"heretofore" poems
Basketball stands for war or battle.
That's why I think about the players'
personalities, in my foxhole or squad.
Danny and Ben are fast and smart. Dan
especially can pass making him master
and commander. To defeat them as we did
is pst satisfying. Ben's five year old son
disdains to answer my question
Why are you you?
But I'm not here
to catalogue the men's personalities.
I like them. But each of us has moved on
many times, when ___________ suddenly died
the games went on with hardly a mention
and his name has since been forgotten.
But even this, absolute mortality
of not just our bodies but our names
and souls is not what I came
to talk about. Yesterday, between games,
I asked Joe how Molly his daughter likes
the high school. He mounted an impassioned
defense of reading as the indispensable skill
when I suggested math, the scientific method
and history are essential too.
Also between games
Bob diffidently asked why my kids are bald.
I was moved by the care he took to satisfy
his curiosity, concerned the subject might be
difficult. He's a political science teacher so
I took the opportunity to ask What ails
the republic? Of course I answered myself
wanting mostly to hear myself talk about Iraq
and how empire is self-correcting. For once I was amusing
I thought, treating the subject with a light touch
heretofore lacking.
But none of this is what I came to say.
A new guy, long quick and strong, a
bulldozer under the boards with a good
outside shot if needed got into a dispute
with the other Bob who likes to tell people
what to do sometimes, about an offensive
foul Bob called which we almost never do.
The new guy said If you can't take it don't
play under the boards which is what I say
when I'm ****** and don't give a ****
Bob said You've been pushing and shoving me
all day. I said He doesn't want to be
pushed and shoved which got a wry
smile out of Danny as I put the ball in play.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
*erstwhile a halcyon extant universe incessantly ceaseless
cradled itself in hues of violet phosphorescence
laced with cobalt shimmering stars
perpetually whole it nonetheless
sought to know itself
encompassing all that is bubbling over in effervescent ebullience
intertwined with indescribable catastrophic splendor
it shattered into tens of millions of splinters
of eloquent efflorescent light
shining in the night
each splinter heretofore imbued with sempiternal felicity
began to conjure sumptuous dulcet elixirs
furtively seeking out savory emollients
to mollify the pique of separation
plummeting they fell
into monstrous competition seeking demesne they lost the purpose
of gaining awareness and intelligent consciousness
surreptitious estrangement overflowed
deluging them in excruciating agony
thus an epiphany was born
the carving of the beleaguered fragments inked with tremendous pain
created a transfiguration of splinters to crystals
hence enlightenment commenced as the gems
magnetized together constructing a world
where omnipotence shines
the ineffable beauty formed by the reintegration of crystals
far exceeds the original as they dazzle with universal light
bursting from diamonds etched in deep wisdom
flooding the firmament with kaleidoscopic
rainbow strobes cascading the sky
©2016janetaylor
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 1:23 PM UTC
Ignorances innate wove curtain of veils
Cut usunder heretofore obscuring
Bodhicittas valedictory wintry gloom torn
Of enlightenments will factioning the
Silenced mammonish city kingdom truced
As the wings of Azrael clinch
Earthly thistles; monolithic raiments
Deposed Hull, Hell and Halifax parcae
The willowing of light unfettering Fenrirs
Durance, howling aconite psalms suspiring
Suffrage relict paving with mewed stars
Redemptions tithed talents bequeathed
Of Heavens sinister prayer burning
Acinta dusts thine ashes threading
The wilful sword of Gods destruction.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 8:44 AM UTC
i.
heretofore bygone week's
Tis I was layden in mine outgoing's;
Incapacitated, mine feet's step's unknowing.
ii.
Dolor rolled as Boulder's
Down mine emptied innard's;
Jinn filled with hate and sin, tooketh over.
iii.
They tried to possesseth me
And diluteth me by their fear's;
They scratched, and bit, all didst spit
Yet mien reine reigned in by chariot flares.
iv.
Mount Mayon, in southern Luzon
Volcanoe's surround her citadel;
She snatched me from the barbarian's
In heaven, whence in hell.
v.
Manila in the concentrate
Between the thickness of it all;
Is where mine rose, her face didst gloweth
Her virtue's were one, of the prophet's and high law.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane dedication/Reyna/hari/soulmates
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 5:01 AM UTC
"And the older I get, the more I'm sure
That more by itself never was a cure
Some days I've got nothing to show for except
Walking the dog and walking the floor"
Mary Chapin Carpenter
<><><>
*it's been twenty years plus
who can remember exact,
the last time I had a full-time four-legged
companion to share my bed, greet my head with
wagging tail, and joy incessantly, overflowing and drowning me
with face lickings and hugs of a topsy turvy twisty body,
and smiles and curdling yowls of deep throated
cries of obvious joy and the
first thing I'll do when the nectar of next
life's staging begins to commence will be me to get
such a dog as heretofore I remember as an unadulterated purest joy,
I'll still walk the floor,
long walks, yup, outdoors, early morn,
and late afternoon day settling setting endings,
dog and me, freshly bathed, settling in to watch
some British crime and ****** mysteries sleuthed and
solved by folks I'll never meet, but whose company enjoyed
over the distance of an atlantic sea and about seven feet,
and maybe dog curls up next to me, by my pillowed
head, or between my happy to snuggle legs,
don't matter much, dog & me,
will discuss an alternating
rotation satisfying our
mutuality,
and even when I still walk the floor, which be a task for evermore,
he can walk beside me if he chooses, cause choice is
what's it all about*
with a true companion
nml
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC
There's no sullying its consternation of him in her,
her in him.
A downy black of exquisite precaution...pops its
ruffled heretofore and floats.
As if a night cocked back its neck to calculate the
trauma, longingly poised as a swivel of mottled
blood.
The black swan's eyes fork some bygone coruscation
to their very top...as if in the throes of demonic rapture.
Whereby reality's moments of lucidity seem to catch
frozen frames in want of editing.
Thereupon...as there it is, as there it goes...the black
swan subsumes, wears the guise of regal unnaturalness.
A betokened freak loosed...loosed...so...softly, at
maximum indifference...O black swan.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 10:16 AM UTC
Ach so! thou much-praised and lauded Milwaukee,
Thou delightful Wisconsin Stadt of boundless pulchritude,
Verily hath History endowed thy blessed name
With the noisomely beery breath of immortality!
And thank the benign Almighty in highest Heav’n
That thy delectable streets and arboreal squares
Doth remain heretofore untouched by unseemly civic strife,
Despite thy renown as veritable midwife to Sewer Socialism!
Yet, tear-inducing recollections have I of this dwelling-place
And herewith followeth heart-rending remembrances
Of what transpired when I inveigled a plump young Mädchen there
For a brief sojourn of untrammelled concupiscence.
Alas, alack, after gorging her impetuous appetites
On a gargantuan repast of mitteleuropäische delicacies,
Methinks her poor heart gave up survival’s uneven battle
And, warbling a soft piffero-reminiscent sigh, she expired.
‘Twas too tragic thus to depart this happy welkin in mid-prandials,
Emitting a final flatus, sweet adieu, from her rearmost aperture,
Leaving me, her poor forlorn swain, bereft and solitary,
Faced with mine host’s request for instant monetary rendition.
From that naughty place of my bereavement fled I,
Clutching to my ***** the contents of her silken purse,
Determined to partake in untrammelled ***** licence elsewhere,
Ere the chanticleer’s dawn croak wake the inebriated citizens.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 12:21 PM UTC
~
Rigel
*Art thou
Thy soul
Of souls
Reaching
O to thee?
Or that
Celestial
Tide thus
Brimming
So, most
Delightful
Beams o'er
Me?*
~
Sirius
*O, Yes!
My Bride-to-be,
Spinning fiercely
Like a dervish in
This galaxy!*
~
Rigel
*My flames! My core!
Held together by my
Own attractiveness, I
Assure, I need not thee
Tis myself I do adore!
Fantastic mysteries
I keep thus pure!
Woo me to Love?
You seem assured
Of your Self as well!
But you must make
Haste to hence take
This, my body, O!
Heretofore to meld.*
~
Sirius
*My lust forsaken
Broken, taken!
See how hot
These fires
Thus burn,
All my Love
To you I turn!*
~
Rigel
*Be gone!
Be gone!
My Love
Must be earned.*
~
Sirius
*O what woe!
Woebegone
And melancholy!
Ease my malady,
Be my Lady!*
~
Rigel
*Perhaps one day
I shall, but as of
Now, I turn
Thee away.*
~
Sirius
*I shall do
My utmost
To burn
So close
Today
Tomorrow
So perhaps
Someday
It will be so.*
~
Rigel silently
*Sigh, you
Persistent thing;
I wish to cradle
You, soon too.*
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 4:31 PM UTC
Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which is my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
Wilt thou forgive that sin by which I have won
Others to sin? and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
Swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now and heretofore;
And, having done that, thou hast done,
I fear no more.
2.3k
“Quite a piece this doesn’t come along every day”He was tapped into her forever mores or heretofore reservoirs of passion.The creme de la creme her pursed mouth prim. She couldn’t wait to lick him higher watering his rim. But after he breaststroked with her he has taken a bite fresh ****** fruit she broke. He spends all his time extolling her virtues, what’s left the first virtue ****** painting feast. For his eyes *** all day. Planting her nest.Lay Lady lay. He made this avocado melting pot-her fondue smelling hot what’s next to pursue such charm. His ears pierced like a fire alarm. blazing the fireplace. Her blush deepened like she was diced. To the ******** Asking for so much more.You were wearing your erotically to die for **** me shoes.He was the Hollywood ******* I was going to *** crave you knock you down.
Like the colonel of **** mustard spicy so **** hot.His hair deep brown. He lengthened got bigger what a shot. How the carpet just spread me to bounce my buttocks.She tried so hard to lay everything out from his bowl his manly sword like a dual. He steamed out like Maddocks Taurus bedroom eyes of the bull. So much to roll her feet heated so penetrated him to the floor.The rain was heavy and thick dripping with your creamy avocado puddle
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:08 AM UTC
The twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah, would that this might be the last!
My Mary!
Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow--
'Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary!
Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disus'd, and shine no more,
My Mary!
For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary!
But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads with magic art
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!
Thy indistinct expressions seem
Like language utter'd in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary!
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light,
My Mary!
For, could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see?
The sun would rise in vain for me,
My Mary!
Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently press'd, press gently mine,
My Mary!
Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st,
That now at ev'ry step thou mov'st
Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st,
My Mary!
And still to love, though press'd with ill,
In wintry age to feel no chill,
My Mary!
But ah! by constant heed I know,
How oft the sadness that I show
Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe,
My Mary!
And should my future lot be cast
With much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Mary!
2k
Ah magnificence
how temperament will change
the world at large
for they'd abandon these cages
as force fields now presume
their quadrants in June
and search for those left decides
these pastures albeit unknown
while green meadows I've forebode
managing lifestyle as abridged
heretofore these days of being heard
that altogether here's my play
where inflation surely wield
as weird alienation might sprout
importunate places likeness kin
and then shoot gorilla not extinct
these dawns upon gatekeeper
meld, have brought Milwaukee Instagram
with certain flair now upstream
in these gardens is reform!
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 6:27 AM UTC
I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements and an angelic sprite,
But black sin hath betray'd to endless night
My world's both parts, and oh both parts must die.
You which beyond that heaven which was most high
Have found new spheres, and of new lands can write,
Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might
Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,
Or wash it, if it must be drown'd no more.
But oh it must be burnt; alas the fire
Of lust and envy have burnt it heretofore,
And made it fouler; let their flames retire,
And burn me O Lord, with a fiery zeal
Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal.
1.8k
Ah yes,
fresh starts,
like
fresh white sheets meeting
fresh black newspapers,
doomed to the inevitability,
groomed for the probability,
that their intersection
will be
newsprint contamination,
a black and white
condemnation,
So, a clarification:
this poem,
just like this moment,
a black and white surrogation,
a seventh day progeny
a sabbath moment,
must and will
and by definition,
be explained as an
interlocutory.^
fated to be
jubilee ended,
a pre and post
sabbatical
of but a
minute,
by law and custom,
destined to go up
in a smoking trinity of
white flame,
red wine,
and a cloud of
myrrh and salt incense.
Sigh with me.
Join in and
inhabit my eyes,
enjoy the unsullied
white blanket
of fresh snow
that humanizes my insights,
and for this moment,
share my peace,
my unedged relief that
the levees have broken
and I am awash in
waves of drifted snowflakes composed
of salt sanctified water
I may be thin and
clarified,
but my visions are still
less than limitless,
my sabbath poems
are but
momentary evaporated residuals of melted snowflakes, heretofore, salty tears, that become
rivers
that become
oceans,
upon which no
Poet-Envisionary
can truly walk,
see his tomorrows,
or even,
especially even,
his past days,
with perfect
clarity
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
~
**it is a poignant thought...
that in this life
we often know more of a thing
by its absence
than by its presence;
that we do not know,
yes,
truly know…
love,
in all
its ins,
its outs
until life
ends…**
for they who pass over yet for they who remain
to the other side, on this other side,
love to them becomes love to them becomes
a love transforming a love of mourning
an all-surrounding, an all-surrounding,
unconditional, pained condition,
a love ever-warming a love ever-wanting
and more perfectly and more palpably,
touchable, immutable, touchable, immutable,
and in its presence is and in its absence is
more contentment more torment
and happiness and distress
a one belonging an ever-longing
love love
than any than any
theretofore heretofore
known; known.
~
*post script.
this musing is the result of reading your beautiful poetry
this morning and seeing how many wrote of heartbreak…
whether through death, divorce, break-up or misunderstanding,
each lends to the knowledge of what love is not
and therefore to what love is.
this plain is such a broken place, it is truly a wonder
any of us ever experience any love at all…
and yet thankfully we do.*
(creating columns on HP is at best a difficult proposition. of course the format changes from device to device. after much work this looks acceptable on my laptop, my ipad, and on my smartphone in landscape view only. my smartphone in portrait view... not so much! :) however you choose to view it, enjoy!)
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
The sun will know where we first began
To explain there is no need
All we have been before is in our hands
But, when you come with me
You must lead
Many a story calls our hearts to fly like doves
From where our flowers bloom
Into skies of our beliefs we soar above
Unknown valleys of woven time
Spun upon life’s loom
In flight together, we will find an open door
Where our needs are met the same
With no concern of what came heretofore
Yet, when you come with me
Know my name
Bright feathers from the changing years
Will lie within our home’s flowers
What we have been will shed no tears
For when you come with me
The story’s ours
Jan 12, 2011
Jan 12, 2011 at 5:31 PM UTC
The invalids,
misanthropes-
Spell-check your ego at the dooooooooooooor
And though I fancy that fancy liqueur
I'm of sound mind and jaded-
Gore doesn't bother me and my eyes are all faded-
I'm a child of the devil
So let me level with you-
I don't know what I abhor more,
All this violence in the world, or the lack of haberdashery stores
So I'm of reasonable theory,
And awfully good at this-
So let me circumvent this infinite abyss-
Yeah, I'm ********
Send me your tired, your weary,
your weird and your eerie,
and I'll eat them with a spoonful of peacock ore-
So I'm better at this than you are-
And I'm from France-
That probably makes you leery,
But my pants are clean and I'm the God of War-
Inadequate!
Mundane!
The pedestrian,
Heretofore-
I crush you, I'm a crusher-
A garbage compacter pall bearer usher-
I'm of appropriate quality-
I spit at inequality with a certain measure of frivolity-
I'm the benefactor of a luster-
So let me rush you into a hasty decision-
"I don't know about that," I hear you utter,
"Stuff it, yo!" I tell you, this is intermission, not the gutter-
So I'm a trap-
As comforting as a spinal tap-
Happy as a lark but fashionable as a jester's cap-
and with a wire cutter mouth-
With which I eat things with a forkful of infidelities-
Though I find the rings hard to chew-
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 8:21 PM UTC
I think that I once met myself
upon the roadside coming back.
So sure was I that it was me
I almost had a heart attack.
Another time I thought I saw
myself reflected in a pane
of glass upon a garden skip.
It almost served to drive me sane.
Then there was that occasion when
I found beside me in my bed
a doppelganger of myself.
Was I alive? Or was I dead?
How can I know what lies in store
except by taking one step more.
One step to face in the unknown
what I had mastered heretofore.
But possibly this other me
is simply also hesitant
and also chooses to ignore
what really is self-evident.
I’m waiting for the day, you see,
when opening a door, I pass
into a room where bygone me
is stepping through a looking glass.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 10:06 AM UTC
I think I saw the moon tonight
Ivory, aglow
Alive and bright, reflecting light
Shone through my open window
I think I felt the moon tonight
With my fingertips just so
I brushed against her dusty cheek
And whispered a meek “Hello”
I think I heard the moon tonight
Voice lighter than a feather
She shared the folklore of the faeries
Who danced amongst the heather
I traveled with the moon tonight
From Berkley to Milan
She showed me the most gorgeous sights
Beyond imagination
I danced around the moon tonight
To melodies of yore
I felt so happy and carefree
I hadn’t heretofore.
I slept upon the moon tonight
She lulled me to a sopor
She lay me back in my warm bed
And tucked me in the covers.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 5:31 PM UTC
I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements, and an angelic sprite;
But black sin hath betrayed to endless night
My worlds both parts, and (oh!) both parts must die.
You which beyond that heaven which was most high
Have found new spheres, and of new lands can write,
Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might
Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,
Or wash it if it must be drowned no more:
But oh it must be burnt! alas the fire
Of lust and envy have burnt it heretofore,
And made it fouler: Let their flames retire,
And burn me, O Lord, with a fiery zeal
Of Thee and Thy house, which doth in eating heal.
1.2k
i.
Heretofore, I impetrated for mine one and unseen dame,
I knewest not where she wouldst cometh from, though I couldst seeith her hair and face.I mewled out to mine God, even whilst with other's, knowing other's weren't mine soulmates, as tis me and them werent made for another;
ii.
I wrote letter's in prayer form, sending the prayer's to heaven. I asked the Lord, to send me mine girl, mine darling, mine lass, the one missing from mine past.
iii.
Tis, the past I kneweth her, in spirit form reality, we were two spiritual amour's, we got separated when I was thrown into the flesh, being born in sin, and fleshly seed.
iv.
Parfay mine faith, and in Jehovah's good time, whilst not feeling home with other's, as mine body broke down to slime. As tis all the tears I cried, and the year's that I hath waited, the lord answered mine wailing, and mine question's and debating.
v.
I sawest the face, I hath dreamed of many ages, I knewest her face, and recognized her taste, her hair midnight black, her eye's white as poetry's pages; I heardest her voice, the same one from afore, it was mine queen, her name Jane-MI-AMOUR'.........
vi.
I was waiting in purgatory, tis then God opened the door, mine angel flew through, I certified her allure. She was mine kindred soul, the other half to mine explores, we were eachother of old, as tis hell went neath the floor. Mine purpose was once fufilled, it came into sight, I was reborn again, the Hello-poetry night. Happiness hadst wrapped me, like a child so tight. Tis God answered, O' mine father answered, he responded with Jane, the lass of mine past life...
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
~
these words from a friend
jar me from my glass-eyed read
"even if we are not aware,
we live in memories"
and in response i write,
"i often feel watched
by my loved ones passed on,
as though they are aware
of my every movement and deed,
peering over the portals
of a nearby dimension
as one from a portico"
watching what before them lies.
fellow members of a "club"
you didn't volunteer for,
didn't sign your name to,
you know firsthand
the longing, the aching,
the wishing and the wanting,
the praying and the begging,
the "take this cup" imploring,
remove it far from me,
the "i'm down on my knees
begging you please" plea.
grief...
a mournful response
a saudade for
what will, what can
never be again.
a shadowy wood,
where the seekers lie,
where lovers come
when lovers die;
where hope once lost
can still be found,
where signs and wonders
from beyond abound.
where man can touch
the face of God,
where the path to freedom,
with all it twist, its turns,
brings new meaning
and opens new doors.
within this forest
there lies a pool
from which to drink
and be renewed.
healing waters
in abundance here
to wash away
the bitter tears;
the lonely hours
here spent bring peace,
its lovely flowers
are rarest sweet;
the dancer learns
her steps again,
the singer finds
his inner voice;
here hearts unfold
and bare the creases,
here anxious thoughts
and anger ceases;
and psalmist's soul
here finds relief.
~
post script.
*thank you Bala, for stirring my morning contemplation time and helping me to reflect on what i have, as being a part of what i have lost.
"saudade"- though sharing no English equivalent is best understood here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saudade
as apples of gold are wise words... indeed! my fellow poets, you are a grace to me, a gift i did not heretofore know of; the door to a contemplative.forest i had not previously known. thank you, to each who stops in to make a kind, a generous comment and sometimes add a very thought-provoking word. i am grateful today!!*
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:44 PM UTC
creation is the principle
caught between life
and death,
between the succulence of sustenance
and erratic destructiveness,
the gestations of hereafter,
cascading novelties heretofore,
a reflective dynamism,
in the moving mirror,
the bitter-sweet
sweet-bitterness,
of paradoxes pumping,
a living death
that is,
what dies
into loves thrusting,
the fecund surge of heart,
upon the looming edge,
between the past lined birth place,
and the precipice.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 8:48 PM UTC
so you write a lot,
pouring entire waking existences,
current n' prior,
into a long and crafted 'pistles,
and pixels
and you got jive pride
and then, the poem,
you worked so hard for,
ups and dies
gets a few middling fingers of reads,
dying on a vining of
Juliet's pseudo poisoning elixir,
no big deal, happens all the time
but here's what's wielding & weirdly wilding:
***A poetpourri.
of newly found co-inhabitors,
from around the universe,
from places unpronounceable,
unlike Venus & Mars, (very poet-popular)
and from previously places were
never or seldom was heard a
discouraging word, igniting a
rewarded mutuality of a
following up embracing***
par example;
Tirunelveli
Poland
Lisbon
Cyprus
Bihar
Uruguay
Ankara
Vienna
Albania
Tanzania
India
Bangladesh
New Zealand/Australia
Soldotna (Alaska)
plus Texas, West Va., Ohio, and other exotica, like
Nowhere
what a blessing!
Blessed art Thou o Lord,
that permits the miracle that my integers
of 0 & 1
can be translated into such
varied exotica, in harmony,
thus permitting this discovery of
never visited oceans and landfalls
of poetry never heretofore to join as
one.
Aman.
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Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 6:31 AM UTC