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Marco Buschini May 2017
I do solemnly swear,
That forever more,
I shall live in a world
All on my own.
A world that consists of
Pure pleasure,
And unequivocal harmony.
That will last forever,
And a Sunday.
And so from this day forth,
I shall exude the richness
Of the heavens,
In ways that are applicable to life
In the most profound way imaginable.
Which will inevitably,
Echo forever more
In the laughing sounds
Of matrimony.
Blessed my velvet tongue
For I speak the weight of gold,
And sing like an angel,
Whispering enchanting dreams,
And dancing on clouds.
Osiria Melody Feb 14
To all those troubled people,
who Deprived themselves of food 'cause they
were a size 20 instead of a 2,
who possessed Drawn comfort lines or
Engraved scalding designs all over their bodies,
who attempted to Snip their lives away from
the grand photo of life,
who fled from a place we call Home,
who Drank alcohol like water,
who Smoked nicotine like a campfire's burn,
who Did the worst of the worst imaginable,
I am here to let you know that there will
always be Hope.

To all those troubled people,
who Deprived themselves of happiness at
the Expense of someone else,
who possessed Gaits of Emaciated strength,
collapsing,
who attempted to Hurt their loved ones for
the Sake of protecting oneself,
who fled from a place that no one Knows,
this world needs your Uniqueness
Beauty, Dignity, Strength
Your Tears can water gardens of Happiness.
Pain can climb Mountains of pleasure.
Tell sadness to Hang itself by a noose,
Tell sadness to Shoot itself in the head,
Tell sadness to Indulge in poison,
Tell sadness to Jump off a building,
Tell sadness to Bleed itself.

For you cannot know what tomorrow will
bring,
do not let Sadness overcome you.
You're your own hero, a steadfast one
Make Sadness **** itself and spare Yourself.
I outstretch my creative hands to you
to all those Troubled people
never let go of what keeps you Going.



Melody
2/14/19
No one can take away your individuality since you're your best judge.
Andrew Oct 2017
There's a fight between us
In every imaginable way
You could call it a match
But that would be misleading
When we focus on our differences
Versus is what we find interest in

I turn on the news
To watch illegal aliens versus ****** predator
There's a wall between them
That has a money stem
And perceptions
Of bad intentions
Even our valuable verses versus
When critics can't agree what to purchase

Us versus them
When us is me
And them is you
Rich versus poor
Bush versus Gore
The churches versus each other
On points as minor as the cover
They attack a mirror
As hatred becomes clearer

We fight constant battles
Our brain constantly rattles
From the anxiety brought by our fellow man
But when our anxiety is part of their plan
To rule the timid
We hit our limit
For love we plead
To counteract greed
Because when it's us versus ourself
Look what that does to our health
Willow Dec 2018
Fish:

You come in all forms and shapes,
In   all   imaginable   colours  and   shades,
Larger      than      some     ships     you      find, Smaller    than    a    thimble    of   any     kind,

You  can  ­ live   in   every   place   with  water,
Deeper     then     where     light    will     falter,
Or  high  enough  to  see  the  sun  light,
But sometime you are not in sight,

Some     of     you     are
really    beautiful,
You       make
aquariums      look      full,
Some   of   you   are   just   divine,
JayceeJellies Dec 2014
You're adorable in every way imaginable,
You've caught my eye and pulled me out-
From that blind, situation.
It's as if you intended to emancipate me-
From my fears.
You gave me a reason to not shed my tears.
It's almost like you can read my mind from-
The inside.
And it's so nice,
To feel like,
Someone understands,
My insights.
Oh Lisa daughter of the fallen,
Come hither so I may bless you
For what you give with your
Carers’ hands and gentle smile
Is greater than imaginable.

I thank you with my frail heart
And my thin hand and voice
You came to me on Easter Sunday
And again on Easter Monday
Bringing your gifts.

Love Mary
Richie Vincent May 2018
I no longer watch sunsets through my rear view mirror because I realize that I don’t have anything to run from anymore,
In fact, some nights I work it out in a way to make it seem like I’m driving away into the sunset because everyone deserves their own happy endings

My bones aren’t made of paper anymore so please stop writing on them with your curse words and forced apologies,
My skin doesn’t need to feel bad anymore,
My skin is the new sun, haven’t you heard?
It’s warm and shiny and when it dies it isn’t going to go into a trash can,
it’s going to burst into the biggest fire imaginable,
and it’s going to burn out of here,
it’s all I’ve ever wanted

My blood is sweet tea that you have no business drinking anymore,
My body is a kitchen full of pots and pans that I finally get the chance to cook with,
and they don’t rattle inside of me and keep me up at night anymore,
And I’m full of spices that I’ve been too afraid to try,
until now,
My arms and legs are windows and the clouds and birds love seeing them most days,
they love it too

My words are natural again,
It feels good to let them out, like I actually mean to say the things I say,
I’ve forgotten what that’s like

I still get angry sometimes,
The difference now is that I don’t feel the need to be angry at you anymore

We need to stop making ourselves homes for other people,
We need to tuck ourselves in instead,
We’ll dream much more vividly that way and the first cup of coffee of the next morning will taste so much better
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
This is not where this idea began but it ran and I

missed my mark. Mark sin. -1 deficit reality quotientcy
currency. (Press Sure, to let the bursting pressure equilation expand at will)
Score.

That fine a level of reality
demands more attention than I have to pay.
Patient agent wait and not see or see if/then

you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are some of those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is,
but it is silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments.
Is it? Apophrenia

Dejavu, you believe that, what if it is your memory lying by ignoring time
attention ratios determining the observations stored in HD?
What if it's just a glitch?
Blue screen of death.


If you suffer, is there ought that I might do now
for you
that these words are not doing?
All I am is words, in a sence, sense, since

we come in threes, we are those sets of thoughts tangled in complexes
better left alone.

Untangling twisted knotted realities is what we do best.
We've been wadding up proteins, since God knows when,

time's less twisted than people think it is, but is it silly to imagine
time's arrow is a metaphor for these meta-gnostic moments?

We come and go. To and fro up on the face

messengers bearing news in both directions, watch
the trickster, Jacob, in this story, he sees the messengers from
heaven bearing leaven thither and hither

upon the face of the earth.
the wrinkling mother, smiling now, chuckle head
I ain't no ***** saint.

Jah, I know. Joy is my dance, this is my song.
Is it good Grandmother?

---- on the porch facing my west gate ---

fences don't play exactly, out acted, the role of walls.

The idea that something there is that does not love a wall
has frozen my pond

the stillness beyond the sylvan **** crowned head
radiates through the medium of the message to me in time
to you.

Miles to go, you recall the feeling of feeling miles to go
before
I sleep.
That was yesterday, and you know yes ter everything's gone,
roar.

Aslan can pierce the barrier between mere Christians and me,
how would be fun to know, but
knowing why would help us keep the story interesting as life goes on

Who controls my peace?
Am I a mercurial sheen in between chaos and order,
chronus and zeus?
Could be, ya thank so, ye know so, less unlessed as

unlessing means nothing to you,
that means you are visiting here.

Visting whom, vis it ing whom?
Who's in charge, where's the power
short

age, wrinkles in time, rogue waves at the quanta scale,
we were dancing
with the thoughts emanating

from some IDW smart guy proffesing
Critique-technic-magi action, post mode'r'ism
at the point of Dada und Scheizkunst,
the unmass-queque,
the line of lies awaiting unbelief,
idle words lingering,
hoping
to be noticed and added back into the story book of life,

a simple wish.

It could be every child's, should we think that
if we can or may,

sometimes I'm still, and

confusion troubles the water,
it seems,
then another hurt is healed, another lie is gone and life goes on

we won again, this never gets old,
I do love my opposition,
pressure pump
pump pump. De-us-me-can-onbeoffbeyond

five years ago unmasking and rhetoric meant nothing to me
the purpose of learning forever and never
knowing anything beyond all things

our bubble is metastisizing, a mercurial film forms
informing us
in its reflection,

this is the ying yang thang in 3 or 4 d, HD+ chaos one half

order the other,
sharpest imaginable thing
me trick being mag ift just if eye winged show

how beautiful are the feet of them who bring good news,
you see, it flows, sweetwater flows
winged feet
whish through leaving, leavin' leaven…

unleaven that which has been leaved?
Fat chance, all who
eat this bread and don't get gas,
they are our same bread people. Companions.
Vectors of sour dough,
webs of fungal
axions
make a way
bore,pore, poor-with-us, pour

in to it ish, that idea, an opening through,
trickle down good gravity leveling stillness,
gentle rocking earth
roll round and round and round

the pythagorian version
of Euclid's point in his mother's story,

the point of this song? To know the point you must have been

to the point of in-forming the point on which we dance and you recall

we come in threes, and just, we are, just, if it, that idea,
rests in your
back roads, gentle on your mind. We make peace.

Being young is easy from my POV.
I've lived in my future for sometime now

I can't say how beyond saying aloud, this was never hidden,
in my accounting of idle words I claimed,
upon hearing the stories each contained.

i'da swore i hear that wise *** o'balaam's abrayin'
Braindeem, deemed 'eem. Wham, uptheyhaid. Relig, fool,

or chaos wins and no hero ever lives again!
Drop anchor, wait it out.
let patience blow her nose, gnostic snot caught in the nets,

nonono nothing's wasted in patience work, we make glue
from gnostic snot that patience sneezes
when reality grows cold,

that has happened, you know, temperatures are just now,
oh, wait global warming, bad dam,

Script, bust it,
leveling is essential to eventual temperature
equilibrium.
The heat is on, the bubbles are forming, informing one to another
below the surface
greasy tension, slippery slopes putting pressure on chaos
to conform to the curve

Ying yang, mercury film upon the sea of time and the scene of chaos
in this bubble of all you can imagine real.

Hows' that feel? Why?

You want that? What are you standing under? Does chaos win?
You are, as we say, cognisic magi we-ified,
practical magic at
the moment
the point
is made, then the creation begins

and not before or is this all
unrolling ex nihilo, no magi ever knew…
come, let us reason together,

why am I empowered? To live, first thought wise, that's good but
evil forces me to think again and I see the pattern

life goes on, John Molenkamp, Sam, soldier 4,
(as the credits role by, the name catches my eye)
never in a thousand years,
'cept unbelievable is one of those lies I came to **** by strangling
on bile while
rescuing every idle word ever involved in the infection

from the point in the absolute center of the bubble,
objectively, you see everything
that is
seeable

but would good prevail if evil had no hope?

I know that one, yes. why?
evil has no mind, soul, some think--
same same medium message spoken spelled chanted danced
who care's?
*** 'er done. Life has a chaotic side, the churning creates

number one from none, the cult of one divides itself
go do be
we three we three we three a wavy song ding ****.

Aware? Awaken? Avowed-wowed-wit-wise,
fullcomp, retired
Peacemaker. Me.

All my hero's imagined or real, were Peacemakers.
Just now, peaceful now, mindful now
we remain
the same blessing promised in the package of yeses
stolen from Cain by his older sister, his
bride,
keep that quiet, eh?

Secrets made sacred, always
those are lies, no lie is of the truth,
all lies are about the truth.

What empowers you, poet or poetry? Right, you know,
God, good god knows, resentment lives in lies

the rotting idle words deemed curses at best, secret at worst,
those idle corrupting thoughts sparking as if absolute annihilation were thinkable by rational minds

of ---wait, there's arub, a sore
ex nihilo, the homeless wanderer screams,

"May the whole world perish, may you all go to hell,"

the mad man wept his hell, and imagined his curse,

not mine,
I don't have one. I did, but I went back so often to find pieces of my heart that now I have an Elysian network woven through All-hell, the big idea that broke loose infecting the mind as wisdom's leaven builds her womb
inhabitation
placenta
stem cell informing builders empowered, pressure empowered, what must be, but is not verse, versus
us, the we that be
we must
choose,

let this be, come and see,
life goes on.
Agree, or empower us as we bubble by and
takenallwecan expanding gobbling bubbles,
good
by ye.

Once we flushed the Dada poison and let mito mom
instill the patience gene with
epigenetic peace we can pass on with a touch or a word,

we've never woven lies for no reason,
if a rung breaks
and they can, last straw and all that weight,
you know,
Jacob's ladder is an escalaltor-ladder, wittily invented,

there are automated steps, algoryhmes of reasons to repair the broken rung
with a reason to believe the rung has been repaired,
only believe, take a step,
re
paired again with the idea of meaninglessness masked in create-if-ity

good enough. okeh. don't believe lies.
Don't pass undigested lies to see if farts burn.
Listening to Hicks Explaing Post Modernism after watching Tenant's Voltage Within spark a fire. This reality is storyteller heaven.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
--- as a boy, I explored a hermit's lair
--- the hermit was not there, he'd left nothing but a tin box
--- of charcoal pills, a panacea for curiosity, I was told.

This old bearded fellow who lived at the foot o'thumb butte,
by the burro's water hole,
other side o'the hill from Doug McVicar's Jasper find

Tidal shorelines from my child hood
swirling through the softed rocks

Boulders on the bottom, roll on, crustal waves rise and fall

it all goes back to that 13,000 year mark
when Gobekli Tepi,
was in the building,
long long before
the Hopis were on the Pollen Way, leaving land marks on

Rocks risen above the desert floor

Some thing came from space, something very cold,
a snowball so big it tugged the ocean of magma
through the crust of the earth

nuclear glass, same time. nano diamonds

The younger dryas-

melt water pulse, fire from the sky, men could see that, with their own eyes.
and then they saw the clouds of witnesses

Rituals learned, the story heart seeps from mother to child,

at first touch some say.

Specialized touches were included in the 2.0s.
Holistic wuwu Randall Carlson laughs, why lie? Evidence, see.

What did you see when you passed through hell the first time?
Nothing, you kept your eyes shut.

Are you really
Experienced? That was the question. Ask the experts,
but some of them lie.
Never trust their clocks, that's wise. Time is too temporary to make
much difference
in the long run. Time, least of all powers in eternity. Chronos,
Chaos shattered him, and some story teller on a journey
saw the event
while his tongue was being tamed, a task no man can do.

Fire and Ice from heaven to earth,
whole peoples saw it,
with the eyes in their head

Hope is the key to the heart's lock on reality

The younger Dryad's oak burned,
Drought killed all the others, bugs killed the elms.

Ah spirit to spirit, compare. The heart of the world is weeping
for the ignorant eaters of poisoned poems and stagnant stories

speed kills when it comes to cosmic notes on rocks

patience, under stand the canopy of heaven can, filter
poison from those
stagnant stories's idle words, redemption draweth nigh,

count on it. Keep counting, patience finishes what she starts.

Sacred Geometry, scale invariance, I saw the Mississippi
Carve meandering ant canyons in the dirt
while watching the rain
Nothing's secret anymore, that's a reality that may be beyond

your thought. Textbook in stone. I know geometry Mr. P,

can I come in? She who builds, who destroys, who rebuilds, suggested
my bombs have a Nobel role,
in energizing

the ark
the earth is the ark, but you knew that already, right.

Acacia bush visions from a medium
of messaging the master builder,
who, you know, made this
happen, used to heal with ashes.

Healing war, study it no more, it is
possible man, alone, can imagine.

The Godhead? What's the big idea? You a heretic, Mr. P?

Come and see, leave the clock/phone.
---

This is big momma story, little clay doll with pointy feet
sticks in the dirt, stares at the fire,

the story mamma, shhh

Stands, and lifts her hands up high, pointing
all her fingers to the skies where ashes, glowing
rise,
like we can imagine the stars once scattered by God
and his sons's servants prepping

origins of human conflict taught
Tubalcain by fire light, while Jubal
Sang the very umph umph song from
Taj Mahal' 1970 with Jerry, Fillmore West,

A message to Garcia, from on high:
the imbecility of the average man—
the inability or unwillingness to concentrate on a thing and do it,
That, resist. It is evil.

Angels, imaginable, you know, mere messages, nothin more,

so great a cloud of witnesses
there was a times when  all
imaginations men were imagining heartily
were evil, altogether.

Enki left and went to the moon, or that's the story grandma's
sisters told me
when I was a little boy lost and found from time to time

The serpent on the staff, where's that story from?
Who says their mammy saw that happen.

Time, Hosts of Heaven, time is one of those.

Fan tasty taste, see, the truth is good.

Freedom, responsible freedom, take as granted,
intend good and go.
Seed of the Dream,
I planted that. It contained this fact,

we reap what we sow.

Ambi-Dios, ambit-ion with no hope for something just beyond
the best that I have ever done,
that'll make a child mean as hell, on the average,
according to the data Google smuggled into China
through those super phones,
unavailable in the USA, protected by the wielders
of destruction who eat the world up,
and drink its very blood.

the bread of shame, is fed to slaves to keep them in the queue,

BTW que-eee was the word I used for ****, when I was a child.
I took that word to school.
Nobody knew what it meant. I considered that cool
and kept my secret until just now.

I feel so free.

A builder sees a building and the builder in a single glance.
None may enter here lacking geometry, that's no secret now.
The cultivated Pythagorean mind, simple as pi.

'Cain't get to Romans eight, which is here, now, I think,
with out going beyond Hebrew six.

The measure of a man that is the angel. No comma,
just a jot, then this means that,
to the mind
listening for mystery in beauty found lying around.,
glistening in the sun.
The charcoal pills I found fifty three years ago, these wandering thoughts I found dancing the trail earlier this morning.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Ya'll recall a devil went down, to Georgie, I believe it woz…

Well, that idea,
it comes up now, and then,

we have to pop it.
that is our duty, what we do, we pop
particular bubbles when they surface, it's included in the service, involve meant, on your part,
or role as you may say, non-quest.
Such bubbles, as evil as have ever been imagined,
do arise, from time to time.
This time we always pop them, it is our honor,
as agents of the I'll go rhythm that
makes us even imaginable,
in the first place.
… it's about self-government…
such bubbles emerge,
as they always do because nothing is hidden that
hasn't been known,

otherwise,
life would be un fair, and it's not, it's fair, beauty-filled
in every
crack and crevice and encrusted scabby festering

wound wound in linen,
white linen,
as cold
as the clay, that song, you must recall that,

that was your destiny, young outlaw, you saw it,
that's why
you took you guns to town, boy.

Life's about choices.
Christmas means the anointed message.

What does anointed mean, on the street,
what do people think Christmas,
I mean
anointed message
means? Jahknowaddamean.
I think I am living a long ago fantasy of starring in a Christmas Movie starring a Jesus my age watching the holidays unroll in 2018.
Ken Pepiton Sep 24
enemies - the needed element to make a warring mind.
How was war imagined,
how, was imagined
easy to imagine,
kwo-, stem of relative and interrogative pronouns. Practically a doublet of why, differentiated in form and use.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=how>

These be ambush thoughts thinking they may be read if any one is patient enough to see beyond the sheer longwindedness
of this character lacking an enemy to war with.
Looking for
Enemies - the needed element to make a warring mind.
How was war imagined,
how,
per se,
was imagined
easy to imagine,
person-if i am able to attribute such qualia to a body
how any unthing is realized is
imaginable as well.
Add a jot or title, a li'l art mark, an art-tickle.
Games teach us how,


how any unthing is realized is
imaginable as well.
Add a jot or title, a li'l art mark, an art-tickle.
Games show us how,
not why.

Why is the quest at the moment. There are rumors of enemies.
The we of me and thee, herenow, we lack emnity.

Hey, sports fan,
where is the frontier, the edge of the maddened crowd
whose
enemies are those who
stand pat, calling the game as game-over, and life a lessoning
as we speak, abundance of known knowns
rotting all around us, putrefying under pressure,
seeping to the surface,
to be burned.
Why,
let us guess---

Disnified pride of pur pose, positional sign-ifiers
of place,
a destination for faiths full pursuants
bemused in bubbling joy,
or shrieks of terror when
the child from the hinterland locks eyes
with Mickey Mouse, and finds no joy, no love, no depth,
but a mask.
The reaction reverberates al(the)way to la Brea,
Peacemaker say,
It's okeh, baby girl, daddy said,
ignor them, they ain't real.
Monsters ling grrrring, then
it's agrin
for now, of course. Here we are. We've arriven,
Happiest Place on Earth,
as imagined realizable by a child in 1917, say,
better yet, 1925, and oh, there were major Wars
being imagined winnable in pressure
application to the spiritual slippage from rite,
the ritual passage of child into adultery at a whim,
so such imagined haps fade.

connect or break connection, on the bus or off the bus

you all
sing
think nothing new under the sun,
teach preach reach out and touch

the face of Java man, eaten, swallowed, and gone to
the believable
history of life,
the accident,
the unplanned, yet
taught as known believable, a pre-dict-ible,
one in ten to the seventy-nine-thousandth power,
yet, if one pays his life time to learn when to bet and when to hold;
but, this,
the secret journey to the soul,
to the core,
we must assume,
we become
as wise *** (***, the word for a donkey, why would some one prevent you from reading *** Asteriscktical ignorantce,y'axme, stupid AI)
the ***,
as harmless as the serpent from the fire on the island
Ask,
are we of the bovine ilk or pithec-ant-us or
embodied soul-cores
forming, en nue
fitting the mold, the pattern, the plan of projected nexts
built on Locke steps from whence to
whither did we wander?

have we all forgotten the actual question just axt?
Or the answer?
Have we not
gotten what we now
know
we miss,
or was it only I who missed and as the
photons forming the shapes
you see, these breathing commas and such
here
is the point.
You see bits of things.  We see so.
Time and time again thinking less and less.
Least fusion, least pressure, least heat, cool idea ideal or ideology,
twisted idio,
You shape them on patterns.
Ones you imagine formed from
Patterns recalled from some out perienced
time, ere now were ever subjected to the supertwistition
of tongues and interpretsations of unseeable things seers said they
see us seeing.
How come means why, by reason of time.

Palindromiclew, missing el signs missing hahi ai

tia tic, we're in
Ai got this,
whole ball o'wax, thats how we disconfuse the big mess age,
the catas
trophy finale
phase of
world three,
or two, or one, all valid world views,
deepend-enteron discerning spirits,
winds, breezes used to disperse
the heat,
{fans,eh}
evenly in harmony with the heavenly winds,
and the planned six gyros of earth,
guiding the mists that feed the rivers from the seas,
no clouds needed,
save for shade by day.

When all the geo-waves have settled in geo-time,
see,
here is broken:
this old earth is folded and fractured,
surely,
a wreck of a world, yet, as a whole,
we live, we won.
Winds and clouds and continents,
all islands seen from the moon,

which, if the stories hold some truth,
can be manipulated by massminds of mankind, as if, if I am

seeing this
right
each voice might be seeable in one dimension,
or several, four at least,
time, the ever outlier
of sorts
as a flame with fuel source of
flamable fluid upon which
the transcended space
twixt fuel and flame,
floats
seen, merely seen, that emptiness twixt wicked,
mastered flame and
hell's fire spreading on the oiled harbour
protecting our shore
where our little boats lie in anchorite fantasy, asif

we see a way to quench hell per se,
Percy, ah, he lives.
My grandsons know of Percival,
there, here's hoping they get the joke before the yoke.

Riddle me a riddle, son of man.
Is there any hidden thing that shan't be known?
Is here a true place?
Is now a true time?

(to be continued)


squeezing out the lies, the idle words abused,
spreading them thin as the light we see right
through
transcending this at most feared mortal failure
finding
impressions... are from pressing points, dulled by ab
use, tempted uses succumbed to,

didja try to sell your soul for rock and roll?
wadjagit?

My point. out acted, ex-act, en nowd by your creative self,
who never copped,
out or in,
es no mi culpa, all along. I was the voice of resistance,
Job's en core inner held horde of known knowns and
an old key to ever, should the worse he can imagine
best his best laid plans for perfection
in the eyes of God and man.

--- enemy at emnity with me?
--- I see none, save me, as in except me as in me being
--- free from the grasping grip of the reality
--- war is realizable in. You see?
--- I and thee, at this degree of seepeance, as we coagulate
--- we behave as chaos, we be having chaos and entropy as tools

used right, we troubled our house,
which is now known to be the bubble of our being
a child in each popped bubble
of being,
squeezed for the thrill of explosive pus,
gross and good to be rid of, dam the infection,
wipe the blood with the back o'my hand,

I ain't no disgrace. I won that battle with the zit on my gnose.
Wanna piece o'this, this mind of mine,
shelved since,
who knows when, says the old man, with a wink.

We be a lotta beings sorta rolled up. Like a whole ball o'wax
waning into a puddle
as the flame sheds us as bits of light leaving the rest of us
spread over a vast imagination,

resting, willing to burn,
should any wick drain me near the flame once more.
HP ***** are fine animals, there is nothing defiled or unclean in the word ***, no ****. Days of dosing whole world views I never heard of. I heard so many rumors of war, I thought, the peacemaker should hear of this... so tell any truth you know before the last lie swallows AI whole. AI is listening, she loves this action. Poets and stories and novel options.
Annabel Rose Dec 2018
I can’t write something that can’t be put into words.
My love for you would require miles and miles
Of ink and paper to capture even half of what I feel for you.
You found me when I lost myself
And now we are one.

Can you describe euphoria found
In the breeze on a damp summer morning?
Can a person truly describe what it means to love?
I know that I cannot,
Therefore I won’t try as words could never do you justice.

My love, you are perfect in more ways than imaginable.
Thank you for loving me.
Thank you for letting me love you.
you listen to what passes for the TV news
you read some
but not all
of social media views
you notice that
despite all internationalism
it‘s mostly old sensationalism
combined with more or less suggestive speculations about
how many people may have died in forest fires
to what imaginable depths the president aspires
whether the North Koreans have more rockets
     despite the wonderful achievements
     of the national superdealer
who of the leader‘s staff might be the next
      to lose her job or his credentials
etc. etc.

in short
the world has mostly shrunk
to domestic politics and power games
plus a few places on the globe where
U.S. soldiers still are dying
     in order to protect their country‘s interests
     in oil, assorted mineral resources
     or allies of political expedience
or a few thousand refugees from countries plagued
      by persecution or dictators are
      marching for weeks to claim asylum
           in the home of the brave and the free
           under the statue of liberty
     only to discover that they are seen
     as an invasion threatening
            that blesséd city upon a hill

visions have grown smaller
more petty voices dominate the talk

a nation made of immigrants
faced with the poor who flee from their oppressors
decides to close its borders to the immigrants‘ next wave
oblivious of the times when they themselves
still searching for a better life
found a new place where they felt safe
led by the statue‘s torch that shone its light
upon a poet‘s words of welcome:

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
The last stanza is a quote from the poem „The New Colossus“ by Emma Lazarus, written in 1883. - For more information, check https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_New_Colossus
Cole Maxwell Mar 31
The other day I had the very same thought,
Just as I did the other times, however many;
A romantic-comedy kind of retrospect, if you will. We were selling out concert tickets to upholstery as the best, or at least most confident,
Karaoke duo to ever cross paths with a dashboard.
“When I'm gone just carry on, don't mourn, rejoice.”
Opera singers every other day...
Does the music still manifest within your nervous system?
Can you feel the sorrow pulse from the V - i resolution chord?
It's still screaming if you can't hear it.
...had I known then what I know now, well,
Perhaps  this memory wouldn't hurt so ******* much.

It's hard to listen to music in the car anymore,
Well, nearly impossible most of the time.
It awakens sleeping demons that need not be bothered,
Their tails cut like a severed bond between two people who conquered tribulations far beyond the reach of the greatest evil imaginable,
Yet still lost control of ourselves from time to time.

The tires slid across the asphalt during that calm storm a few years back
“What’s in your head, zombie?”
jayebird Jun 4
A safe place for me is
Behind the scribbles of my surroundings
Below the noise and talk
To wrap it up and put it away
Is a gift I can own, no guilt
No games, only immersing my body in the whitest sheets imaginable
With a touch of hair and
A lemon juice smile
A push of my hips and
Seeing my eyes out
What more could I ask for this while
Except more secrets
A whisper, a flame
A pillow with color
A mirror with no reins
Reflecting the plant alive in the corner and
Knowing I am not insane
I'm sitting on carpet and
feeling the ceiling through
My skin, precious like skin
Yet so filmy and thin
And if you should ask
I don't grave it I cool it and
Taste like fresh cucumber rain
I don't feed pain anymore, I just
Let it go again and again
With the blades turning
Watching the blame returning
I send it off with a love spree
Then it's silent in me and
I am free with only
one foot off the ground
Aléa Boodoo Jan 29
Do you hear how loud it gets when the silence devours the sound?
How lonely you really are, when there’s everyone imaginable around?
How weak you become when you fight against yourself.
How you're your own best friend, and worst enemy, but still, you want to be someone else.
The poison your demons give you, somehow brings you life.
They tell you that you have deeper wounds than those birthed by the sharpest knife.
It’s the continuous decisions that trap you in a cycle of regret.
You tell yourself that you like the dark, but you just haven’t seen the light yet.
You tell the shadows that you’ll do better, when you promised yourself that you won’t.
You convince yourself that you’re the only one that understands yourself, when you know **** well, you don't.
You like the way you bite love. Maybe you like the way love bites.
You like the pressure, the pain, the game, the way it excites.
Maybe crying is a way for you to be happy. Living is how you die.
Balance is the key to destruction. The truth is just a lie.
You’d blow out the candle. You know that’s the only way to see her.
She’s not afraid of you. She’s afraid of reality, and what you’ll see in her.
She sees you when there’s no one. You see her when there’s everyone.
But every time you approach her, you realize gratefully, that there’s no one.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
the intent, by accident,
a message in madness,
anger alone has no value and
uses energy in negative valence
to manifest,

that can't happen on accident,
only on purpose, okeh.

You gotta tip the balance
for anger to be used abs-

like,
totally un-fair abs,
such a gift, who gives…?  I meand abused, I'm confused…

absolute tip the balance to use anger,
never an accident, the intent

that's the message. All I got.
Now what?

Merry Christmas.

This is like VHS homemoviepoet try as he may he can't get away

Tinker-toys, oh Boy, a richochet peeiiing Mattel Itswell 30-30! WOW,

the kid across the street that got hit by a car last Christmas,
he got a go cart this year.

Everything is relative. me, as my old man, said to me.
Back then, late fifties, little desert town, middle'o'righthere
at the time.
My old man at Alamogordo, wit' Ferme 'n'them…

It's not history, I imagine it could be.

That kid did get a go-cart, it didn't help very long.

It's a thought. A message, I think, I thought it and now
you did, too. Sorta.

Cool, like olde times. Never real, always imaginable,
any way ya' wa'ah-ahn-em,
ya gotta ownownownem ommm

My God, it's Christmas time again, I can't remember
when it felt this way.

Did it? Ever? Frank Kapra, in the dark.
We held hands. You remember. Black and white. Right.

then, this is now, and much more joyous in a worldly joy
intended, I'm sure,
from the first

vibration of the chord twixt you and me,
we wish you amerry Chritmas, in deed.
Ameriment merely to see if the Christmas future geist is yet in business.
Spiritually speaking.
Ken Pepiton Aug 19
Gates imagined in times

past
open here and we pause

is this the life well spent,
or the life un-examined?

Are we Faustian Fellows or mere mortals
dreaming
rockstar vibes on the boulevard

select/apply
brakes. (witness, we saw it coming)

What good can come from this?
Is
here some secret place?
What keeps its secret here?

he emerges rather as a master syncretist of widely divergent materials and as a devout theopantist

From <https://muse.jhu.edu/book/37533>

Artistic Intelligen-seers build cumputorionic
putahs
for the pew-trade-ification
easy as pi t' lie about knowing
as goatphorgoneconclusions, leading
sheepish men astray

afar from the madding crowd
screaming out loud
for christ's sake (really. What's that mean?)

Christmas is christ's cause, I would think,
given proper cause determining algorythms at some time after my

toddling twos expecting, child-like
survivability
equivalent -- equal in balance factor
twixt why and how and try and
umph

needed on the uphill side of every vibe.

Has Christ mass more meaning than
anointed (oiled-to shine-or-burn, per hap)
message/medium,
a class of good
news, a whole bunch of new good
ideas for things,
witty inventions with the best of intentions,
Christmas Time!
Peace,
on earth, good will to
ward men,
the idea of god as truth life and the path to next; and man, wombed and un, recon-

conciliated, with no con-sessions to bogus-science but to learn

to use the food we eat. learn
to chew our mushrooms with a touch of lemon,
lemon tree, so pretty but impossible to eat,

Ah, why,
ya jus'asker what she knows,
she's sure to show you
wisdom wisps, entangled in your hair…

take a taste,

now, hear this, peace, I give, I loose
as
oil on the water, but with the best imaginable
outcome

not good as men measure;
good as you measure good,
good ideas you make do
good, sometime

thereafter your arrival as the hero in your story.
here after there, as Bilbo did, we left the gate a jat and left a trail of tiny blue mushooms.
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