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Jim Davis Apr 2017
In the last
three decades,
after we became one,
I touched
amazingly beautiful things,
horribly ugly things,  
unbelievably wondrous things

I touched nature's majesty;
hued walls of the Grand Canyon,              
crusty bark of the
Redwoods and Sequoias,
live corals of the
Great Barrier Reef,
dreamlike sandstone of the Wave

I touched magical and strange;
platypus, koalas and
kangaroos Down Under,
underwater alkali flies and
lacustrine tufa at Mono Lake,
astral glowing worms
in the Kawiti caves

I touched holy places;
Christianity's oldest churches,
the Pope's home in the Vatican,
Hindu and Sikh temples and
Moslem mosques in India,
Anasazi's kivas of Chaco canyon,
Aboriginal rocks of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

I touched glimmers of civilization;
uncovered roads of Pompeii,
fighting arenas of Rome,
terra cotta armies of Xian,
sharp stone points of the Apache,
pottery shards from the Navajo,
petroglyphs by the Jornada Mogollon

I touched fantastical things;
winds blowing on the
steppes of Patagonia,,
playas and craters of Death Valley,  
high peaks of the Continental Divide,
blazing white sands of the  
Land of Enchantment

I touched icons of liberty
and freedom;
the defended Alamo,
a fissured Liberty Bell,
an embracing Statue of Liberty,
the harbor of Checkpoints
Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie

I touched glorious things
made by man;
the monstrous Hoover Dam,
an exquisite Eiffel tower,
a soaring St Louis Arch,
an Art deco Empire State Building,
the sublime Golden Gate Bridge

I touched sparks from history;
the running path of an
Olympic flame just off Bourbon,
the last steps of Mohandas Ghandi
at Birla House before Godse,
******'s Eagle's nest and the
grounds over Der Führerbunker

I touched walls of power;
enclosed rings of the Pentagon,
steep steps of the
Great Wall of China,
untried bastions of
Peter and Paul's fortress,
fitted boulders of Machu Picchu

I touched strong hands;
of those conquering
Rommel's and ******'s hordes,
of cold warriors of
Chosin Reservoir,  
of forgotten soldiers of Vietnam,
of terrorist killers of today

I touched memories of war;
the somber Vietnam memorial,
the glorious Iwo Jima statue,
the cold slabs at Arlington,
the buried tomb of USS Arizonians,
Volgograd's Mother Russia  

I touched ugly things;
shreds of light in
Port Arthur's prison,
horrible smelly dust
in the streets from 9/11,
ash impregnated dirt
in the pits at Auschwitz

I touched oppressed freedom;
open ****** plazas
of Tiananmen Square,
smooth pipe and concrete
of the Berlin Wall,  
tall red brick walls
of the Moscow Kremlin

I touched constrained freedom;
heavy ankle and
wrist slave chains
in the South,
little windows
in Berlin's Stasi prison,
haunted cells in Alcatraz  

I touched remnants of madness;
wire and ovens of Auschwitz,
stacked chimneys and
wooden bunks of Birkenau,        
Ravensbruck, and Dachau,
the tomb of Lenin,
toppled Stalins

I touched hands of survivors;
of Leningrad's siege,
of German POWs and
of Russian fighters
of Stalingrad's battle,
of Cancer's scourges  

I touched grand things;
deep waters of the Pacific and Atlantic,
blue hills of Appalachia,
towering peaks of the Rockies,
high falls of Yosemite Valley,
bursting geysers of Yellowstone,
crashing glaciers of Antarctica and Alaska    

I touched times of adventure;
abseiling and zipping in Costa Rica,
packing Pecos wilds and Padre isles,
flying nap of earth Hueys to Meridian,
breaking arms in JRTC's box,
fighting Abu Sayyaf, and Jemaah
Islami in Zamboanga City

I touched through you;
wet sand beaches of  Mexico and Jamaica,
mysterious energy of the monoliths of Stonehenge,
rarefied air in front of the
Louvre's Mona Lisa,
ancient wonders of Giza,
Egypt's tombs and pyramids

We shared soft touches;
drifting in Bora Bora's
surreal waters,
joining hands camel trekking the
Outback's dry sands,
strolling along Tasmania's
eucalyptus forest trails

basking in swinging hammocks
under Fiji's bright sun,
scrambling in
Las Vegas' glittering and
red rock canyons,
kissing under the
Taj Mahal's symphony of arches

We shared touching deep waters;
propelled in gondolas
through the city of canals,
Drifting atop Uru cat boats on Lake Titticaca,
Swooping in jet boats
up a wild river in Talkeetna

Racing in speed boats
around Sydney's great harbour,
skimming in pangas in Puerto Ayora,
paddling the Kennebec for
East's best petroglyphs,
cruising Salzbergwerk's underwater lake

We touched scrumptious things;
Beignets and chicory coffee at DuMonde's in the Big Easy,
Hot *** with sesame sauce
in the walled city of Xian,
Peking duck, dimsum, scorpions,
snake and starfish on Wangfujing Snack Street

We touched delicious things
Crawfish heads and tails at JuJu's shack
and ten years at Jeanette's,
Langoustine at Poinciana's, Fjöruborðinus and Galapagos,
Cream cheese and loch bagels
at Ess-a' s in the Big Apple

I touched your hand riding;
hang loose waves of Waikiki,
a big green bus in Denali's awesomeness,
clip clopping carriages of Vienna, Paris,
Prague, New Orleans, Krakow,
Quebec City, and Zakopane,
the acapella sugar train of St Kitts

We shared touching on paths;
the highway 1 of Big Sur,
the Road of the Great Ocean,
the bahn to Buda and Pest,
the path to the North of Maine,
the trail of the Hoh rainforest,
and time after time, the way home

Yet,
I could spend
the next three decades,
in simple bliss,
having need for
touching nothing,
other than you!

©  2016 Jim Davis
A poem I wrote last year for my wife!  Posted now since it matches the HP' theme for today - "Places"
Moon Humor Apr 2014
My body burns to rove far from man-made
buildings, prisons for the modern soul.
I need to traverse the frontiers white man stole
from those who made it their home.

I've been down to the Everglades of Florida.
Fan boats flew through the estuary lines with roots
of mangroves. I've been to the Hoh Rain Forest of
Washington where fog descended on the shoreline
and married the sulfur smell rising from hot springs.

I must experience America's coast to coast beauty.

Every spare seconds I spend luxuriating in the
sun, thinking of all the places untouched.
My list of desires grows as the glaciers
of Glacier recede in Montana, beckoning
me to the Rocky Mountain Peaks.

Old Faithful gushes, surrounded by wolves and grizzlies.
Someday I'll cross Yellowstone's expansive mountain ranges.
from Idaho to Montana to Wyoming. On the arches of
Utah I'll face my fear of heights and find solace at
the tops of time-layered sandstone towers.

Descending the Grand Canyon I'll study beautiful
colors exposed by years of erosion. In winter
Death Valley will be braved. The lowest and direst point
will exhilarate me with scaled creatures as sand
dunes whisper my name with every hot breath.

The Badlands of South Dakota will hope I come
backpacking through prairies to watch precious bison roam.
California Redwood trees and I will stand side by side
as friends. Yosemite will call me to her cliffs and I will chase
waterfalls and sequoia groves until I've seen it all.

I ache to explore the terrain that bears
my name, the country I call home.
Aztec Warrior Jan 2016
Spirit Ghost**

I was listening to
Guns N Roses yesterday;
to Axl’s “Sweet Child O Mine”.
It’s funny cause
I always thought he was singing
“Oh oh, sweet Caroline”.
HA!
Ever have that
fantasy meets reality, or
is it reality’s fantasy feeling?
Can’t answer that one
and my guess is that
some mountains should never be climbed.
But Slash’s guitar riffs
pull me in and I start to sing,
“Oh hoh oh sweet child o mine”,
oh hoh oh sweet Caroline
as dark hair carries the wind
spiraling me into the fragrance
of moon soaked lavender,
lilies and a hint of wild sage.

“Where do we go now”?
I do not know
but there are Juniper trees on the horizon,
and dust mingles with sweat
as the sun rises to calm skies.
Walking this path
brings me face to face
with a dancing voice in the wind,
a ghost spirit seeing
present and past,
a sweet voice of healing, she sings
just when I needed it most.

I would love to dance you under the moon,
braid and feather your hair
in the old style of soft caring
and sing of the moon’s shadow
smiling in your eyes.
The music shifts,
moving more gently
into a song of renewal,
into the circle dance, into
“Ly-o lay Ale Loya”.
Come, dance,
circle, counter-circle;
let me show you the friendship,
the spirit in the ghost
you have shown me.

Aztec Warrior 1.22.16
I hope this small poem shows the respect and admiration
I have for a friend who has shown me her strength and
calmness and treated me as a human being.
She is a more than special.
‘Hah-ha-heh-he-hoh-**' is a legend
A classic drug of wiping up yesterdays.

I settled to clean a virus before closing eyes
Like a duel core machine with latest software.

A bell rang my welfare on the upset table
While noon laughed and I didn't see anything.

I on that Thursday perceived a camouflage
Of Bonsai putting on master-blue wings.




Poem 04
Book 'Beckoning Jade-Dreams' April 2007
Copyright Musharrat Mahjabeen
Mizan Publishers, Dhaka, Bangladesh
ISBN 984-8700-82-X
Ken Pepiton Mar 10
Belief and unbelief
credit and discredit

any child woe hoh-eee

who made the world believe,

whose will is logic in reality we agree,

realizing aggressors

aggress one more step,
approach propinquity

character Mammon weform re

always wishing we knew, real ways

life takes from finished stars, I was told,

wisdom given me was with truth held

in ideas like pi and phi and mindspeed

extracted in living ways,
by inquisitive catechism cavities,

did fluoride work? Did I get old?

I got a lotta shots to be a soldier,
I got scorpion stung and know guys,

they ranch rattle snakes, those guys,
they took polaroids,

prolly all faded, but we seen 'em all us/

we uns tuning in from til 12th of never

platters, record skip stuck, stop it never

o o o no nonono,
u do no gnowing now how much

it costs somebody for me to live,

but, as all truth seeking philosophers

agree in the spirit
of Tesla's antennae tester's kids…

dedication, emotion, attach, we
all know life is dull if you never

have time
to finish thinking one thing
about how
to brake
at high eliptical orbit,

did you see that little blur,
look close spaceplane earth image

moment
in time, once, really

but you need
to know gravity,
and chaos and time, elementally

we think it all is dancing, happening

to be knowable because behaviors,

we mostly
all have mastered,
if we are reading this
on Earth, adapting

… if pride is the problem,
look at Earth from far away

then turn around and see what we see.

It should normalize that VOG,

--- amusing thuds icebergs
blown sky high come down
to become those still ponds

aero error unthunk thud thus
brake Power wowser
hoh-eee'

there was a double feature
Joseph Süß Oppenheimer,

not the bomb guy, three centuries
previous use
of political mindspheres metaphoring
In the meantime, Süß discovers he is the illegitimate son
of a respected nobleman, but decides
to continue living as a Jew, as he is proud
of having achieved such a position despite this.

Proud handicap, all I have sir,
it is funny, but I know,
wanna bet,

One Love, Mr. Marley,
show the skulls somebodyscrunching,

oh, death, don't linger
take me swiftly in just one breath…

well then, certain as any reliving after
exposure to a standard acheivement proof of work

I am not a robot, I operate qwerty guy,
we work hand in hand, each side accustomed

to these words and apps that let us get old school
El Ron Hubbard from the boomer cupboard,

Life or Look in or around October, 1969
parts of this are old thoughts rethought and edited,

Not palimpsests, those are a pain,
not as bad as charcoal scrolls, though, so

what's new for old stores of information?

Did we learn who redacted Daniel?

Or who had Kennedy killed and caught
all the witnesses, oh, the weight of a place,

honest to god hill billy heaven, you'd be
with the Hawks at Jack Ruby's club,
related
onyermommaside, see, so when you know,
relatively suddenly,
it's all show,
that's business, we're learning
though, through
some old ways wisdom proves peace,
made up in a mind, worth
what ever peace making buys these days,
what ever pretense for war we leave be gone,

this is ever
appearing as today brought to you by

Natural occurences, alpha thought, the first letter

is e. dot. e as in mcsquared, a kinda winding all the way
around once, at a snails pace, kinda wondering the way

spirals got on those rocks back when stories lived
in precious good to know a little bit of the big parade,

a proper triumph,
as an idea, such are as rare as detectable Earths.

you cannot hold the whole truth you think you know,

like, of course,

while
in the course,
of human events,

human earthdust structure underlying vulcanism,
eons non timed merely making hydrogen
leib-ecombomb
oh helio centric we think,

gravity wise, it's all chaos, until, limit preposed

crystaline salt at its lifeless grandest, supposed

organized minds, informing seekers

to take it easy, thinking nothing
on the radio spectrum bumps

photons meandering
through optic fiber strands,

to land and assume you're
with me… wanna back track?

There's a movie
about this guy,
in my moment ago, who

knew so many things change,
with a little radiant energy

used
to think so many things,
with Turing Mental Machines

and time
and Von Neuman's longest
spiraling general truth
self replicating

across all actual paradigms projected,

into theaters that were palaces,
when they turned
on the lights,

to sweep trash strewn
by litter bugs,

and I was one, and I was many characters,

from the dramas that normalize us, or used
to
properly tuned, that pure note, you, in awe.

In the desert,
in the night, not
on TV, but went and did that,

by myself…

and only I saw, so these memories,

these are made up, you see,

some jokes, beau geste la joconde

madjalook, mused, not guiled, not guiledly
slight smile deep breath

twice. If it is fun
to make fun, why does it hurt?

Where does that hurt,

did I stomp your TOE?

I was kinda hoping, ai'n'all, truth trials

redeemed time, thinking Bic speed,
candle light, setting, one pocketbook

paperback writer beat it ****** hoh-ee

woe is we who watched it all fade away,

laughing at the worth
of living, winning,

like,
a year and counting

after three focused bolts of lightning

while we were honest
to god flying,
while dying, honest, helicopter
came and got me
and I did not

stay dead, they jolted me into

right now.

Whenever I think about the odds of this
or that… you never know all things, this

way, at truepuregnosishit preparation,

- wait, what if… interuption erupts,
- a laughing sigh, nnnand gate do-overy coo

harmless Feynman joke three gates back

hoh-ee means woe,
in the KJV, so we know.
repetition, proverbs lead somewhere.
Not magic, iusta thinking, instance deja vued
he ja way per se
a bit, snippet, voices in the hall, children and grandma

all watching fourteen seasons of NCIS, and,

that's this today here, spring forwarded, and

thinking this happens
at breathe-ing speeds, I love it

drifting, practice dementia, musing, practicing harmonica

alone,
on a hill, breathe-ing
with a mossy granite wall time speckled beside me,

I can imagine we all did it just

this once

just this.

Fair trade rabbit hole, hooks
Dodgson, dominated Disneyified

first seen through the smoke
from the loge for smokers,
in front of the projector,

you've seen the scenes, cartoons
in the smoke
on its way

almost any way
that's beautiful.

Look at me,
a bit or a tad too high, pleasantly

aware we were reaching past
last
grasp

stretching to think lively.
Suddenly it's published, weighted,
value fair trade for a preposition that works? Til, until same as upto. Stop
and feel the first reader count... ai know, patient agent practice, wait.
I am the sad child.
I cry and when I cry,
No tears fall.
Cry, Cry, Cry, I go.
My sad, little eyes
cry and cry.

I am the sad child.
I smile, and when I smile...
I can't smile.
Smile, Smile, Smile, I try.
But all I can manage is
A pathetic cry.

I am the sad child.
I laugh, and when I laugh,
It is hollow.
Hoh, Hoh, Hoh, I go.
I am cold, and hollow,
and empty inside.

I am the sad child,
I wonder, and when I wonder.
This is what I wonder.

Why can't I be the happy bunny?
Others are happy, yet I am not.
Must this loneliness forever be my lot?
On the surface, I appear to be sunny
But I am nothing, not even a happy bunny.
g clair Nov 2015
HOH
Holding out hope
Hardness of hearing
Hardness of heart
Celia Alexandros Sep 2017
Oh I dreamt of him my special someone
The one I'm supposed to be with for the rest of my life
Is it finally him?
He looks at me with that dazzling eyes
That perfect make up
He is far prettier than most girls
He is like a model oh hoh
When he moves with that long high heels
I cannot keep my eyes away

Uh. It seems like there is no need for explanation
it seems like he knew me already that charming smile
That melt an awkward and lame girl like I am
He said something but I could not hear as I focused my attention to him
But all I could hear is the word love
Oh hoh is it the one I'm gonna spend my life with?
He is so beautiful and when he transform back to his true self
He is too handsome and so hot
That black silky hair
Is it the one?
The man who is prettier than most girls
Ken Pepiton Mar 23
Diametric opposites, polarized,
me assured,
I am

at this point,
on this given day
in these taken chances

using my time just fine,

to breathe,
and find my bearings,

things assisting painless turnings,

near perfect spheres, bearings,
in this same race, each have
being same round and round

behavior, thinking between letters,
letting the rivers
of white
in justified
machine set
type leave impressions
of meandering,

I have a sister lost
in dementia, me and
her, we have a marvelously rare history.

She became
to be come quite old, and happy enough,

some old pains, quite old, local shames and such.

Pain at personal scale, old.

Told. For thinking about old mindform we wore
uniformly joining
by invitation any weform reforming

after that atom bomb blew our mind's
and religions hell's
was apoppin', bells was a rangin' rage,
rage against,

the very mechanics of mental advancement.

Mental agreement, mind join agreement,

binding by my back ups in the may be book,
whither any idle word uttered
in conscience confident
all cons are gamers
with science
used as ware
under tortuous line
by line life's values re-exams
- so, once examined,
- then what, Socrates?

the plight
of the navigators
on Life's trial
of those dabar logos

whatsoever we agree,
any we we form, as such
weforms agree
to begin
to make a way, such as

lets any
with the tech, translate
with some hand jive,
letters writ
in mud, since Enheduanna had an influence,
letting ready readers write esoterica,
worth, cost, price,

coded clay tables, writ
in plain text, secure, safe, sound.

Your value lies in knowing the code.

-worth, cost, price, reason - one up

Reading the runes
per uses of rue, in rue the day,
Kairos came into rhetoric class, as warez
laughter
after pain, not
at pain, hoh-eee, here
woe, was so woeful just a while ago
freeverse universe uniformly recognized, here

per usage ritual usual
occupation, aging grace ag on

push me now,
ask me how

I came
to know, okeh, enough,
dabar
to say inspire is spirits, pluralable peaceably so

slow breathe, pearl diver mind,
slow think, thunk,
sunken

thens
whens
those
there
they the others
whens
thens

Zappa, with no acid, just was aware
informing any with an ear, hear,

you are the other people, too.

Yeh.
So.
Take a measure, think a thought through, then remember, there are others.
We make peace when we take time to think at ink speed. Read at any speed,
Robert C Howard Jul 2020
A purple veil enveloped the peaks and ridges
      along the mystical divide
           where snowpack and summer rains
      chart opposite courses toward distant seas.

Born of the ancient heave and shudder
       of oceanic and continental plates,
             the Rockies transfix our wondering eyes
        by the spell of their arcane mysteries.

So it has been for those who carved our trails
       and called their mountians by name:
             Arapaho - hoh'enii
                  Hopi - tuukwe
                        Ute – Kåib

All of these good fellow journey folk
      have listened to the same timeless airs
            chanted by murmuring streams and cataracts
       and seen hope reflected in an alpine lake.

We have heard the soaring calls of the Rockies
      on either side of the great divide
         We have heard the mountains’ healing presence
      softly whispering us to our homes.
Across the Divide is the first in a cycle of poems called Echoes from Colorado which will open my new book called From the Mountains to the Sea.

This cycle will constitute the opening my new poetry book called From the Mountains to the sea.  Should be out in a month or two
The law man, he’s a comin.
A comin, ta go on get ya gone.
You better best be, goin.
Go on, get ya gone. Go on, get ya gone.

O he aight no low man,
He’s high high above the law.

Go on, get ya gone, go on get ya gone.
O that law man! He’s a comin,
Ta go on get ya gone.

O hoh, don’t feel so low,
That lowly law man!
Just sees a wild dog.
hoh
i dont wanna be a pastime
a distraction for the nighttime
feels like a waste of time
if not yours at least mine
im too sensitive for you to just say
the words you do without shame
melt at the sound of your voice mumbling my name
i love you the most beautiful kind of pain
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
love, at best, is something to be made into
an ideal: with the help of memory,
or rather: love should only be given the
theatre of memory -
it can never become this platonic hierarchy
of madness associated:
lovers come first, poets come second,
prophets come third...
i have grown to appreciate love...
i managed to invest an idealism in it...
experienced its empirical default:
i.e. at fault... and left with...
a a cinema of memories...
minute details of perfection that will
never be, or will ever be replicated...
i'm not a woman, after all...
widower swan that i am...
i loved once... and that once is no longer
a future... or a today...
a tomorrow... love has passed me
and it remains in the past...
perhaps that's why i cling to german
idealism and nothing associated
with: well... perhaps the tender licking
of french existentialism:
but not islander... nothing english focused...
nothing isiolationist...
nothing: quick to the mob!
slow on the individual harangue!
i see violins succumb to the congregation
of sparrows...
i see drums echoing and bellowing
from disgruntled indigestion
like tectonic shifts...
and the sly barons of base...
pacing out a subtle rhythm section
that's half-wit-air and half-borrowed
time of the earth's composition in
the symphony of geology...
and all that is, or ever will be beautiful...
will never be the married man...
or will ever be:
the woman who has met being served her
whim to... all that she wasn't required...
was be ugly and write a book...
perhaps a poem would have sufficed...
"ugly"? as in: unappealing
to the majority of the digest (i.e. readers)...
alternatively?
there was that ms. amber and ginger ale...
ginger ale? we've run out...
what's the alternative?
lemonade!
well then, we'll be having our ms. amber
whiskers and lemonade upon
a chance hoisin plum (not prune)
sunset... and of all those sunsets prior
to this being written...
and those genesis sunrises...
i still only feel in love with
the thunderstorms... the plush pulp
of those snow-ridden-bulge-weight of clouds...
the atari-purple signatures...
current retro-wave-80s pop & disco...

the sunrise with a fishing trip with
my grandfather...
the 5am wake up call to sight-see
Cracow...
and never, ever, ever, visit any of
the concentration camps...
i guessed he was wrong...
i subsequently praised the hebrew...
i smoked a cigarette...
and used my hand as an ash-tray...
after i finished the cigarette...
and licked the cusp...
i had enough ash on my tongue...
to later signature the deed
unlike some eucharist *******-yourself
silly in Tel Aviv...
licked the ash...
shot of ***** to signature the new
eucharist...

because i'll be ****** if i'm not already
****** that germany...
is something that only **** germany is allowed
to persist for!
15th century medieval songs!
i'm tired of juggling both elvis and ****
germany... i'm tired of this anglophile gloating...
i'm tired of juggling both
jefferson airplane and... **** germany...
i'm tired of: it!
i'm so tired that i wonder why my handmaidens
of "my people's party" never figured a way
out a handsome past always
banging on about the reperations intended
from germany
or the russian war guilt et al...
look!
the jews received their war reperations...
some jews still receive it to this day!

i'm langing... tired of the 20th century...
the 20th century is a paradox in that...
the good is overshadowed by the bad...
the 21st century is becoming a welcome break...
implying that: some of us will be allowed
to explore tongue and tongue in cheek...
but not really...
it's not like some stupendous Stendhal will
be: brisk and loitering!

i'm tired of the 20th century...
not it a way that will be a tiredness associated
with midnight in paris and a reminiscene
of paris with hemingway...
f . s. fitzgerland: always...
always: the never too great a gatsby...
if you're going to write a novella...
marquis de sade's: ******...

to have not inherited the 20th century...
to have been born in 1986...
but to only have... two focus points
that are to be borrowed from that century?
****** was an Austrian...
Stalin was a Georgian...
"thank ****" that Mao wasn't a Mongol!
it's also called the habsburg-heimlich:
subversion...

currently? turkey-fodder-bulimic-eating-disorder:
shove those ******* piles of dough
where they should come out of!
savvy?
20th century and the most democratic
history lesson in all of time...
so many people to keep a ref. of...
no wonder the mirror escapism is:
being relegated to an instagram profile...
nonetheless: of this i am certain...
this is no formal language usage...
and if, even if this is given an informal
language use-status?
it's not going to be used...
not outside the cerebral domain...
not outside the shy constricts...

not when rap is waging "war" on...
what could otherwise be said with the same
sense of importance but no necessity to exhibit
bombast to attract an audience...
i'm tired of the 20th century because...
well... since 2001...
there might have been a war in iraq...
there might have been a war in the graveyard
of nations: afghanistan...
but there's only been...
pepper bind bidding of a life in London...
as there's an irrelevant south London Croydon...

there has been a history but...
outside of the rubric of learning...
there's this... god-awful journalistic amnesia!
journalism as a "history" is no history
to begin with...
why even Aristotle or Copernicus or...
Li Bai are remotely used as memory-jolts...

i guess some pursuits just come with
a prerequisite of temporal territory:
since they are not appreciated
by a contemporary presence...

poets, philosophers, pickle-farmers...
as i could have been the best plumber
of a generation and i would never require...
a lag of praise...
perhaps i don't need that either: right now...
but there's always a "post-mortem hindsight
conundrum"...

given, chances are...
there will be someone akin to me...
a necromancer...
who has a lovely library of books...
that outstrips the wealth of a local library...
but... all the writers in the collection
are dead...
and every time he reads a book...
he's resurrecting someone from:
"sleep"...

why don't i own books by my contemporaries?
the newspaper review sections
come saturday and sundway are filled!
filled to the brimful! with living people
reading books by living authors!
perhaps i am of the lower caste...
the Aghori...

contigent of the categorical impetus for:
what is required as a measurement...
what is required of "filling the void"...
also the H is a surd in this Raj of an: afternoon tea...

but as one is best equipped...
i'm waiting for the coinage... Charlie III
on the sly copper flip...
and the newly insurrected banknote plasta-masta...
since Lizzy Shingles 2nd-ture will be outs...
and outed...
but no no...
of course all the glamour of:
when the frost settles and you take a walk...
the frost on concrete...
is like paparazzi flashes of eager cameras...
but there's no red carpet...

like craps blinking come the midnight
harvest in the north sea...
lazy god examples... Zeus, Poseidon...
always eager-fucky-fucky-adventurers...
of the shallow **** of: begone tomorrow!

come the 3rd hour of the morning...
i'm still scribbling like a chicken is cought scratching...
if only, i, a variation of a butterfly...
and... concerns for...
concerns for... fashion...
and the agriculture of leisure having
to allow a yacht to plough the seas...
where the horse?! where the earth?!
where the ******* potato...
among the popping bottle of prosecco?!
where, is, d'ah... *******...
sun-tan... oiled up fwench hoh-nion soup-ah?!
Ken Pepiton May 2
Tuesday, April 29, 2025
2:50 AM

Eyes burning green reflecting patterns
yawns feel tied to FTA, so these lines un
fold from feeling real enough to think may
be
why, be, ah, woken to guard the gate, say
who goes there, what is the word, say it,

-- allegorical experience parable
literal transfer of call and response, say it…

              sibbolet slogan shibboleth battle cry,
slay all whose dialect makes no sense by
shushing discomfited infants,…
ah, poet, weeping

might becomes can as we agree, touching

any thing whatsoever, in fact or fixed faith,

saying our concern for another's demise is praying
merciful transference of sovreign authority, in death.

We, say the news criers on television, are praying
for the fan we all may have seen fall from the stands,
or we may, today, in case we were not paying attention,
at the crack of the bat,
to the shirtless supplicant
offering himself, beer baptized,
reacting to divine luck dispensation
hoh-ee trying
to umph the jinx
on the fly,
that went by driving
in the eventual win,
made sacred, truly special, for the show,
of life-long efforting  honed Team Spirit,
this is what worshippers expect, eh,
good national tickets cheap seats…

the battle of chosen hitter-catchers
paying
to baseball's Tychicus spirits
ecstatic over a two run double
in the bottom of the seventh…
lethargic faith, relaxed reasonable reaction…

pray according to pattern,
signal all watching, see how we do, real athletes pray.
America relies on prayer signals to the athletic supporters.


Players from both teams, including Andrew McCutchen, took a knee and prayed for the fan.
Wholey reality, grant
redemption based on dedication to mere display reaction…
to the winning RBI… last act of mystical absorption,
made sacred…

as far as all the time in the world is worth,
whole days dosed at max, world's worths,
worshipped in spirit and truth, fleeting…

rise up in the middle of the night, worthship,

yawns and torrents of sneezes, these are those
vigils required of the loyal slave mind, serving pollen,

time Tyche tachometer I
might say I got out of bed to breathe,
but I had wanted to ask LBAIQ, Leo, Brave Answering
Informal Quest… iron sharpens iron… notion notes

The Red Spot, also known as the Great Red Spot,
is a persistent anticyclonic storm
on Jupiter.
It is a giant storm that has been raging
for centuries, and it is indeed a permanent feature
on the planet.

Initially, it was thought that the Red Spot rotated
with the planet, but observations have shown that it actually rotates
in the opposite direction
to Jupiter's rotation.

This is known as a "retrograde" rotation.

The Red Spot's rotation period is
about 4 days, which is faster than Jupiter's 10-hour rotation period.
This means that the storm's winds are moving
in the opposite direction to the planet's rotation, creating a fascinating and complex weather pattern.

oops, factcheck friendly, just asking, no need to prove the lie told there,
just ius lucky us friendly sky united

dokimazó: to test, by impl. to approve

From <https://biblehub.com/greek/1381a.htm>

okeh. Many years pass, with us all granting authorized intercessory,
extra tis bits years
past so fast, years

nights and days, beautiful mysteries, that AI legally is not accountable,
for hoo-mon stop. See, let me ask another way

A rotation period of 4 days is actually much slower than a 10-hour rotation period.
To clarify, the Red Spot's rotation period is about 4 days,
which means it takes the storm approximately 4 days
to complete one rotation
on its own axis. Meanwhile, Jupiter's rotation period is about 10 hours,
which is much shorter.
So, the Red Spot's rotation is actually slower than Jupiter's rotation, not faster.

It can be perceived, that gas giant, seen as we may, these days,
using science consciously slicing sense of usefulness from cost,

Dabar, the sword in the mouth of 'Zekial,
sitting by the Chebar  freight canal,
working for a living, counting kegs,
swinging amphora tight round pegs.
fitting snug below the rowers, squares in tiers of three,

got the picture, Ben Hur,
amuse a politically minded hoo-mon to tell a story of the Christ,

many such were told, used to tame the savage, who could not read.

I've never finished anything permanent, no regrets.

I learned insomnia is me fretting about losing my religion, oh, no\

we've said too much, we've made the means of making reason, oh,
ratio, heft to use, too

heavy on the break break, brake, slow BLAPlapblapblap Jake engaged/


Middle of the night, 04:02. Worth your time, I hopeso/

Confluent opinions swirl
the opposing superstitions's stormfronts
roiling common sensed

selfishness, into team spirit, companion
same bread by which our flesh derives umph

wherewith to try, for the joy we all may win,
for merely surviving, living past all war's reasons.

Casus jus belligerence, train up a child, a boy,
at the basic foundational division of command
authority,

Momma said Poppa said

time passed and son's disagreed,
before daughter's I'd imagine, mostly,

though, now that I insert the possible variable,
we, the partially Disneyified, having lived during
the era of television for children and the whole

family of loyal customers, gratefully entertained,
using industrial scale magic, science not false, oh no.

Well, now, pilgrim,
here's a fine

how do you do…
being you, hatless in space.

_ this is an excerpt ADVERTISING LONGFORM
_ this is a wild idea befriended long ago

we… who finish this thought agree, ever
before time to right this instant, then ever

some more. Peace is easier to sell,
happy people make happiness work,
whatsoever
we agree,
we may

can you dig it. ai jumer, wordswirleration

Trust the river through the rapids, run
knowing there is always where we
step into the Jello…

and conjugalmentalbliss.

Confluent course through
out and in, conscience consensus as we

slow no just if I agreed with your missed
conceptual precept made Isaiah essential
gnosis, discipline come, let us reason, why

of course you comprehend original sin, eh,
ask any trusted source, at base, this idea,

is culturally, in our species, according
to science in context of us, me thinking,

your patience, or your acquired taste,
ends when either has become convinced,

won over to believing slow thinking allows,

reasoning, adjustments, to just mentalize
realization words augment, intend to stretch,

pretend we sold our three bags of wool, long
novel rides in past and present allegorical dust
I used to say, iusagree, in spirit if not truth
agree, at minimum, we agree, the state
of actual participation
in peace making,
is a far better state
mind expanding knowledge…

accounting

for each idle word, measured
by how long one thinks any word lives
after
meaning anything
in particular for your peace.

It's a book, your life is.
A book, not a poem,
not a short stack of lines rising
from the top,
stalactite-like sclerosis forming course
drip trailing evidence, pillars
top to tip, dripping sweet
persuasion, water call
falling drip of what we thought,

as we build a chaotic pillar of crystal reflection,
convincing any ever yet
looking back, learning then, when first believed,

the darkness, lightlessness, when the why is told,
the deathly hallowedness, truth enforces as told.

-------------------------
Grand Canyon Caverns, mile mark 115.

Stores of stuff few ever learn, few
at global scale we circa 2025, few

mental utilizers know the experience,
more than a million most expectedly less
than a billion, of which we now are nearer ten,
than eight billions of us, our kind capable affects,

efforts expressing sense of us, our kind thinking

we may or may not plan any given day, yet we
think we may lay plans for the course
of human events,
wherein we find
ourselves paying mind, and heed, drips

indeed, of course, we must, we were mustered,
as punishers, the right thinkers, core-orthogonal,
as mustard faith leads eventually to cauliflower

upright mind hat tipt, in passing fancy, wonder if…

what if we agree to enjoy an after life, no worries.

---- the wish words be having
reader behaviour… be thinking

In science you must not talk before you know.
In art you must not talk before you do.
In literature you must not talk before you think.
--
In order that people may be happy
in their work, these three things are needed:
they must be fit for it;
they must not do too much of it;
and they must have a sense of success in it.

[ both maxims of Ruskin's, "The Eagle's Nest," 1872]

Done, that's not all, but the esoteric efforting, back when,
the mind, Psyche, was about to be plumbed, leading thinkers,

lacked the precepts upon which precepts approaching perpetual

emotion, haps all working together for good, finally, finished,

as when the work assigned is done, and looked upon, we think.

That's good. Functionable ratio of push and pull, life

breathing with us, in chorus.

You may need to find a solitary place and listen daily,
for fifty years, I know a guy who did, he says,
to this day, after fifty years on this way,

this pilgrim journey children cannot walk, this last mile,
when we walk contented to think, in truth, I can do this  forever.
I meant to begin in the middle but allowed the day it's due, I did get out of bed for this...

— The End —