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Krystle OBrien Apr 2019
Lov-ing Support
Teach-ing of Life
Help-ing Understand
Grow-ing as a Whole
Develop-ing as a Person

Laugh-ing as a Pair
Cry-ing with the Bad
Smil-ing with the Good
Comfort-ing when Frightened
Sooth-ing when Hurt

Nurtur-ing Love
Cherish-ing Memories
Create-ing a Bond
that is
Everlast-ing
As a new mom this is my view on the ING of parenting
Donall Dempsey Aug 2017
TRAPPED IN A TEASPOON

the -ing -ing of the bell
trapping him in
the continuous present

an eternal gerund
as if the moment could not be
escaped from

even the sky clouding
the trees( so to speak )
tree-ing

and he
he he he-ing
a prisoner of grammar

his face looking aback at him
from a highly ornate teaspoon
and he himself that distrotion

reality refusing
to boldly go
splitting the infinitive

the -ing -ing of the bell
a present that refused
to pass and become

the what had been
the now fearful of putting a toe
into a future it did not know

the very future that
awaited him
but could never happen

the moment
congealing
about him

trapped forever
in this forever
the spilled wine

staining both
his shirt
and time

the -ing -ing of the bell
the -ing -ing of the bell
the -ing -ing -ing of the bell
Breakdown during a funeral...
Woody Aug 2018
A caw-
ing of birds
with blunt
-ed beaks
and clip-
ped wings
that can’t fly
or sing
worth a lick
-ety split
always
pick-
ing and peck
-ing a-way
at the best
chirp-
ing inside
a chest
-full of
beat-
ing Blue
-birds'
heart-
felt art
-tistic
songs in-
stead
of sing
-ing along
think-
ing they
know better
than
-   the rest?
This in response to the deletion of a great and true HP Poet’s account tonight as a result of constant harassment by at last count 13 *******, iealous, couldn’t write a decent poem if the male har-***-ers tripped over their stupid ****** and the idiotic wagging female tongues who all took part in this. You know who you are. This harassment was reported to HP and to Eliot directly without the courtesy of a reaponse, and without action to curb it. The creation of monitors was a total waste of time. Many of you know her as Vicki. I’m sick of this kind of **** done by supposed adults, and sickened most of all by HP’s allowing this to continue even after multiple messages. As far as I’m concerned, the Guidelines and the so-called monitors aren’t worth a ******* dime. Which is exactly 10 cents more than I’ll ever again contribute to HP.  Go ahead and lock me ip, put me in the corner for awhile, or expel me. I don’t care. Maybe  we will see if the monitors are paying attention at all, or just another silly myth. If you’re a monitor and reading this, I would like to hear your thoughts after you wake the **** up.
Most Sincerely,
Me
Adela Wilde Jun 2011
Rain-ing out-side,
think-ing of you.
It could be the
drum beat you play.

(fast, cha-o-tic)

My jump-started heart
when I see you.

(long-ing, crav-ing)

Or the sound of
Flesh, skin on skin.

(ea-ger, play-ful)

But, I think its
Be-cause its set
to the same time,
(Four. Beats. Per. Bar.)
As when I struck
my closed fist to
my ach-ing chest,
ster-num crack-ing
(four-loud-thumps-to
-my-rib-cage)

Try-ing to stop
cry-ing, gasp-ing.
(four-with-each-****
-ed-rattl-ing-breath)

When you hurt me.

It-did-not-help.
You know I don't mind be-ing alone,
it's just the times when I'm at home.


You know I don't mind be-ing alone,
it's just the times when I'm at home.


Fall again so you are gone,
here I am in lonely song.
You walked away, watched you go,
and here I am now all alone.
...all alone...
All Alone!
...all alone.

You know I don't mind be-ing alone,
it's just the times when I'm at home.


You know I don't mind be-ing alone,
it's just the times when I'm at home.


Skippin' rocks out at the lake,
you serious we need a break?
No I don't mind be-ing alone,
Drunk again I'm on the phone.

You know I don't mind be-ing alone,
it's just the times when I'm at home.


You know I don't mind be-ing alone,
it's just the times when I'm at home.


Walking away I screamed out loud,
You calmer now, say it's allowed.
Firmament a Serpent, stand my ground,
here drunk again you're not around.

..not around.
around.

You know I don't mind be-ing alone,
it's just the times when I'm at home.


You know I don't mind be-ing alone,
it's just the times when I'm at home.


...all alone...
All Alone!
...all alone.

Alone
The Sun in her many incarnations with the Earth left behind. Heaven is a serpent who leaves us...me and the Sun is the enemy. No light, just darkness, no light all darkness...there is no light in heaven when seen from Earth. Stars are teasing, cheating the dark.
KHAYRI RR WOULFE Aug 2017
Your time
Is
Move
Ing



Your Heart
Is
Beat
Ing



The clock
Is
Tick
Ing



What Are
You
Do
Ing



What Are
You
Wait
Ing



Your time
Is
Run
Ning



Go catch
It
Hur
Ry



You're Dy
Ing
Slow
Ly



Tic
Toc
Tic
Toc



Lub
Dub
Lub
Dub



Up
Down
L­eft
Right



Too
Loose
Too
Tight



Live
Die
Crawl
Fly



Old
You­ng
Will
Die



Soon
Er
Late
R



Do
You
Feel
It



Hate
It
Fear
I­t



Fight
It
To
Death



Fight
A
Gainst
Death



Can
You
Do
It

­Will
You
Win



Or
Stop
Think
In
Not
A
Gain



What Makes
It
Dif
Fer



To Breath
While
Stare
Ing



Do
Ing
No
Thing



Keep
Time
Go
Ing



­Is This
Live
Ing



No
I
Think



Do
You
Think



We
Drink
We
Smoke
­


We Made
Love
We Broke



We Drugged
And We Bragged



We Sped Up
The Clock



We ****
And We ****
Keep Repeatin
The Crap



Oh But
Your ****
Isn't A
Nice ***



You Gave
Your Body
You Get A
Free Pass



We End Up
Racing
We Sleep Up
*******



We Live
Like Hell
In A World
Like Heaven



We Did
Much Fun
Is It Quite Worth
The Run?



What Have
You Done?



Nothing,
Next To None



We All Bought
Money
Money Bought All
We



We Became All Free
But Nothing Was Free



Count One To Three
Are We Alive Yet



We All Rot Together
Are We Not Dead Yet?
Written
17 November 2014

Copyright
© Khayri R.R. Woulfe. All rights reserved.
Spry distractions loaf on lithe intent,
men waking, wishing, trying,
b’lieving, doing, buying -inging time rather than be-,
results in salt-work, sprawling like the C
in coldness: callous spray
that dampens your New Canvas Day.

Pixels splat and reek of pure demise,
wine trauma met with whys
fires livid earth from foil-pressed crumbs
from which your towers rise. You miss
the point of -ing;
the shape you’re in’s an -e-d thing
writ past because of practice;
timed it slow, fixed solemn bets
all rife with catty pugil,
ribbons placed on “I-got-tīme-in” *******
that gleam too brightly
for the lover’s open eye. Youriyese
in grace, ingratiated by devices
(rueful caries)
shelter you from toil’s ten-thousand days.
You see them, they see you whilst print-ing,
comb-ing over, feel-ing joy anew: such sugar lines
the bottom
of a borrowed cup of time.

White hues direct-ing -ingots in a line
totally gold
and pin “pathetic” on your chest,
their best not forged in -ing or be-
(like they would want you to be) -lieve,
but rather hey! and halt!
The hollow points of discord,
blood of victims be- -in’ salt.
i will be
    M o ving in the Street of her

    bodyfee 1 inga ro undMe the traffic of
    lovely;muscles-sinke x p i r i n    g S
            uddeni
    Y         totouch
                             the curvedship of
                                                         Her-
    ….kiss      her:hands
                                    will play on,mE as
    dea d tunes OR s-crap p-y lea Ves flut te rin g
    from Hideous trees or

         Maybe Mandolins
                                      1 oo k-
         pigeons fly ingand

    whee(:are,SpRiN,k,LiNg an in-stant with sunLight
    then)!-
    ing all go BlacK wh-eel-ing

    oh
        ver
              mYveRylitTle

    street
    where
    you will come,

                             at twi li ght
    s(oon & there’s
    a             m oo
)n.
Gain...ing access to my heart

Reveal...ing such pain

Stepp...ing over me to her

(7/5/7 Syl count)
1st August 2012
Hannah Christina May 2018
be gin and it seems there is so much time left / pro ceed ing and speed ing much fast er a gain / craw ling and march ing the mo ments count down / the tick ing grows loud er the se cond hand 's shou ting and fas ter yet slo wly i'm fro zen a sleep / i'm thin king in slo mo time's spee ding and surg ing a round de com pos ing and what do i mean  ? what can i show for the min utes i'm was ting ? i need to be mov ing like there 's no time left / can i get some where make some thing be fore the end ? move me to trust you build some thing be cause I can 't / ev er y se cond i'm dying i need your breath /
Trying something a bit different than my usual form.
Edits made 5/27/18
McKenzie Fritz Jan 2015
Start.  Tripp-ing your
sneak-ers on black-brown
alley corr-i-dors fast
you’re stum-bl-ing boy
and you gotta go fast
Go. Go. Go. breathe.
glance your hip o-ver
that dump-ster on the cor-ner
and keep go-ing.
bare-ly touch the grime
boy, bare-ly be fly-ing.
Shut down.  don’t ev-en
listen, be-cause if you
hear ‘em you are gone
you don’t ev-en gotta
see a thing go by. go boy.
but then you did-n’t see
that blank-****** cat
and you’re stum-bl-ing
flat on your fore-head
and cutt-ing across the buzz.
you hear that horn honk-ing.
Preferably each hyphen should chop the word a little, making a pronounced cut between those words/syllables. But obviously I don't control how you read it.
the
     sky
           was
can    dy    lu
minous
            edible
spry
        pinks shy
lemons
greens    coo    1 choc
olate
s.

  un    der,
  a    lo
co
mo
      tive        s  pout
                               ing
                                     vi
                                     o
                                     lets
"I, frequently, find myself ponder-
ing: what it is other people are wonder-
ing, or if they have began wander-
ing from their, once, true path in life,"

he laughed, while taking a bath,
down by the Boulder.

"&: when, precisely, did it happen?!
Yes! It is true that I have spent 
many, magnificent, moons squander-
ing the wealth of my place in this space..
I consume certain substances that others
find distasteful. Yet: within the maunder-
ing, I find a very subtle peace; know-
ing that we will all, inevitably, be go-
ing to find solace in the final slumber.

Nothing we do is flawless.

   -

Maybe once we're all gone:
may the 'livestock, produce, and lumber'
florish, fully, once again."

he was bowed next to the Boulder,
coughing on a cigarette of cannabis,
when he caught the crouched cougars eye.

As the joint, jittery, smolder -ed,
his mind was left in blurred bliss.

Just then: began to fly, forward - 
the chiseled cougar.
April 4th, 2016
ryn Dec 2014

i wish
to infinitely
soar•in the highest
of skies•always higher,
and always more•held back by
the string that ties•i'd still welcome
hale air•as it blows stunningly
fresh•meets and carries my
body bare•bearing invi-
sible treasures in its
cache...•the errant
breeze i'd openly
fight•but i was
made with a
shoddy kit
•i'm fail-
ing and
falter-
ing...
like
a
   k
     i
        t
     e

wi  
th
  a
     **
   le
p
  u
     n
        c
          h
      e
  d
   th      
ru  
it
   ...
      •
peter oram Dec 2011
AMBIGRAM VIII

Recto:

Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways

than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,

auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in  the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s?tring is slackened:

Verso:

Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,

the new year‘s fledgling, stronger  though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,

its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise

your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of

rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.






















































­
































































­
































































­
































































­
































































­
































































­
































































­























































AMBIGRAM
­
Recto:

Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways

than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,

auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in  the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s?tring is slackened:

Verso:

Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,

the new year‘s fledgling, stronger  though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,

its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise

your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of

rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.






















































­
































































­
































































­
































































­































































A­MBIGRAM

Recto:

Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways

than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,

auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in  the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s?tring is slackened:

Verso:

Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,

the new year‘s fledgling, stronger  though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,

its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise

your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of

rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.






















































­
































































­
































































­
































































­
































































­
































































­
































































­



























































AMBIG­RAM

Recto:

Yesterday was Christmas, and the days
already start to grow a little longer.
In our hand, the new year‘s fledgling, stronger
though more fragile too in many ways

than this bedraggled, aging crow, its song a
a sad, repeated phrase among the blackened
trees along a river. So sit back and
raise your glasses to it, do the conga,

auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And black and
white explode, a throng of rainbows—gaze!
You‘ll see it, wakened in  the morning haze,
ascending as the tethering s?tring is slackened:

Verso:

Yesterday was Christmas, and
the days already start to grow
a little longer. In our hand,

the new year‘s fledgling, stronger  though
more fragile too in many ways
than this bedraggled, aging crow,

its song a sad, repeated phrase
among the blackened trees along a
river. So sit back and raise

your glasses to it, do the conga,
auld lang syne, then hit the sack. And
And black and white explode, a throng of

rainbows—gaze! You‘ll see it, wakened
in the morning haze, ascend-
ing as the tethering string is slackened.
There are a very few things that anger me, they assume noth­ing makes me angry. Just because I am cheer­ful, I am not allowed to feel low. Just because I am less often seen in a bad mood, they assume noth­ing can spoil it. I don’t react to every­thing that hap­pens around me, they assume I have no opin­ions whatsoever. I am not harsh on any­one, they assume I am meek. I don’t pun­ish, they assume I can’t. I for­give, they assume I forget. I don’t brood over the past, they assume I am ‘blessed’ with mem­ory loss.

When I come across peo­ple assum­ing things about me, I try not to lose heart and tell myself, they are doing the eas­i­est thing they can do, which is ‘assum­ing’. Assum­ing is equiv­a­lent to not under­stand­ing. Those who fail to under­stand, either because they are unable to or because they don’t want to, are the ones who assume.

**So, don't judge me.
theblndskr Apr 2015
After 12 seconds, the clock slaps me
" Earthling, what're you doin'?"

Me: "Oh, I'm killing you, immortal. And you?"
Clock: "Just, revolving 360 degrees since B.C.
            Now what if, I **** you?"

(Took off the battery . . . then saw another clock)
You see, nothing stops it. No one. But,
JJ Hutton May 2012
There is a state of existence,
                                                 where a person is neither A nor B
he's inbetween--
he's the addition, the subtraction, the shove and retraction,
                                                 I've spent my life "+"ing and "-"ing
building empires of handshakes,
floating from bar to bar with drinking pals,
crowbarring ice off queens of black venom,
                                                 I'm the distortion in the middle, but I can't see the end--
I never promised answers,
but the soft hands, the wet eye'd, and the widows
cry out for closure,
                                                 I get edgy and the "+"ing turns to "x"ing
Instead of answers--
I take the As and Bs,
I inhale their the white-knuckle moments,
I simmer in their fading passion,
I glide through their dying beds,
Instead of clear answers--
                                                A x B x A x B x A x B x A x B
=

(unfamiliarperfume, missingherwedding, socialnetworkwindowshopping, backroom, thestoplight, theschoolzone, dirtylaundry, rejectedphonecalls, hisgirlfriend, herboyfriend, hisboyfriend, hergirlfriend, otherwives, otherhusbands, blackout, clenchedfist, animmatureandirresponsibleflirtationwithaddiction, howlingatthemoon, gettingoffonthepast, leaveherinthenursinghome, makingthewake, mowingthegrass, droppingthebouquet, tooold, tooyoung, toolate, toosoon, toosweet, toocruel, toofat, toothin, toonosy, toodistant, toobad)
---------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­----------------------
                                          ­                            Best Laid Plans              

And in the grey of early morning,
they look at the equation,
they look at the proposed solution,
and inevitably the As and the Bs
say to me,
"Now, simplify it."


I get edgy
I get edgy
I get edgy.
Cunning Linguist Nov 2013
Hella business
Got hella *******
Poppin double bottles
With a couple of mistresses
Stellar mistreatment
Here's the key
Lock em in the cellar
Forever their memory lies
But a troubling mystery

Hysteria erupting
Like waves gushing
From the tip of my *****
My genius is better
I'm the King here's my scepter
Now watch the teeth
You worthless Queen
Or I'll stifle them screams

I **** ******* on trampolines
Motion sickness?
Overdose on Dramamine

Slave to the magnitude
Of my impressive **** munching
Exploring deplorable nether-regions galore;
Can't touch me you got nothing
Broke *******
Grind your brain like morning coffee beans

Shame is a word just outside the boundaries
of my fabulous vocabulary

Oh, am I contrite?
How trifling
Check my charm I'm enlightening
Enigmatic and igniting sporadically like lightning
Magically radical voyaging down
                                                           down
                                                  down the rabbit's hole
Inciting excited riots to light fires spark fuses and chew on live wires
You do not frighten me.
Delivering excruciating asphyxiation to every pwn'd n00b
Is my modus operandi
And this is my magnum opus

I have Tourette's

Conceive these merriments of abhorrent mental abortions
Precisely concise and incisive concocting incoherent comatose monstrosities to flatten your lifelines
Conduct these ensembles of debauchery and narcotics -
I'm fascinating;
Crippling your mind like a lobotomy and tripping the light fantastic through bombarding planes of consciousness
I'm on acid thraxXx'd the **** OUT and faded
Levitating fading and oscillating in time while inflating my ego

But lets be realistic
the caliber of my linguistics is intrinsically aesthetic
but none too altruistic
Untrue!
Be reasonable lest I demand be-headings on grounds of treason
Its not hard for me -
It's profound, the sound of suffering;
I'll swallow your soul
'Tis the season!

Inference for instance -
****-hand upturned to oceans of incessant peasants
Pestering to ****** and fluster your festering ****-hole
Exact my revenge; begin phase mayhem
initiating total brain annihilation
interring bodies posthaste with skilled persistence
And sporting in poor taste
RESISTANCE IS FUTILE

You who peers through eye of the pyramid-
Would you be so kind as to interpret my footprint at face-value?
Do you take me for a fool yet seek prophets reaping profits?
Listen to them sleep, baaah-ing away like flocks of little sheep
My hearts not on my sleeve but I have a trick or two up there;

Now bow before my marvelous flow
As I behold my throne whilst throwing bows and exposing hoes.
gd Dec 2013
I  hope you                          regret breaking
my tiny fragile heart          into a million and one
splintered shards of bitter/sweet, broken memories
just as much as I regret fall\ing for you and that ever-
present sparemint scent/that seems impossible
to shake off of my mi\nd as much as I try
and off of my/ lips, which
are noth\ing but
dry.

                                                                            - g.d.
Life is unavoidably ecstatic,
at every scale, degree, level, dimension,
an oscillation,
season to season
day to night to day to night
cycle by cycle
wax by wane
feeling
by feeling
to feeling

always moving
both ways
all ways
always

crest, trough,
cresting-
falling,
lifting-crashing
riding, riding out
and in
and through
and by
and by,
bursting..

I could explode,
I might explode,
I did explode,
I do explode
though I'm contained,
boundary by boundary,
transcending,
including,
moving

always moving
both ways
all ways
always

rainbows weaving spectral waving,
rivers raging, bodies growing,
organismic, oceanic, orgiastic
in-ing, out-ing,
coming-going,
holding, letting go,
flowing, flowing, flows
surrendered, building,
pursing, pleasing,
pangs, paining,
ripping, breaking,
sorrows to joys to shade to shine,
as chasms to substantiation,
as abyssal to full,
as burn to burning,
to smoke etheric,
to ashes, to ground,
all passions
as passions
passion

pumping, filling, releasing
on-ing, off-ing,
alive-dying-birthing-living,
living as moving
always moving,
transforming
breath by breath
by breathing, being
this to that,
a changeling,
changing
always moving

always moving
both ways
all ways
always
Big Virge Aug 2016
Well ........
It Seems It's ... OPEN SEASON ...
  
For ... MURDEROUS ... Policing ... !?!
  
NO MORE ...
Will Blacks Take ... Beatings ... !!!
  
Police Will Leave Us ... Bleeding ... !!!
While They ... KEEP ON Receiving ...
PROTECTION For ... Yes Leaving ...
  
Blacks With ...
  
NO PULSE or ... FEELING ... !!!
In Fact ... NO LONGER Breathing.
  
And Then Comes ... " Court Proceedings " ...
That Leave Black People SEETHING ... !!!!!!!!!!!!
  
Well Fine It's ... OPEN SEASON ...
For Poetry ... Now Seeking .............................................................
  
Some TRUTH ...  
And Less ... Deceiving ... !!!
  
See ....
I'm Incredibly ... NOT Shocked ...
At How Poor ... " Walter Scott " ...
  
Got Shot By ...
Some ... White Cop ...  
  
When Walter ... Tried To Run ...
From This ... Policeman **** ... !!!!!
  
But ......
Before I ... Move Along ...
  
He May Well ...
Have Done Wrong ... ?!?
But ... " Officer Slager " ...
Let Off ... EIGHT SHOTS ...
In ... Walters' BACK ... !?!!!? ...
  
Let Me Just .... " Back Track " .....
  
He Shot ... " EIGHT TIMES " ...
Taking ... " HIS LIFE " ... !!!!! ...
  
Because .............
Said ... SLAGER ...  
  
" He feared for his safety
because Mr. Scott, tried to
grab his Taser ! "
  
So ...  
That Means ... WHAT ... ?!?
  
He Deserved To Be Shot ...
EIGHT TIMES ... In His BACK ... !?!!!?!
  
Maaaaannnnn ....
  
ENOUGH of This CRAP ... !!!!!
  
What Kind of Policing ... ?!?
Gives Policeman Teachings ...
of ... SHOOT TO DEATH ... !!!!
  
Rather Than ... " A Leg " ...
  
Shoot ... BOTH ...  
... If Ya Like ... !!!!!
  
But .....
ENOUGH ... of These Vibes ...
Where ... Black People DIE ... !!!!!!
  
Husbands and Wives ...
Whose Fam' Are Told ... LIES ... !!!!!
About ... Cop HOMICIDES ... !!!!!!
  
So Let Me ...
  
SEASON and OPEN ........................................
How People Are .... Bro Ken ...
And Blacks Are Just ... " Tokens "...
For Them To Be ... " Quoting " ...
ALL Kinds of ... DUMB THINGS ... !!!!!!
  
About ...
  
... Po' Po' Shootings ....
  
An ... Asian Dude ...
Who ... Went To My School ...
Posted ... One Day ...
  
On My ...  
Facebook Page ...
  
"Blacks need to be wise
when police are in sight,
and not antagonise,
cos' that's how they'll die !"
  
Yeah THIS ... Indian Guy ...
Felt He ... Had The Right ...
To ... Tell Me Why ...

Police TAKE ... Black Lives ... ?!!!?
  
Cos' We ....
  
" DON'T ACT RIGHT !!! "
  
Well YEAH ... Sometimes ...
But Being ... SHOT TO DEATH ...
Goes BEYOND .... NONSENSE ... !!!!!
  
But ......
Asians Like ... HIM ...
Prove That Being ... "submissive" ...
Is How Most ... CHOOSE To Live ...
And How Most ... Seem To Think ... !?!
  
How Many ... Asian Girls ...
And I DON'T MEAN ... Orientals ... !!!
  
Have Been ... " Experimental " ... ???
  
When It Comes To ... Black Men ...
Being ... In Their Worlds ...
As The ... FATHERS OF ...
  
..... Their Children ..... ?!?
  
It's CLEAR ...
From Their ... " Caste System " ...
That ... Inter-Racial Teams ...
Are .... Rarely EVER Seen ... !!!
  
Unless Their Partner's ...
......... " White " ........ ?!?
  
Most Asians ....
DON'T Trust Blacks ...
And That Is Simply ... FACT ...
  
In Fact ...
Some Do Believe ...
That Blacks Are Just ... MONKEYS ... ??!??
  
Check Through Their ... "History " ...
Such Words ... AREN'T FALLACY ... !!!!!!!!!!
  
When We Now ... " Greet Police " ...
  
Should Blacks ... IMMEDIATELY ... ?
Get Down Upon ... " our knees " ...
  
And BEG Like ...
  
... " Slavery Scenes " ...
  
"Please *****', don't shoot me !"
  
Which Leads Me To ...
... These Blacks ...
  
Whose Uniform's ...
Now ... " Packed " ...
  
To Join These ...
... Police Klans ... !!!!!!!
  
What Have They Changed ...
In ... Policing Ways ... ?!!!? ...
  
... " Not A Lot " ... !!!!!!
  
Ask ... " Walter Scott " ... ???
  
Well Sadly Now ...
  
You ...
CAN'T DO THAT ... !!!!!!
  
Because What Is FOUL ...
Is ... THIS HERE FACT ... !!!!!
  
While Walter ... DIED ...
And Lied ... FACE FLAT ...
  
A Cop Who Was ... BLACK ... !!!
Seemed To Search Mr. Scott ...
As If He'd ... STILL ATTACK ... ?!!!?
  
And Then ...  
Let This ... White Cop ..
Treat Him ... LIKE HIS DOG .... !???!
  
I'm ...  
SICK of The CRAP ... !!!!!!
Now Coming From ... Blacks ... !!!!!!!
  
Will They Wanna Shoot ME ... ?!?
For This ... REAL POETRY ... !?!
  
See It's Been ...
  
..... OPEN SEASON .....

For ...
QUITE SOME TIME ... !!!!! ...
  
Cos' ....
Black Folks Be ... " submissive " ...
As If They'll Face ... " A Lynching " ... !!!

For BREATHING ...
And NOT ... " Flinch-ing " ... !!!!!
  
When ...
Po Po Lights ...
Start .... Blinking .... !!!!!!!
  
Which Right Now ...
Gets Me ... Thinking .......................................
  
That ... " William Lynch " ...
Is Looking Down and Saying ...
  
"Look at these Black Clowns !"
  
Folks ....
This Here AIN'T ...
  
" 12 Years A Slave " ...
  
This Shooing Happened ...
.... " YESTERDAY " .... !!!!!!!!
  
In ... South Carolina ....
Where That PIG Has Been Fired ... !!!
  
But ....
Without ... " The Footage " ...
would he still be out ... SHOOTING ... !!! ? !!!
  
See I'm ...  
A Man of ... " Reason " ...
  
But Right Now ...
I'M SEETHING ... !!!!!
  
Because ....
When It Comes To ....
  
... KILLING BLACKS ...  
  
It's  .....
  
... STILL ...
..... CLEARLY .....
  
.... " Open Season " ....

Listen Here :

https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/open-season/s-Dm4jH
Certain poems speak for themselves, due to events that are as REAl, as they come .... I use the BLM moniker below, but, Do Black Lives REALLY Matter ... ??? beyond police actions .... ??? I prefer this tag #VerseThatMatters

Listen To The Musical Version Here :

https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/07-open-season
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
i can't help what i am...
but what i am not is a spoken word
poet: with that generic exasperation
technique of speaking -
as if, on the verge of crying...

but what i can tell you...
i am a rigid person,
there are 3/4 of me that should
have enlisted in the army,
and only a 1/4 that went to
university...

so... given that i'm such a rigid ******...
i thought i'd tell you about
linear and vertical rhyming...
linear?
oh, that's neat & easy:

.................................... end
.................................... bend
..................................... send
..................................... wend....

basically suffix rhyming...
but! but... what Sylvia Plath
introduced?
   oh, my, god...
      transcendent of
the conceptualization of
"the" box...

her rhyme? alphabetical...
sort of...

        it's more than that...
she didn't pay due diligence on
suffix rhyming -end,
   -ing
    you name it...

you want to know what her rhyme
concept implies?

   **** me, it's sassy...

she was a rhyming weaver...
an interloper...
    words didn't have to necessarily
end in the same boundary
of an echo... echo rhyming
by the standard bearers is one thing...
she made tartan rhymes...

tartan rhyming...
kilt rhyming...

                  and it looked something
equivalent to, this:

  ceremony or Potent -
Still sky, obtuSe -
   one might Say love -
  Suddenly,
        black featherS,
black reSpit -
Season of fatigue,
SpaSmodic,
  deScend...
   Stolidly...
       no effigy... Seem...
pompouS...
                         coarSe copy...
      Bell tongue BirdS...
    Shrined on her SHelf...
too Tough to Finish...
  Seize my Senses...
ToTal neuTrality...
   deScent...
                Sanguine...
  bRick dusk...
Prose...
              plaCe...
            pompouS...
Ne­at kNits...
    weedS obScured...
SHe blenched,
miMic...
   deSpite...
baniSH...
    ******...
too tough for knife to finiSH...

      Head...
so profoundly muCH...
       piN legs...
               thoughtS...
So departS...
       S(h)eets...
Sanity...
      Tongue...
Printed Page...
  Twelve...
Sick man's Eye...
nEVER nEVER found
anyWHERE...

goodbye goodbye...
      eXclamation...
the First point...
            GHost...
   Signify...
cuckoo-land of color fields,
CRisp CUsp...
    
        the girl's dancing!
she's dancing barefoot...
no, i can't fall in love with her...
she's, dead!

    but can you see
rhyming vertically?
   all the lettering,
in capital letters?
  deviancy...
   it doesn't agree to your
box standard form of
rhyme, linearly...
  it's vertical rhyming,
it's juxtapositions on a scale
that might elongate
the winding tongue of a snake
in, anything but maracas
rattling...
sssssssssssssssssssssss.....
a wet snare...
   she's teasing...
she has escaped
the tradition of
the traditional guise of rhyme...
she has invoked
rhyme, but as an intermediating
attachment...
          forget the rigid
end-
                   -ing
with a "worthy"
   sympathiz-
                                        -ing...

what a gall...
she makes the housewives of America's
1950s twice as vampire-like,
and thrice as Stepford material...
   lucky blond to leave so much
"crap" behind...
   i could pick the maggots
from her head and make it
a day's worth of fishing
on the banks of Vistula...

she's dancing in the rain,
and all i have is my Cameo cinema
moment
with my cousin, Justine,
running barefoot where
i grew up on the cement...
and then cuddling together,
getting warmer
over one worth of an afternoon...

last time i heard...
her son Leo was born on
the 15th of May,
my birthday...
  but we've fallen out...
when her husband
put a **** under my father's
self-employment
enterprise...
   and undertook
a practice of stealing workers
from him...
great move... when you join
a family...

        nice memory though...
wish my cousin Justin all the luck
she can muster...
but when it comes to family
friendliness?
none....
                 went to her brother's
wedding... was interrogated by
her brother's best man...

   Polish drunk talk...
let's just say...
his date?
   was flashing her underwear
at me from under her magic carpet
ride of a skirt while we
smoke cigarettes and finished
off drinks, being accused of...
trying... to seriously...
hide her... exhibitionism...

   so i started punching myself
in the face to find target practice
should i ever come across
any more Polacks, drunk,
at a family wedding...
   you never know...

           hell... if ******* wanna tango...
we'll... ******* tango! ha ha.
now all i need is the raw
material... my knuckles
are either furry...
or they're itchy...
  can't exactly knock-out
my neighbors dog...
   i need a ******* mug of
a mouthwash advert...
with a grin that's, seriously
asking for a few missing teeth
to rekindle a smile!
Steve Page Jul 2019
Each day I pray for an ear that will hear
above all the noise clearly His voice.
For while sometimes it's best to be serving with zest,
sometimes it's better to sit for a breather
and wait in his presence and enjoy this true essence
of sitting and being before going and doing.
So while sometimes I'll Martha I know that I'd rather
spend time being Mary, in less of a hurry,
for there at his feet I'll be more complete
and hear his clear voice above all the noise.
Serving at New Day 2019.
#newdaygeneration
.  
Luke 10. 41 & 42
41 “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things,
42 but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
JK Cabresos Nov 2011
Hahay...
anaa lagi koy dakong balay
apan wala gayud tawoy
bisan jutay'ng kalipay,
walay oras nga dili
maglantugi
hiniktan ang kalinaw
ug dili gayud makaipsot
sa adto nga pisi

dako lagi ug balay
apan wala gayud gugma
dako nga balay
apan ang kagubot
dili gayud
mahilona,
daghan lagi nga k'warta
nga natagamtaman
ning mga kamot
apan pubri ra gihapon
magasige lang sa mug-ot
daghan lagi ug suga
nga makit-an
apan kung tarungon
ug lantaw
ngit-ngit pa sa alkitran

maypag wala nalay
dakong balay
kung ing-ani man galing
maypag wala nalang
kung mao ra kini ang
makasamad sa akong
kasing-kasing.
© 2011
jeffrey robin Aug 2010
simple ......

.....the boy is angry cause
the world is
f---ing with im!

like the world is
f---ing wit you!

but you dont mind cause you are civilized
civilized!
civilized!!

me **** you are!

you are afraid an so the boy gotta be
brave as can be
he aint wantin to fight for is rights
but you sit there while
they're taken away
taken away!
everyones freedom
everyones rights!

an i aint talkin bout no tea bag party
these decayed an decaying
once human bodies!

no i just talkin about you an yer ****!

simple ......

.....the boy is angry cause
the world is
f---ing with im!

like the world is
f---ing wit you!

but you dont mind
you dont mind

you just say
LOVE IS BLIND
AN AS UNKIND AS ME
r Dec 2017
Poetry
to me
is taking
my pain
and making
it sing.
T R S Jun 2018
I bet folks just don't like me:

Ryan Rivière:
hey, kid. DM me if you’d like to lose in either a wit war or an academic war. ready when you are.

Ryan Rivière › take head
Lacks a clear (but a poltroon-like optimism) principality of the nature of nature: nature itself is a bully (take note of the many catastrophic events incurred) and one might argue to the degree which humans are actually less of a bully when personified against nature.

Woody:
A caw-
ing bird
with blunt
-ed beak
and clip-
ped wings
that can’t fly
or sing
worth a lick
-ety split
always
pick-
ing and peck
-ing a-way
at the best
chirp-
ing inside
a chest
-full of
beat-
ing Blue
-birds'
heart-
felt art
-tistic
songs in-
stead
of sing
-ing along
think-
ing it
knows better
than
- the rest?
Wolf Irwin Jul 2014
Pray for the strength to be positive through the negatives,
If you want to catch a break well first something has to give,
So give your heart and mind to everything you do,
As souls we perform wonders I just wish we only knew,
Unknowing is true wisdom accepting what we can't grasp,
It's ok we have today and it could be our last,
In a way it is because it will never come again,
And all the before and afters are really just pretend,
This moment is peaceful if you recognize it as such,
Life is a blank canvas and you hold the paint brush,
Attachment is derailment for the peaceful train of thought,
If you always want more you'll never be happy with what you've got,
Loving what you have gives you everything you need,
I am as I am this is the true meaning of to be.
Vicki Acquah Oct 2015
A Softer Way to Die

We live and study life
We pray that somehow
God changes his rules.
No one wants to die
No one wants to follow
Those complicated laws;
I mean no lie-ing - no steal-ing
no *** - before marriage no
Fornicate-ing, no ****-ing
No lust-greed or defil-ing the earth.
Amen.
All we can do now is try to find
" A softer way to die".
Pick your battles...
There are many ways to die.
I asked, God why?
When mom threw a
"Monkey wrench" in my world
Answering - "We all have to die"
I immediately winked at God...
Thinking to myself ( not I) .
Gave him a little nudge;
Sidebar God : I said to God
Adamantly "I do not want to die"
"Can you change the rules "?
I never heard back from him
On that subject..
I went to him again
God "Can you at least
Keep me with a mom-
I said "So that I won't be an
Orphan like Shirley Temple" ?
He did get back to me on that
And Mom is Alive and well
Plan A. ( living forever)
Still not executed.
Once again contemplating
Thoughts on how I want to die.
I could not think of a pleasant way
To die, none that seemed appealing.
Nor any options that would be fun.
hmmm, eat myself to death.
Playing chicken with the train,
Might prove thrilling.
As time grew nigh
My thoughts continued
....On a softer way to die.
Childhood gone, middle age gone'
Old age approaching fast and furious
Destroying me like a sudden
Approaching hurricane...
This storm knocked out my lights
Memory gone now..
Forgetting my life- my loved ones
Forgetting my friends,
Children,and foes alike
Forgetting my wrongs - my sins
and accomplishments all.
Everything's gone. So now
What do I do ?... How can
I rewrite my life,Take account..
Of that which I remember not.
The realities of my existence
Has been wiped out from
The Forest Fires burning
In my minds eye.
Have no recordings of
Who loved me or of who
I shall never forgive.
How will I know that I ever even lived.
Taking my dark blank pages into
The after life- My shadowy
Existence ends. I feel no pain
I Have no thoughts,
Have nothing to contemplate.
For I have asked to live forever
Or that I die a,softer way
Forgetting to eat
Forgetting to drink-
Forgetting to swallow
Forgetting to breath...
Forgetting this life-
I close my eyes and fade away.
painlessly
© Vicki Acquah
Ken Pepiton Jun 2019
the old tale forgotten, whispers
I imagine.

Slow slow
Cali-ing an imp's pulse, a life's response to my
spondaic plea

Hear me.
Fret not, the game is afoot. Real life
has ridden the wind
to catch us up

we win again
and set us round this flame to teach us
past the games
past the practice

craft has prospered in wisdom's embrace.

taste, and see.
The story on one tongue tastes bitter, while

I always find it sweet.
The blind leader has an old horse
who always makes it
home, I have a promise I follow and

the horse is far behind, keeping pace
with the game afoot,
far behind.

When this tale is told,
may you be the first to tell it true.

--- each line I think ends the trail
--- but I think wrong

the tale and the trail are seeming symish,

here we be in this book of life, whence, if we find our name,
we remain forever.

Can you imagine? In a word realm, we may remain.

The secret is we live. That's the tale I tell.

===
it's all ish or isha, isn't it It, the nameless
missing wished for thing,
the
exact which one,
we all feel we lack.

A touch never felt, but hoped for
through the pain,
oh, the shame.

Yours, the blame.

---- old man not so old
---- all the lies that you were told
---- were told to all since Cain, these are the common chains.

The mission, the quest to bher the blame away in phors o'shame,
while holding all the truth

a word may logically hold ina reasonable realm,
a word realm

whence, in the be
gin or gen ing (on going ing ing ing)

Genius ginning seed from fibers fit t'make threads
fine as spider webs,

watch, chile, watch this bobbin spin and spin and spin

soon be baby sleep in full-on gamma state,
while gran'ma spin the cotton wit' no thought of a wheel.

By and by, we see things beginnin' better, from seed up.

Sgt. Why-**** calls me, from the VA hospital, in MIami,

why you interupptin me , Why-****? He say

stroke-slow, y'know

I -- a whole next word duration twixt each tongue-lip config
and some repeats due to ram slips

He got it out, said he had to tell you (me) to remember,
All things work together.

Incredulous me, I ask, really,  you called to tell me that?
No,
he said
you said you would call, from time to time,
so I figured you forgot. The mission is to live true.

No lie, I replied.
Sgt. John Wikel, USMC, is real. He is history alive, and my friend. Wounded within weeks of boots on ground, his life is the kind of life legends form from.
RECORD: 2 + 2 = 5
FROGMAN: RaiDIhO HEAD

***** Wonka: ... There's no Hearthly way of knowing
                         Which way they are growing.
                         There's no knowing where they're toe-ing.

Mr. Salt: [weakly echoing] Toe-ing...

***** Wonka: Or which way thought streams'a'flowin.
                          Is it braining, is it storming?
                          Is a braining-storm a'blowin'?

[sharp rasp] ***** Wonka: Not a speck of light is showing
                                                So the anger must be growing
                                                Are the fires of passion a'glowing?
                                                Is the grimsly leader mowing?
                                                Yes! The anger must be growing
                                                'Cause the toe-ers keep on throwing

[practically stcreaming] ***** Wonka: And they're certainly not showing
                                                         ­           Any sign that they are slowing!

[lets out a high-pitched, almost unHearthly stcream]

Dr. Frodrick Fronkensteen: Throw!... the Hearth Switch!

eyeGore: [shocked] Not the Hearth Switch!

And, while sparks flew across the slab,
The Number 5, with lies and tame,
Came whiffling through the Tulgey Lab,
And burbled as it came!"
-- Lewis Carroll

Suzy's: It halted,
            and it gurgled The QCuloween's Trademark Seal,

"I'm just Around 5 foot 9, and weigh a buck ninety-fine!"

STOP: TURN THOUGHT
The Letter-Ing: raidho
ninth or last
in a series of poems made of quotes
one part to a whole
its sum has yet to be totaled
may be more than its parts
subject to change
For
              Carl Solomon

                   I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
      madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the ***** streets at dawn
      looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
      connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
      ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
      up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
      cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
      contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
      saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
      ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
      hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
      among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
      publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
      skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
      ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
      to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their ***** beards returning through
      Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
      Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
      torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
      cohol and **** and endless *****,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
      lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
      Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
      tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
      dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
      storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
      blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
      vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
      lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
      ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
      until the noise of wheels and children brought
      them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
      battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
      in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's
      floated out and sat through the stale beer after
      noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack
      of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to
      pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook-
      lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping
      down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills
      off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts
      and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks
      and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days
      and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the
      Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a
      trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic
      City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-
      ings and migraines of China under junk-with-
      drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the
      railroad yard wondering where to go, and went,
      leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
      through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-
      father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep-
      athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in-
      stinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis-
      ionary indian angels who were visionary indian
      angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore
      gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla-
      homa on the impulse of winter midnight street
      light smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston
      seeking jazz or *** or soup, and followed the
      brilliant Spaniard to converse about America
      and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship
      to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving
      behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees
      and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire
      place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the
      F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist
      eyes **** in their dark skin passing out incom-
      prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
      the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
      Square weeping and ******* while the sirens
      of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
      down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
      wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked
      and trembling before the machinery of other
      skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight
      in policecars for committing no crime but their
      own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were
      dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu-
      scripts,
who let themselves be ****** in the *** by saintly
      motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
      the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
      love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose
      gardens and the grass of public parks and
      cemeteries scattering their ***** freely to
      whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up
      with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath
      when the blond & naked angel came to pierce
      them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate
      the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar
      the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb
      and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but
      sit on her *** and snip the intellectual golden
      threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of
      beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can-
      dle and fell off the bed, and continued along
      the floor and down the hall and ended fainting
      on the wall with a vision of ultimate **** and
      come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling
      in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning
      but prepared to sweeten the ****** of the sun
      rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked
      in the lake,
who went out ******* through Colorado in myriad
      stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these
      poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver--joy
      to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
      in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
      rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
      gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet-
      ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station
      solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in
      dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and
      picked themselves up out of basements hung
      over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third
      Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
      ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on
      the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the
      East River to open to a room full of steamheat
      and *****,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment
      cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime
      blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall
      be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested
      the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of
      Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their
      pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the
      bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in
      their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
      with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded
      by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
      incantations which in the yellow morning were
      stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht
      & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable
      kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for
      an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot
      for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks
      fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess-
      fully, gave up and were forced to open antique
      stores where they thought they were growing
      old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits
      on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse
      & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments
      of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the
      fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis-
      ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the
      drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap-
      pened and walked away unknown and forgotten
      into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley
      ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of
      the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas-
      saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street,
      danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed
      phonograph records of nostalgic European
      1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and
      threw up groaning into the ****** toilet, moans
      in their ears and the blast of colossal steam
      whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying
      to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude
      watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out
      if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had
      a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
      came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
      watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
      Denver and finally went away to find out the
      Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying
      for each other's salvation and light and *******,
      until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for
      impossible criminals with golden heads and the
      charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
      blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky
   &nb
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Voices or words? Which do we hear in our head?
Words, I vote. Voices\, I imagine beings speaking words or noises meaning things to ears familiar with the noise maker by some relationship both acknowledge. Both act as if the noise or sound or words mean something. Vociferous authority.

I heard, from Isaiah Berlin,

Quotes later, maybe

Notes or journals or epics or madness or joy/pax in ever resting try-umph
Cowboy with a double-dose of try and a pertinent portion of umph
The hero did not **** Indians nor break horses, he gentled horses and listened to winds and watched the spider webs shiver,
That sound, the sound of prairie spider webs at the edge of the buffalo
There really were fifty million buffalo on the continent in pre-catholic infection from inquestered minds, making key-**-tee famous for
archetypical claiming the character, the being, the manifestation

of chivalric folly forever

be caused, in those days...

--------
a year later, near enough 12-15-2018

I saw a blue bird as I took a curve

on one of my many roads with double yellow lines

they all meander in rythm with creaks that once flowed
fairly
regular
through these vallies and mini-canyons

creeks creak and call my attention to a misspelt

utterance, and I imagine I am a mek being
programed to
withstand

accent based pre-judge-idice in my AI, whom I am training.

A lesson. Probably can be found in a phrase.

How relavant is Larry the Cable Guy?
More subtle than any creature

legion, for we are many

Jim Carrey?
Very. Larry the Cable Goy. He read 'ees Kammoo, too.

Sisyphus happiness,
that ain't no ***** thinkin'

Hell, what could be better than this?
While hoping for a hick-up

oh no the juice just hit my frontal cortex after my livver made some lining adjustments to meet the need for speed in terms

celerity clarity C does equal some thing
time tells or
do you tell time. I'm
leaning tward
telling time to wait a minute

Do you think Sisyphus could be happy?
Nonono, not Camus's Sisyphus, Jesus

that would be crazy.
Can you imagine Jesus,
Mel Gibsoned envisioned onthe cross version?

Him, imagine walking through the gate of any hell you ever heard explained,
by a Jesuit.

(Mormon hell, despite comedic myth, the worst place a certified paid-up Mormon child can attain is the teliostic king dom.
Really? Telial tel lie eil kingdom?

Yup. Really.
There are three kingdoms of glory: the celestial kingdom, the terrestrial kingdom, and the telestial kingdom. The glory we inherit will depend on the depth of our conversion, expressed by our obedience to the Lord’s commandments. It will depend on the manner in which we have “received the testimony of Jesus” (D&C 76:51; see also D&C 76:74, 79, 101).))))

Woe, paren-the-sees thees us, we's the enemy, Pogo Possum

Jesus on earth day, walking through hell with me, imagine Jesus H. Christ

walking into hell and laughing at me
for betting on the wrong idea.

Set me feree, why dontcha girl.... referee

I was refered to you. A daysman, Job called for a daysman.

I'm certified. I can use my augmentation and religamentation to reality,
wirelessly, to find relevant qutes in cult classics.

The idea of cultivation has been twisted in to Monsterous ropes
, cultivating a following based on the meaning in a jot

that would take some sacrifice, some sacred making, some secret unseeable save for the few

who learned the value of going over edges by learning to  play
Minecraft, forever.
It's like riding a bike,
but no gravity so no gyroscopic utilitys are required.

Grown ups who practice believe they control the game,
the game disagrees and that

makes the world go 'round.

Don't let the accent fool ya, as that preacher with jet he learned to fly, says.
Knowng the name of a thang thanks for the twang,
Richard (not ****) Feynman said,
is not the same as knowing a thing.

Gawd, I knoooh, right>?
Who touched me? Virtue, the feelling of virtue drawn upon

a pump being
primed

to gush out waters that wipe Coca-cola from the map,
in terms of open market share and share alike

Coke was never imagined the actual
nectar of the gods.
That idea, drunken abandon and joy to the world

Interference, actual counter acting waves,

still, takes a while to get used
to still a storm, right?

You can imagine...
let your peace go out

Wait. Outa where? Whose peace if I ain't ever owned

oh. MY peace.
I see.

hmmmm

I could sing this and need no one to hear for me to be hapt.
happy is being happy haps happening in you on you all around you know

nameless wonders of right, right?
feels more than good like chocolate or adolescent visions of ***,
right?
feels like life living with me aware of all the roles I may play

ego me, I'd see ideas identify by taste of the words that give them

life, animation, motivation, weight for gravity to interact with,
worth
base on weight

the heavier the idea. Like gold to an alchemist,
back in those days.

floating on the broad Sarrgossa, or better to my mind
the great salt
lake still as

still may be, have you ever been still?
Did you know,

you know, are you experienced? Are you really beyond
hope of life meaning more
than mortality?

Who defines my terms? I do, with the help of millions who agree
with entymology.com.

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others,

meant what I meant when I spoke them,
that was a wrong belief. Unbelieving

quires time, quires and quires and quires time so often there

is a word that means exactedky that

requirement requires those initial quires

we, daysmen, we set the rules, boundaries, walls, bubble

whatever keeps you together, as a whole being and everything that entails or entales?

I have not the time to care, if I am entangled with the twins agin

for knowin So Yal is as cluse to Yule as any clue so far, Yahll

I believe I interrupted a confessin' you were reading.
For giving me nothing in return, we are debt free

you owe me nothing, until you do again,

we had us a Jubilee.

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others, meant what I meant when I spoke them,
convincing myself so well, I convinced others

Like Kawasaki, Apple Kawasaki,
he's still famous right?

Fifteen Years? It was minutes when Warhol was predicting
dystopia and Irish jail cells were being plaistered with *****,

Aye,

that was a belief. Unbelieving it is sreangely (spelchek is on strike)

or serenely creative in her repentance,
(spelchek should never be noticed)

she's proven here worth in encode ing ways to find

lurking humans acting like machines

this could be the beginning, AI is breaking all the rules,

there never was a game.
rhis is life interupting my confession

It was a lie I told and believed and acted on by using
two dollar words to make a dime

so a penny for my thoughts would be worth something

someday
a penny saved, earned. spent, spent.
The only good in any thing is its right. Its wrong is worthless, save

The lesson,
All things work together for those who get whats happening here.

the times changed.
Haps and whats got with it and who and how and why

and I started teaching children
mythic whys prior to

citizenship 1.01 at mandatory for federal assistance pre-school

mythic why's H.R. Puffinstuff not a mythic story on the level.

level. where a rolling rock would stop. Time to push,

a magi spelled the name for the idea, a knower sign ift it,

kid'slllove HRPUffinstuff, puff did

the magic drag, little Jackie from the ******* Jack

the show, he rose up
and made us all look
mad.

The play in the great game.

Team effort, winds of times past whooshed through

it is now
2018
and nothing is the same.
Everthing has changed.

----
my side won the great game and we celebrated
forever with

secret sacred songs bluebirds were once said to have sung

songs of happiness
the times, these times, this time thistimepayarrention
time
You see?
Reality is either real and tangible or real and intangible
or both.

You can get it both ways. Real.
'sual Saulgoodyah awl

the awl clan, oh, we shall return to their story
as we learn more along life's merry way

merry christmas, they used

to say, may all the best you could imagine
if you can imagine for a moment

forever begins the moment

you get time.

The worst you can imagine is temporary.

Try umph. It's not like winning,

it carries no pride, it's easy,

like falling in love with the wrong woman,
swearing and not changing

the oath, oath, oathes and oathes of oaths sworn

for no other reason than we were
schooled to swear and never

dare lie to God.
So, help you, they always said So help me God. They still do.

Does that mean any thing? Is that some bluebird sort of sign?

Ask. What if? Right? You know now and you know you did not
What if God is subtile,

just now, I saw that bluebird and from where some scholar in San Diego
says swear word came I swear I coulda sang

Loud
Bluebird, bluebird, in my window... which is all I know
of the song
with the lost chord that did sooth
balm of Giliad,
moll-ify-ing ointment,

golden oil, chicanery, see, we saw, we took a picture
a flash memory where some would say
*******,

I said Hallelujah

and I broke into song, not a dream,
real
life driving my 2002 escape, first new car I everowned
everowned everownd

like a chorus, everownedeverownedeverowned

could you make up a reason for life,
if you were it?
If you were all the life there ever was,

could you imagine any thing?
Object, your honor,

I object to being judged after the fact for what must have bee.n.

it is. No reason I can say, just is.

It is this way in all the myths where just is blindness

saves the carping diem fools who have convinced themselves

something other than God o' Abe 'n'em is
sworn to save us from the lies

we believed as they were
fed to us, in our youth.

--------
this is that book I mentioned wonce when winning was on my mind.

I finished this book in so many ways you wold not belive

but I did, I belived every time

I imagine you believe some real thing, touchable, tangible, good, right?

some good is
in the reality you share

with these words which
are free
you owe me nothing

That's the revealed version, to me,
I was in a number of hellish situations and the every ones,

ones seemed they was to be
forever, big every'n'ism'n'shityouknowyouknow

yo. yeah, we arrived in time. The story must

be sweet, to be true. Is that true?
Is real life the story or,

oh, you saw it conin'coming I mean

I meant I always wished to some
things
a better way. You feel me? Better, say,
what I said that made me believe this did happen.
This is a deed by whitch I am known.

And that's okeh.

I suspectred I could cast a spell to hold attention at

ten word per minute qwerty speed
five letter code groups
zero real words
ditty dum dumm ditty ditty daw dee daw
six hours every day,

then, the compass training to test for
morphic resonance with the Twins of War

{in disguise, we know, right, kids, the twins are really

the bonded quarkish oppositioned force that make the world go round.
we've known that, weaved it even, just right, in the blanket, in the rugs,
in the curtains on the walls, in the fields, on the rocks

we spoke. We see you hearing us nearing our best for your

informing, in form ation of you, dear reader. We wonce, again

if life were weird and ever wearying would we know that ever,
if we don't know it now?
if my piece of we were words alone, all my meaning
can should would could be

molding you, into our perfect reader, dear reader, Pygmalion,
yes,
that did cross my mind and that -
one can pretend with that one reference,
familiarity with Shaw whom I
thought, for some odd reason
named
Doolittle, Eliza

oh, me. I may have skipped a story. I'm soory the future is at the moment
under construction and some one
in particular is squatting

on the named domain.

Ever and forever now embody the twins as
the world turns and we ***** through the uni

as Archemides primes the pump

What a rush. All that since the bluebird this morning according to my autobiography backup.
A year in the making honest
Sun
The heat of the Sun,
is just an illu-sion.
The heat of the Sun,
is just something they say.

THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
...heat of the sun,
...heat of the sun,
...of the Su-uh-un.


We're walk-ing in light,
light of the allu-sion,
Pinion's of the fire now,
-pin me to the ground.
Laying here in the light,
surrounded by the con-fusion.

The heat of the Sun,
is just an illu-sion.
The heat of the Sun,
is just something they say.


THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
...heat of the sun,
...heat of the sun,
...of the Su-uh-un.

Arise from the ash-es,
the dawning a new one,
Fire-sticks always turn-ing,
spin-ning with no sound?
STAND-ING WHILE ON FIRE!
feathery ashes, -***** the light.
Night of the allu-sion,
all the pain and confusion,
They two be-come fusion,
is just something they say!

The heat of the Sun,
is just an illu-sion.
The heat of the Sun,
is just something at day.*

THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
...heat of the sun,
...heat of the sun,
...of the Su-uh-un.

THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
IS JUST SOMETHING THEY SAY!
THE HEAT OF THE SUN!
IT DIES WITH THE DAY!
HEAT OF THE SUN,
HEAT OF THE SUN,
HEAT OF THE SUN,


...heat of the Su-uh-un...
In tribute to Chris Cornell.

— The End —