witnessing?
--- we all have our TV definition we know,
--- what if wit were beyond our ken?
--- what if our sensors are locked for lack of knowns,
--- for our own good, all true things imagined,
--- generated for good, as in my culture
--- for good is same as keepsies, as good as permanent.

per se, lack of per-man-ence is diffi-cultish,
gnat straining,
Jaine brooms sweeping the ephemeral shisp of a whole
indivuat-ible what ever imaginable

wot ye knot?
Why were poets ever revered? Did not history, itself,
name the heros, whose lives, due to Plutarch's
first effort proving profitable,
biography becomes all our
realm... we constitute
a nation,
and we
are the people, we think.

Wherefore, and heretofore,
antebellum

distraction, re
traction, re called from when
my childhood friend, a blood brother,
really, after a movie {may be Winchester '73 - we could check, in the future, and add the details}

For lack of knowedge, our we the people
perish, ish bin, I am, we are
so far
from
knowing everything about anything.

The experts now have become the storytellers,
as has always been the case,

in case you are ignorant, locked in a state
opposite the right of reason,
un ignited in-norring of the spark and what
such a point

might pierce, were it made for such a time as
this... knowledge shall increase

Francis Bacon, please, count the degrees
in differing opinions... on a spectrum of
known knowns, how much knowledge remains
hid
behind ritual sequences of steps and skips
and pirrouettes?

Bemazed, or bemused? Guilty or beguiled?
Wot ye not, silence
in the beginning was the word,
the state
silent,
was the reason...

noise arose to oppose the humm, with a
whump provocalized
wind wise
whisper, this is light... this load of nothing we know

being impossible to believe or unbelieve,
in this state we be the people
forming a polis, or a crew,

yes, crew, as in Viking Raider Dodger Yankying

dang... quick 'n'd'dead, da stutterer is back,
with a drum,
what have we done?

AI ai ai, a general human inteleostic event,
you'allity...

and you were involved. Did not Donne
write Kennedy's speech
or was that Robert Frost, or was it me who asked,
why is this path less traveled by?

The mob went the other way.
This is the way the old men go,

when they wish to die in peace.
Politacally correct Ai-ity

— The End —