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Hank Love Feb 2020
So I am in the process of writing a script to the sequel of 1951 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I have already contacted Disney to get approval to write the script and here is what I have so far. Alice falls asleep as in the first one, but this time, she's not alone. Her cousin, Johnothon goes to look for her and ends up falling unconscience and ends up in Wonderland himself. Alice is wanted for Treason by the Queen of Hearts and finds out that The Mad Hatter and March Hare are sentenced to be beheaded. Can she save them and escape Wonderland with her cousin as she did before?

"Alice's Return to Wonderland"

MARTHA:
Thomas, have you seen your cousin, Alice?

THOMAS:
Why no, Aunt Martha, I haven’t.

MARTHA:
Where do you suppose that girl could be? Have you finished your school work?

THOMAS:
Yes Aunt Martha.

MARTHA:
And your chores?

THOMAS:
They are done.

MARTHA:
Good. Help me look for Alice, will you?

THOMAS:
Yes Aunt Martha.

MARTHA:
I tell you, I cannot turn my back, without her running off. Check the riverbank. You know as well as I do, she spends her time there, nose pressed into those books of hers.

ALICE:
Where am I? Dinah? Dinah! Why, this all looks oddly familiar. What’s this now? Why, that’s me!  Wanted for treason by her Majesty the Queen? (Silently) The Queen. Oh, no! Not again!
CHESHIRE:
And the momeraths outgrabe!

ALICE:
Oh no! It’s you again!

CHESHIRE:
Well it most certainly not the white Rabbit. Which reminds me, now that the “Cat is out of the bag”, what brings you here after such a long time? Chasing more rabbits, are we?

ALICE:
Oh no, no. Those days are far behind me.

CHESHIRE:
No matter, it’s good to see you again. Welcome back.

ALICE:
I only wish I could say the same thing! And I hardly call this a welcome.

CHESHIRE:
Beg pardon? Oh! I remember now! All the trouble you started during your last stay. You’ve become quite famous here in Wonderland.

ALICE:
You mean the trouble you started. And I do not wish to be famous. No matter, I am not staying, I am going home. Straight home! Just as soon as I find my way.

CHESHIRE:
Your way? Have you not learned? All ways here, are The Queen’s way!  And she very well would have had her way with you, had you not woken up when you did.

ALICE:
That’s it!

CHESHIRE:
What? Do I have a flea?

ALICE:
No, no. I’m asleep! I simply must wake myself up!

CHESHIRE:
Oh but you’ve just got here!

ALICE:
I don’t care! I’ve had my share of nonsense to last me one lifetime, thank you.

CHESHIRE:
Well, if you insist. Oh by the way, you’re not asleep.

ALICE:
But I am! I must be!

CHESHIRE:
It’s not practical!

ALICE:
What do you mean?

CHESHIRE:
For example: if you were asleep, you couldn’t possibly feel me do this!

ALICE:
Ouch! What in the world was that for?

CHESHIRE:
To help me prove my point! If you were asleep, you would still be there, not here. Seeing as you’re here and not there, you are not asleep!

ALICE:
Oh dear! This is all so dreadfully confusing.

CHESHIRE:
Oh, I wouldn’t say that.

ALICE:
Of course you wouldn’t! You’re as mad as anything else here.

CHESHIRE:
Including you.

ALICE:
I most certainly am not!

CHESHIRE:
You must be! Otherwise you would never have come here. As I told you before, we’re all mad here. During your last stay, you associated with more mad people than I care to remember.

ALICE:
That’s it! The Mad Hatter! I think I’ll visit him.

CHESHIRE:
I simply would not recommend it!

ALICE:
I think I know what I’m doing. I’ve done it all before.

CHESHIRE:
That was before. Everything is different nowadays. As I said, I wouldn’t recommend it.

ALICE:
And why not?

CHESHIRE:
You won’t find him there.

ALICE:
Well, where is he?

CHESHIRE:
Who?

ALICE:
The Mad Hatter of course!

CHESHIRE:
It doesn’t seem to come to mind. Although, if I were looking for the Mad Hatter, I would try the dungeon!

ALICE:
The dungeon?

CHESHIRE:
Yes, he was sentenced to be executed by The Queen! He’ll really lose his head over this, if you know what I mean.

ALICE:
Oh dear! I’ve got to save him!

CHESHIRE:
While you’re at it, try not to lose your own. Speaking of which, will you excuse me one moment. That’s better. This thing is always popping off. And it’s no wonder! I knew I had a ***** loose.

ALICE:
Why you’re no help at all!

THOMAS:
Alice! Alice!

ALICE:
He’s no help. I suppose I’ll have to do everything on my own, is that it?

THOMAS:
Alice!

ALICE:
Now what do you suppose he wants now?

ALICE:
Well?

CHESHIRE:
Well what?

ALICE:
But didn’t you just call my name?

CHESHIRE:
Of course not! I was busy practicing a harmony. It’s a trio as a matter of fact! Composed by me, myself and I!

ALICE:
I know you called my name!

CHESHIRE:
No I didn’t.

ALICE:
Oh really? Then who was it?

THOMAS:
Alice!

ALICE:
That sounds like, Thomas! Thomas? Is that you?

THOMAS:
Alice!

ALICE:
It is Thomas! I’m saved! Thomas! I’m here! I can hear you! Where are you?

THOMAS:
Alice!

ALICE:
I can hear you! Where are you?

(Alice and Thomas collide into one another.)

Together:
Oof!

THOMAS:
Alice, where have you been? Where are we?

ALICE:
How did you get here?

THOMAS:
I’m not entirely sure. Aunt Martha sent me to look for you, and I found you sleeping against a tree. After that, an apple fell on my head, and that’s all I remember.

ALICE:
Oh dear.

THOMAS:
No, I’m alright, not even a bump!

ALICE:
No, do you know what this means?

(Thomas is silent.)

ALICE:
It means that you are asleep too! And that we’re both having the same dream!

THOMAS:
That’s impossible!

ALICE:
No it’s true! Nothing is impossible, especially here. I’ll prove it!

THOMAS:
Go on, go on.

ALICE:
Well, do you remember the Cheshire cat I always talked about?

THOMAS:
Of course! How could I forget? But what has this got to do with-

ALICE:
Follow me!

THOMAS:
Slow down, Alice! I can’t keep up!

ALICE:
Hurry, Thomas! We’re nearly there!

THOMAS:
What is this about, Alice?

ALICE:
He was just, now where do you suppose he went?

THOMAS:
Who?

ALICE:
The Cheshire cat! Oh never mind!

THOMAS:
Wait, Alice, I’ve got it!

ALICE:
What?

THOMAS:
If we’re really asleep, maybe we can just yell really loud! I’m sure Aunt Martha or somebody will hear us.

ALICE:
Hmm I must say I’ve never tried it before. I guess anything is possible.

THOMAS:
Let’s give it a try.

ALICE:
Very well.

THOMAS:
Aunt Martha!

ALICE:
Mother!

THOMAS:
Aunt Martha!

ALICE:
Mother!

JACK CARD:
Hold it men! I heard voices! This way!

ALICE:
Thomas, hide!

THOMAS:
What on earth for?

ALICE:
Just trust me!

DECK OF CARDS:
Hup hup hup!

ALICE:
You see?

THOMAS:
Are those, cards?

ALICE:
They are not your ordinary deck of cards!

THOMAS:
This is not normal!

ALICE:
Nothing here is! Wait, shh!

JACK CARD:
They stopped! Have a look around, men!

ALICE:
On the count of three, Thomas, we’ll sneak out of the bushes and make a run for it. Ready?

TOGETHER:
One, two three-

JACK CARD:
Well, well. What do we have here? Why, Alice! Isn’t this a pleasant surprise? Take a look at this men, she even brought a friend.

THOMAS:
Leave my cousin alone you oversized playing card!

JACK CARD:
You’re both just in time for tea with the Queen! She’s been expecting you.

ALICE:
No, thank you. I’m sorry but I haven’t got the time. We are going home! Straight home!

JACK CARD:
But what is your rush? You’ve just got here! We have some catching up to do.
Dawnstar Jan 2019
they ride along
the mountain road:
kashgar and
the heron girl
crane their necks
to the shaman's haze,
ploughing out
the humpback’s trail.

with a slow hup-hup, up
down powder trot,
a boombox laugh
and a slapstrum knot;
walking the lake,
talking of the bay,
savor the night:
hear what they say!

bronze battalions
beat the prince,
hide the sambas
inside of their hats;
a summer tent,
a sterling pearl:
kashgar and
the heron girl.

they rode along
the mountain road,
past water cranes
and lily haze;
roaming slow
the worldshell snail,
ploughing out
the humpback trail.
Donall Dempsey Jan 2017
HUP! ONETWO THREE!

a herd of pylons
march across countryside
car radio blares Col. Hathi March
Donall Dempsey May 2015
AN AMPERSAND &...

An & and
an & and another.

I fill up the page
build a wall of &’s

I’ve always loved
their variousness

this the sharp contraction
of the simple “and.”
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
&&&&&&&&&&
My writer’s block
hides behind

my wall of ****
ampersands.

Suddenly the words
break through

my man-made
ampersand wall!

“Thought I’d almost lost
you there sunshine!”

the poem beams.

“Ok, words!
Let’s get to work here!”

“Hup hup let’s get this
poet up and running!”

The poem puts
the pen in my hand

puts the pen
to the page.

“Ok son…get on
with it!”

And the hand
remembers

by candlelight how
it all happened

one day in
…French.

The poet goes &
makes a cup of Cocoa.

The page reads
the poem over

to itself.

“Not bad…not bad!”
the page laughs to itself.

“Poets! Ha!
Who’d ‘ave ‘em!”

VERRE D'EAU

il pleut dans
le verre d'eau oubliée
remplir à craquer

le verre vide maintenant
renversée par la pluie féroce
scintillant dans le soleil

une coccinelle rampe à l'intérieur
cet univers de verre
le chant des oiseaux tombe sur l'herbe mouillée
A L Davies Oct 2011
another construction friday:
                                                 smash, lift, grunt, clean, sweep, collect, empty . . . (grind)
lift up (hup!) doors, hang 'em, nail 'em in.
rap up the stairs, feet heavy in big old boots
                                                           ­                   thighs aflame --- heavy--****
           clomp
    clomp--stomp. swish.
stop for lunch: sandwich/grapes/arizona
sandwich only cheese so not satisfied full..
dusts in the mouth
                                  (and nostrils) so i sneeze & sneeze
raw-nosed in the attic cleaning
---brooms and dust dust dust.

good view to the bay up second level tho:
autumn vistas and panoramas and waves on white shorelines
giant's tomb in the deep, breast heaving

big wide windows w/wasps buzzing eternal
buzz
whack each with rolled window installation guide
grind with the heel
                                  grsch
each one dead is replaced with one more
crawling from odd upstairs nest
---from rest.
feel guilty & awful killing them but
so aggressive in their slowness (compensating) this time of year that
moving material presents good risk of sting.
                                                                ­              ---zing.
      hope they will forgive me.
see also: workin' man blues hoo-ee
Zachery Oct 2018
My heart pounds
Run out of nouns
Headache
accompanied by heartache
Dizzy
Told me to drink the water fizzy
Can hardly breathe
slipping away me
My lunch comes up
HUP HUP HUP
My body jerks
And herks
Then my heart slows to a dead mans pace
I spray the mace
To keep them at bay
I don't want to die
I can't feel my blood in my veins
Faint
The blood is taint
I black out
All around me they pout
Finally my heart siezes
My life ends in pieces
I like cyanide
Madeysin Mar 2015
I'm not drunk enough for your garbage,
I'm goin home.
Ten thousand steps,
Hup hup hup
One more
Third Eye Candy Jan 2013
at the cafe on ruby toes and sugar pinch, we consent and reap the valdez of our perpetual cud.
we sip from octagonal spoons. there, we suture the fiend to the deed and the rail
to the runaway train. how else would you explain your dashing about
in the chum of our castanet. we cast our nets in the epibenthic  fumes of our unusual loveliness
and sweat the little things that vanish from the canon our interesting.
hup to it. vie for the offshore drill.
suppose you grow a dead thing and keep it astonished with flashcards
and nobody says a thing ?
Ken Pepiton Jan 2021
When an astronomer says, very densely packed,
of matter - as in the Oort cloud,
he is in another scale of thought, augmented
by science used with knowledge of
fore gone conclusions as to
metrics on con sci user's
speed of thought,
where
reality doesn't care if you believe it or not.

We are all past-understanding,
we are the lifeship earth peace makers,
the entire crew, auto, right, mathic-myth,
sentience intended to manifest
in time to make that
final ******
pop the bubble of babble's biggest fuss
race
to spew the luke warm from my mouth and watch,
each drop of venom sprouts a rod
of an almond tree.

{I predicted the return of this riddle}
Maybe and whatif are not
ex-act-ed-ly, no, actually
-- see, slow… see
maybe and trust are crushed words, compacted
as the density of any den of thieves becomes
assumedwiseasstreetspunky, slang, coo'
thoughts merge from phrases to signals
true rest may be, if we survive
next as we imagine it,

resting in truth, matters or not,
spirit of philio or spirit of sophia,
we agree,

shoulder to shoulder, elbo-grease and oompha
songs,
hup, we hup, we lift the foot from the mud,

find the boot has lost its irony soul,
sould,
American, LSMFT, never forget!!

When the joker told the thief of the must be
way, the liar, himself, believed
the whole story…

that was magic, not a trick, not a cheat.
You know reality does not care.

{evidence, in the mystery of iniquity working thread}

The reason beauty is, is you. Seeing, you doing the
seeing, witnessing the irrationality
of iridescent humming birds
playing in my cloudless
January sunset,

all along the 33rd parallel.
May be we do not live in a special time or a special place but chances are good
as any in the moment that we each can make a moment special for a seer, with a subtle wink that says yeh. this is how to grow old in time.
Ken Pepiton Jul 2020
2020 - day 193

Sunday, July 12, 2020
8:03 AM

Peer Gynt, self aware, self fulfilled troll-like
being ghostly,
projected before me, on the wall that is not there
- callin' all in, all ye outs, in free
- hear ye, hear ye
- the day of judging is this one called today.

See that pile of idle words, find the ones y'know,
use'm t'make sense
since you know sense, on sight, you re
co-gnostically be tuned to the same
signal. {soft call to be true to your self aware

you are so naked

but who knows?
right being you, not me,
selfless lost in the mix,
billions of bits being bet on yet
more
hope, faith and love
these
the trying trinity judging me...

can one tell one story, or must one,
take part in one,
as in the
one story being
the whole of all stories,
yours, as well as mine,
told in words we all know you all know

y'know waddamean.
tell me wha'd I say? Baby, be old,

turn and turn and turn
night to day, in time after time after
ever
ever
ever
being floods reality with
those three triers used to try men's souls,

attention, to the trained, means one thing,
stand up straight, eyes front, hup, now

to the beat march,
as to war...

We are off to meet the Manicheans who
swallowed all the hate once given
follower of Nicolas, in Antioch,

given hatred taken from the revelation,
interpreted by the time
stage acting as now,
the day... back when a hundred monkeys
were imagined able to use
a machine that made sense from chaos, over time.



bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding

the dance of graphical images mages form
as words flow from fingers into magical machines
imagined
famously by a Huxley fellow, convinced life happens
on its own volition
using right, as opposed to non working trials
abandoned,
{when the band broke up, 1970, or so}

but the music never died
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding ding ding
writers of types of tales barred from publication,
suddenly appear

as it were from the type of word processors {Wangers}
that one Huxley envisioned responding
to a hundred monks who saw nor heard nor spoke evil
but
tapped, and at each tap a letter formed
to let a sound be heard
no levers stick, no carrying platens signal need to
advance
ding
tic, steadying sounds calling next from a habit
formed to the beat
tic tic tic
squeeks
as common, common conie-like rock squirrels

squeek squeek over the steady everthere sixty cycle
hummm

hear it, little dog, not too far away; adding music
to your day, which
grew from this seed, a little spore of living from
my state of being
informed
this day,

it was mine,
when first I noticed, this being the day.
I have power to live,
today,

I slept through the night, quite comforted, indeed.

Each new day
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
has a rythmn
sometimes it's steady, some itssteps stutter, some  say

sibalent whistles signal something, in the spirit,

sssssss

wait, too late, we made the story and let it fly.

ሴ ሴ

Lessoning myself in social graces,

I wash away my stains, my graffiti screams whispering
see me, see me, see me say

trolls exist in this place. Those who mocked knowing thyself,
and called evil good and good evil,
call fair foul and fould fair,
say sould souls were stolen, when we know the deal:

the price agreed was paid.
I insist enough
insisting for any rational troll,
knowing you are enough is enough, is part and parcel to
the act of being true to you as you
may say you wish you were,
free as truth in ever after...

- ain't nobody got no papers on me....

The sybils all told you , furies may come, but did you imagine


the wise principle thing promised riches beyond rubies,
for what a ruby is worth,
we have no clue.
What's a ruby worth to you?

Are you hungry? Here, eat a ruby.

Auto, self, did, done, act act, ionic become charged, my son.

Mama. ah. the old wounds we cherish.
Times before now, states of decay, shedding of skins to be
wise
as a serpent, like, that's a good thing, as good as
harmless
as a dove, on which poets rise in mind's eyes to see

sources of courses through the shallows near the shore

we all meander nearer now, swamped in ante
cipitation, capere, take it

take it, take it and move on. Live and learn,
follow the flow,
when you are snow, when you are precursor of coal,
go
on, no shortage of power,
like in America, where the power is always on.

Or was always on, in my future,
which is already
your past.
So fast,
but
its all realted,
it is all one idea, in the end, we each are given one last day,

to make up for everything, or make up everything.
The latter, I think,
today.
ሴ ሴ


You men ideas, furious in your raging, sing to us of
Gracious slaves of justice,

wake the lost hope of truth in
misformed
messengers whose every efforts fall mortally short.

Leaven a lessoning of habits formed being as a binding,
tied to each part of any whole
re-li-gated, ifthenelse ifthenelse ifthen else
re-legate, make a rule,
you
too
late,
we was e-pluriblized afor you was
aware eveh had begun,

The Pax of Everest living radiant as ever was imagined.
Peace
on earth, good will to the kind having hearing ears and
seeing eyes and slich oily minds,

anointed minded ones,
tested,
proven to have survived up
pop this very mortal moment called today,
to then, when you became dear reader in this medium
of mass messaging
lacking
any organized haeceity of pure me, not thee, not
other wise

ways wise men walk, watch, watch the liars strut,
do wise men walk this way?

Live and learn, we always say,
when given a day,
to think about it,

before dying and knowing, or not, if the point
is ever made, or was
already made before I started trying.

ሴ ሴ
ሴ ሴ ... _ .
Beta tests that use endless loops, are the icebergs in the stream of con-sci-use,
all floating on the rising tide of opinions
Commuter Poet Oct 2016
Go
Flo
Rip
Lip
Wiggle
Tiggle
Smash
Dash

Groove
Move
Hup
Pup
Slide
Ide
Dive
Clive

Push
Nush
Tickle
Lickle
Love
­Dove
Bounce
Ounce

Daz
Jazz
Big
Dig
Slip
Pip
Trip
Hip

Hop
Pop
Grind
Mind
Telly
Belly
Hell
Tell

Oz
Loz
Stone
Bone
Big
Wig
­Tic
Nic

Danny
*****
Granny
Manny
Wimp
Imp
Rib
Dib

Dace
Mace
Lace
Race
Fire
Ire
Flat
Face
1st October 2016
ringnir Jan 2016
"Finally decided to do your hair for once."
"Chris, thank you, but let's focus on the dance."
"With this awful song?.. 2, 3, and hup!"
"We walked the aisle to this.. do try to keep up."
"Now now Jayne, that was probably ages ago."
"Oh, then explain why first anniversary's tomorrow."
"Ahem, now lunge, slowly, 4, embrace me."
"Can I ask one question? Why the hell did we marry?"
"That's two - you really should work on your spending."
"Sniff, and you should spend much more on washing."
"Judge Michel looks concerned, would you stop being upset."
"But I'm the one smiling, with great hair I might add."
"Steady, and land.. Yes speaking of which, why now?"
"I'm leaving you for Michel.. do not forget to bow."
Dave Williams Aug 2018
it's me
i miisss yookuouoso muruch i dontnowottodoabouutitit
iim acaar fulll of ******, a shipp ffull of sssailas
a ccsamp fullof boyscouutss

it's you
twiddledy-twiddly-twiddle the kknob
pussshing thhe buutons, fiftyytwo, fourtythree, tennn-hup
a maggneticpo leto my compasss

it's us
qmdkksjdjjaiekmkrrrrfkfk, nsdjndf
kkksksiashiuyiddrirttranoth erone, go on, doit
do it aagin, ynotit works dunnitit

it's ours
and from over here it loooks likke
we'll never get tto do it evva again, unnless
itl earns anoth erlanguage
thhatw ebothu ndusttaaaand
Ken Pepiton Nov 2021
Am I winning?
Have I won?
Am I living?
Yes, I am.
Am I living?
Yes, I am
Have I lived?
Yes I have

Lo, and be hold
beholden’ on

this is the future, my future, your now,
you may change what comes next,

but my bit of this idea was thought
some time ago.

----
say stretch, tendere, eh, say stretch
yo’ sorry ol’ attent-attention

three sibling boys march past me
counting cadence, 30 per
hup two three

--- why is this so easy to see
as real in any
boy I ever knew, the boy who leads
is 12, the sarge is 8, pfc is 5,

War, The idea of war, itself, an imagined
anthropomorph

in many fantasy experiences, in tranced
story-wise, tuned to the game
as to life, these see war as game theory,

rage from another age
lurks among the liars, there flattened
on the inner edge of the wall they wished
to form from fear and hate idea viruses.

Yes, Seth’s original strain, pure conjectural
objects orienting precepticons…

Can you see me now?
Am I living?
Yes, I am.

Ecce **** Augmento.
Yah. You may say… whoso ever
or who so
ever or whosoever makes peace
appear

as here, at this point, in time
we think of as then and now, you know.

Wake up, take your watch.
Day before the ideal Holiday to reperceive on a more extended set of mortal senses.
Truth is the gift that frees the liar, lies maybe hated, liars must be allowed to live and learn. Herein is the patience of the saints. War never won.
T R S Feb 2020
Globbed all up

Knackered about and baked into

an overdone buttermilk biscuit.

I hate getting up,

Not caring is a sin too,

I'm not sure either, but I will see if I risk it.
Ken Pepiton Mar 2022
Three days after the ides, and the story
told of a spirit that calls for vengeance,
to this very day, while it is called Today.

Entranced, couchlocked, looking dazed…
but none see me, to challenge me, vie with me
for watcher-alarm sounder silencing
clouds of knowing growing deeper, thicker, sort
of jello-time from post -2022

Monstor Fighter wannabes, realize
your fantasy, word to word,
sword to sword, progress, keep time, watch,
imaginations
bound in bundles and packeted for consumption,
- feel like a hero,
- just like that, that's the spirit, believe
- in the dream
Really,

see the lie you first believed, take your life exam.

Who really established
the stack you stand your ground rule upon.

Tell me no lie, I can check your facts, and my own,
a gazer into the abyss, must dare the awareness,
more than once, of the abyss staring into the gazer.

Life, lived a breath per moment of note, taken
as if this were me alive, and well taken care of,
by a benign monstor arm of benignity itself,
war feeds me and clothes me, I survived,
so the proof of the nation's promise,
I am, a trained-will that will obey rules,
conserved as rights held by heads of state,
- liberal conservation of meaning trees
- frees old readers from fishing for facts,
- we, the augmented, have public access…
- good citizen status, unto death…

as paraded boys, with fixed bayonets, pledged
and inspired by ancient incantations, patience,
steady cadence, rank and file,
perform as a mass minded thing agreed, a team,
- call to attention, respond
Testudo, hold. Sistere, hobnailed to your ground,
our
ground, hold that line, hold it,
hold it, get the rush,
without the dread duty of picking up the dead.
- Flash, my first duty in Vietnam, was
- to identify a body, that was not there…

shield walls, all games now, stories tell life
as a game, a test for bestness, or likestness,

yet, ever spun off, a few, a little leaven,
welsh held tongue song word long whole ideas,
by and bye, ye ken the less,
what's an hour's worth?

when does saving time, as a way to change
the season, in an effort
to increase productivity,
cease being a grand plan
for empowering all the needs intuited,
solar- leanings, shade and sunlit,
future from now, reckoned some how,
- wait, the engine driving the beast
- global economic collapse, is war, the idea
- that it is a god idea,
- monstrous fact of what we are, in agreement.
Peace, as proven ever winning, edgewise,
at the core, the intention we assume is true,
people have a reason in the whole ever idea,
immeasurable,
from inside.
..
the reason I wish
to live, longer,
money, use of it, actually,
literal debts for my luxury,
paid by the rules, the game, I won,
my life, in soul possession,  
is the rational measure, the cup of essence
of mankind to be supplied
to all agreeable minds, all free, to try, read
grown-up learn to read as teacher read
from the abundance of answers,
already to be taught to form
foundational anchors,
fears, joys, honor and disdain
of the garden earth is,
under, or behind great magnetic shields,
set to let life function to frame a state,
a stasis, relative to ever, after time
has no measure, the racer's mind,
long run pace, cadence call,
hup, two, three, four, heart beat

fit to the cultures of old, when all boys
were tough, or never boys at all.

"A rather Spartan lifestyle", an eastern reporter,
for Sun Jung Moon's Washington Star, said
of my cohort, during the prepper years.
---
old days --- always better after survival
from warstory to biography
--- look inward

Cranking jams in my haptic suit,
leaping valleys, sweeping down
canyons like I'm little Luke Skywalker;

When my eyes accept the invitatory story
challenge, vie for the power try,
triumphant,
meaning #2, spiritual victory.
Define spirit - breath, breathe, the one to the other
spirit of the bayonet - the word as command, ****
****, ****
take life take life take life, imagine too long,
as the addicted to hormones video triggers,
words
unspoken, live to prove the lie,
ready, read

I feel your pressure, fused with super lies,
unbelievable incredible opposition to peace or mind,
manifested handily as joy in breath,
imagine loving your enemies is your duty,
smile,
laugh and sigh. Some never try.
What can possibly be true, is;
what cannot possibly be true is not and never was.
A poet's perogative is the ready writer role, pulling down imaginations
that exalt themselves against truth... the weapons in life's battles are not carnal.
wordvango Aug 2017
let us ratchet up some rhetoric
silver tongued hup two three
as our freshman president seems to tweet

come on be all for him his
loose tongue his hiding something
his branding of himself

as power potency effectiveness
hold on
catch your breath

I am anything but for him
I think he is an American
version of the crazy North Korean

ruler **** sum ill
or whatever his name is
I will take in abeyance

the last judgment
of Donald Jong-un Strump
and be all for his impeachment

or tar and feathering
or selling him and all of his
ilk to Russia for two  

tickets to tonights
opera or ballet,
just Hope Putin

keeps his ****** shirt on!
Yup
I sobered up
despite expressing regular
(unleaded and unlettered)
urge to shtup
expunged courtesy
system of a down
with shuga (mush)
and everything nice.

The following crafted some time ago,
when empty nest syndrome
pulled me psyche taut
analogous to an outstretched bow
yet the shadow of mine eldest
of two adult charming progeny,
would be aghast and crow
against her papa posting erotica
elucidating, jumpstarting, parading
adventures of his sorry excuse for *****
cuz he (yours truly)
nearly wrecked marriage

cavorting, gallivanting, lapping
residual womanly exudations
analogous to volcanic Earthflow
witnessing (at mere auto suggestion
of Barenaked ladies bliss,
albeit short lived),
how agnst riddled Pepé Le Pew (mine)
did bulge, expand and  grow
a measly wienerschnitzel
inducing Jolly Green Giant to guffaw
with a hearty **... **... **.

Ever since deux darling daughters
dearly departed dada
for distant horizons where
unknown opportunities
beckon, mine emotional state
like a sinusoidal wave doth veer
above n below this imaginary
cerebral Maginot/Mason
Dixon line me bit size uber Uighur
village people segregated

to a patch of sterile ground
invisible fenced in o’er there
essentially the analogy (if vague)
constitutes a figurative dichotomy
of selves mind canst share
without psychological
tectonic shifts that evoke me
to drift within the continent of Matthew rare
lee ever able, eager n ready to allow, enable
n provide peace of mind –

which doth seem queer
yet to the outside observer
no evident of me
self experiencing wrenching
disequilibrium hup pear
while inside this har noggin o mine
near collisions sans
microscopic airplanes at mine O’hare
interleaved gray matter reactivate
an out of control maelstrom
evidencing as panic attack near

thine thinking plain tarmac expressions
per empty nest syndrome akin
to a foal seeking his/her mare
occasioning this papa to take comfort
in ma man cave lair
cause feeling discombobulated
would invite lookers on to jeer
helter skelter mental state zigzags
defying prediction from Kare
11 (Owned by Tegna Inc.,
the station maintains studios

on Olson Memorial Highway
in Golden Valley and a transmitter
at the Telefarm site
in Shoreview, Minnesota station –
google if ya hear
doubt firing inside yar own
wheels, cogs and functioning gear)
though that philosophical strand
goes off track sans this flair
up of internal distress –

natural after shocks whence e’er
beguiling, charming, doting,
entertaining temptations
(within the fifth dimension) to dare
their nubile bodies to bump up
against (figuratively) clear
indications of autonomy,
dichotomy, globally nascent blare
ring femininity, levity,  reproductively…
within the eth air.
Though (supposedly) only
     the good die young, urn holding
     cremated ashes a mere cup
full, every last man standing falls,
     cuz nobody else
     escapes un pup
yule lore blitzkrieg,
     or aging gracefully,

     the unavoidable eventual fate,
     (mortal fateful demise),
     sans the remaining unsung
anonymous peoples meet up
with the grim reaper,
     who will ineluctably disrupt
the carryings on
     with each and every individual

     (non plus ultra all other
     life forms as well)
     gradually or with abrupt,
and unannounced debut
     scythe lent lee appearing
     to whisk away the
     honest and/or corrupt
whether taking their

     first meal of the day,
     and/or last sup
per, perhaps sitting quietly,
     when body electric
     amp pare rent lee
     receives ohm
     my word fatal invite,
     whereat permanent shocking

     quiescence doth, sans
     stealth maneuver erupt
tragically, indiscriminately,
     and blithely
     mowing down innocent civilians,
     and/or training fate squarely
     upon heads of soldiers
     life during wartime,

where opposing armies regale
     while marching men go hup...
to three fore (akin
     to a story field day),
     winning ***** prize, viz
counting on qua,
     asper winning lottery
     and/or Stanley Cup

major blood bath rendered
     significant counting coup
whereat each opposing fighting
     force figuratively doth slew
the other, analogously dost defeat
making mince meat
re: as uniformed brigades in heat
of wanton killing

     fields sliced minced,
     chopped nada so vary neat,
via stealth unable dupe, nor cheat
death be not proud,
     et cetera, nonetheless,
     grimly forced to greet
     a bonanza coup won,
     only tubby beat

tin to pulp by adept
     skull and excellent fleet
of foot (top
     notch crafted) sweet
(albeit) temporary victory
     tasting said treat
assailing, bruiting , and/or
     weathering stance versus

     alternating between defensive
     and/or offensive
     use of cross bones,
     in a hail of bullets
     instantaneously didst greet
fast and furious i.e. suffering

     deadly raking har row
ring slaughter, an entire
     phalanx gone, where
     (metaphorical terrible swift sword)
no uniformed fighter
     can never call retreat.
harangue since landing
yours truly immersed
in a dream-like
fiercesome state of war,  
not quite a dream
can be described
as a "hypnagogic state"
while virtually in Singapore,

where Katy Perry
namesake of a lion doth roar
noise amplified courtesy dissonance
while nine inch nails synthesize
scraping across chalk board
evoking discordant soundcloud
foo fighting beastie boys
comprising a quatuor.

Socked away within
cerebral nooks and crannies
house mailer daemons
inconveniencing yours truly
i.e. an Indus das scribe
hub bull mendicant
bullying jimmying,
jump starting, joy riding
junket at breakneck speed
disregarding dangerous signposts

warning reckless (heedless) highjackers
speeding stolen heavily
sedated body (mine)
slap happily, obliviously,
jauntily (devil may
care attitude) careering
across rubble strewn
bombed out stone age terrain
gunning engine like
there's no tomorrow

zipping past crumpled
suspended abridged abutment
jarring sole abducted,
bound and gagged one ***** (me)
hurling over edge of cliff
temporarily free of gravity,
(albeit an infinitesimal eye blink)
between life and death
rapidly descending in accordance
with laws of physics,

when suddenly motion stops
as if thee Earth stood still
freezing all life forms
held as if invisibly tethered,
when ghostly debut appearance
courtesy Rod Serling
rattles of his trademark narration
"...fifth dimension beyond
that which is known to man.

...This is the dimension of imagination."
I resort to aforementioned loose analogy
to approximate mental state of limbo,
asper...this man falling to Earth
minus parachute on par
with crash test dummy
an absent firmament
to feel securely grounded
held stock still,

when moments before plunging
pitched head over heels...
only to find this mortal,
either entering or exiting
somnambulant state
only groggily awaking
out of deep sleep
falling out of bed
singing hup bout poor lovely bones.
courtesy Karen Windle a gift horse
ponied up late afternoon May18th, 2020
over roan nay bore lee volition.

Unbeknownst how she raised (cane),
and loudly wrapped outside the door
every ounce of her eighty plus pounds
slip of elderly lady petite bow legged
spry late 60's though older looking gal

argh – I expect unpleasant fallout after
piercing eyes unexpectedly discover
references made regarding aged waif,
who inexplicably signalled presence
in toto i.e. presents to comprehend, a
bounty, nah, not worth causing mutiny

nevertheless heave on lee delight hup
pea zing helter skelter discombobulated
alienation courtesy coronavirus lockdown
concomitantly venues to borrow books
puts serious and perilous bind aggravated
assault upon cerebral cortex regarding a

forced hiatus deprivation to binge read
reduced to peruse the daily toilet paper
no stimulation for imagination to indulge
magical mystery tour thwarted helter skelter
ye silently ask rather infer "what me bored?"

Despite severely circumscribed choices
whiling away hours, who knows lockdown
courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19)
warrants near indefinite closure accessing
literary material buzzfeeding noggin,
an egg gone eye zing torture rankles

healthy predilection to binge osmotically
passion for written word all the while
authors unbeknownst evoke quintessential
pleasant provocation dredging up
10,000 leagues below the jewel bedecked
cease son bewitched (Alder time) tremendous
metaphorical pristine hinterlands

Matthew Scott's vernacular semantic
hodgepodge orientation withered away
figurative gripes wrath and rail against
series of unfortunate events ala defiant
Lemony Snicket, when despair plummeted
to all time low, who should unwittingly
telepathically hear plaintive SOS sent

none other than intrepid Karen Windle,
who's mysteriously rapping announced
dog send appearance bore deliverance
(cue Banjos), where ecstasy didst delve
where still waters run deep, nevertheless
welcome respite when printed material
weekly magazines offered scant respite.

— The End —