Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Portland Grace Jul 2011
We were 6 years old, we were innocent, we we're playing. Just playing, in the most innocent sense of the word. With dolls, or blocks, or trucks, or dirt. I don't remember. We we're playing and then we weren't. We were playing and then the darkness came, and it took away our blocks. It took away our safety net of protection and threw us down the slide of demons.
Your demons. His demons.
We were 7 years old, we were innocent, we we're singing. Just singing, in the most innocent sense of the word. Songs, or lullabys, or comercials, or imporved words. I don't remember. We we're singing, and then we weren't. The darkness struck again, and this time hit us hard with liquor filth and stench.
Your stink, his drink.
We were 8 years old,  we were still innocent, we were riding. Just riding, in the most innocent sense of the word. Bikes, or scooters, or rollerblades, or skateboards. I don't remember. We we're riding, and then we weren't. The darkness grabbed our wheels and lurched us onto the pavement 'till our skin ran red and he told us we were *****.
His fault, our blood.

We were 9 years old, we still had bits of innocense, we were running. Just running, but not so innocent. On feet, we ran. I remember. We ran towards the sunset, quickly, but not quick enough. The darkness caught up to us, panting. Struck through us with quivering blades, and took away every drop of innocense left.
His addiction, our innocense.

We were 10 years old, we no longer had any innocense, we got away. A big man in blue took the crying darkness away, and stored him in a box made of cement and metal. Darkness said he'd see us when we were 18, thinking we loved him. Loved him through his addiction, because deep down there was light? And we were good girls, weren't we? We could see the light in him, right?
No light, Only darkness.
Candy Glidden Jul 2010
Tears...
I shed for you,
The man who stole my soul
Just a small and helpless child
Having no control.

Hatred...
I feel for you,
For my innocense you violated
Being just a small child
Your sickness I tolerated.

Evil....
I see in you,
For giving me a life filled with fear
Every time the lights went off
I knew you would be near.

Forgiveness....
I have none for you,
You made my heart wither away
Disgust in the mirror was all I could see
Each and every day.

Pain....
I wanted for you,
For all the pain you gave unto me
All the years of torture and fear
I had to make you see.

Death....
I wished for you,
Because you took my childhood from me
Knowing you were still alive
I could not let it be.

Smiling...
I am for you....
For you taught me something in life
No matter what you may encounter
You can become stronger in time.

Happiness....
I stole from you,
Because you always stole from me
When you died, I was reborn
My innocense was set free.
Copyright2005  Candy R. Glidden
J Christmas Jan 2010
Gallimaufries Incondite in-risible pules from anomie.
    Recondite jeremiadtions of every pessimal influence.
Yearning for the Quid-am Xanthochroi to sybaritic in the manner I long to LOVE,
   Unrestrained                  The pennicle of BATHOS
        observations of  human
                                          hopes and dubietys of mankind  
An anodyne, the demersal soul
                      attempts at pawky insights often written whilst
inebriated and Katzenjammered!
*Copyright John D. Christmas @2011
Amber Blank Jun 2012
Pigtails and lollypops
Little pink bows tied perfectly in my hair.
Swing sets and monkey bars
Mary and her lamb, Bow peep and her sheep
Younger memories of simple days long before the aging haze
Clear as a rainbow after the storm
Innocent as Dorothy and her little dog
Years fly by in the twister of life and love gets to be tough
As every scab is reopened and begins to bleed
Baby dolls and lincoln logs
Big Bird on Sesame Street
Once these things meant the world to me,
Now they are only flashes of light on a picture in my mind
Little tea ***, isn't short and stout andymore
All her strength and innocence has been poured out
Jumping the rope of pain every day
Not knowing when to stop and play.
fesojaiye atanle Jun 2012
Mush have i reap in the light of noble verse
that glide the divine reason of deeds and fact,
truth as it may seems through the tongue may pass
the mind that differs,the world that need no maat.

maat:an ancient egyptian god for truth.

All right reserved.
Nik Bland Dec 2012
She  was one who dreamed of dragons
Of towers
Of tyrants
Of kings
The angel whose only plea was for you not to clip her wings
And days
And page
And magical mage
Would go and their stories would ring
Until a whole world was made just for a girl
In the stories of dragon, damsels, and kings
Ken Pepiton Feb 2019
Stupid question (what AI would star out s t u p i d?)

on the scale of stumbling over a marked stumblingstone

painted competition orange.

See, C. G. saw it this way,
men don't have ideas, ideas have men.

When the man with the hubris to try and lie
dies, his lie dies and rots to be re
covered for discovery when all the secrets are

dis covered under the sun where's no new thing,
not one.

in a man, this journey from concept to precept,
some steps take longer than others,

maybe a thousand rounds,
generations and generations and generations with

peacemakers squeezed into servant role
one wish genii suffering it to be so,

until the time appointed, or the
anointed app,
higher res translations figure an augmentatious
re
ference occurrent in sapience sapience with pre-

Gausian blur edges on all their own shadows of turning

---
do remember, we did imagine
veri f- were we magi?
we were, we were magi, I brought the frankincense.
I was seven, maybe six

We could do anything we put our mind to

if we got past the man in black
at the crossroad and
keep goin' west

this is the rest.
After alladat, there was this emergent story,

never told, but heard, of a wise man,
who saved a city and no one knew that same
wiseman's name. This is that game, that vocation,

Peacemaker. Ever last front
tier, at orchestra level,

too close to see the madding crowd
reach for guns,

this is crazy... we have nuclear weapons

obsolete nuclear weapons and some
****** fool would rather **** us all than
skip an upgrade cycle?

what? What if we all said,
sump'n like: I, individual me, I have no enemies,
so lovin'em ain't *****. My side won.

Bio war, fair. Like leaven shaken from re
jected dust, the fishermen's feet

stamped and let their peace be held,
suffer, carry your load, but

smarter, not harder.
Grace, for goodness sake, sake means

good will result from the doing by virtue
of giving an old tale of attitudes to be
having a listen...


I am a peace maker. I do this for the living.
I may die, now, with no fear,

once, before,
with no doubt, by virtue of a helmet I was given.

Now, double-minded, patient-balanced, light-burdened,
I run, or fly, with augmentations,

bended knee or wounded, why does that matter?
Mito-mom is not some relationship to others that you
take, by faith.
Science.
Know the story to tell the story,
no novices allowed to lie for innocense sake.

No story of warring ever ended happy, for all involved.

Salve for the scritchin' itches whicha
cain't seem t' be able
t' ignor,

raw rubbed flesh

Balm o'Gilead, by reason, for reason of reasonable
comparable qualia of ex

per i ence, one death trip, PIF. (Paid in Full)

Good new, right, right, right,

chirality is such a cool tool for all sorts of random
shithavanish as soon as you notice it, like

was that real? Hineni. Okeh. I knew.
The genius of peace.
The idea never dies, but some people never get it.
Good wins for ever, or we all die at the hand of an evil

so powerful that only indigestible bone level ideas
make it through the turbulence

at the final analy system re

proof. An imaginary pile of mystery woo woo
Plahnk splash

food for thought. Quantum mechanical possiblities
bubble from nowhere that ever was.

So free will is the best we could do. Be safe.
While titans are threating war all about me I peaced out, responsibly. Cohen snuck in a line.
Ghazal Feb 2014
Little Ballerina, dance for me,
A delightful scene for anyone to see.
On your tiptoes ever so light,
You dance with magic through the night.
Across the floor you flow with ease,
Little Ballerina, dance for me, please.
I watch you glide with splendor and grace,
As a smile of innocense beams on your face.
Prancing about with magic in your feet,
A wonder to see like an angel so sweet.
Little Ballerina, dance with flair,
Swirling and turning through the air.
Hands moving with the music as you go,
A fantasy to see with a magical flow.
Dance upon dreams that play in your mind,
Upon the dance floor miracles to find.
Feet moving so graceful with ease,
Little Ballerina, dance for me, please.
karen dannette Dec 2012
My Life


Always a surprise

I want to feel what others feel.
I know what is supposed to be real.
I’m addicted, or afflicted…. Need some help from you.
The past has been a big part of my problem, its true.

I need you more than I’ve ever needed anything before.
**** my life up through a paper straw and feel me at the core.
The sorrow  inside me burrows from deep within
Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to win.

Why do you make me want to feel this way?
Will it ever truly go away?
**** this feeling of weakness and loss…
I know that the waves of anger seem to violently break me and toss.

Everyone I know has something that they want from me.
My defenses are let down and as I’m devoured, I finally see.
Seeking refuge from the storm coming near.
But every time I get close, I begin to feel that eternal fear.

Liars and hypocrites line the streets with innocence.
While they try to **** me, I’m still thinking of how they are dense.
Take me completely or leave me blind, deaf and dumb
I don’t understand you….  What has made you so numb?

Fun escapes your vocabulary…. Keeps you down without your consent.
Senseless running in circles keeps you in the money, pays the rent.
But even though you think the answer is clear,
I see through the mirage you are creating and it causes my eyes to tear.
Thank you for taking the time to read my poem.  I write to release my emotions.  Any feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Ann M Johnson Oct 2014
Guns and violence you hear of almost ever day
People take drugs or meds or ***** to try to make the pain go away
People abusing those they claim to love
Children not safe at school
People not concerned about breaking rules
Politicians corrupt, out for self not us
People not caring about the greater good
People in our nation starving for food
People abusing their own children
There is a cost to all of this
Our innocence is lost
Candy Glidden Jul 2010
I saw you once in a dream,
Delicate, sweet face of innocense,
Drawing my heart to the palm of your hands....
Holding it there...
Mesmerized!


Sitting at your knee, staring into your eyes,
Magical webs you weave,
Taking me from my self-imposed solitude,
thrusting me into a rainbow's-journey....
Delightful!


Hours spent within your existence drift away,
Delicate, sweet face of innocense darkens in the fires glow,
Stillness cocoons us, entrapping us in thoughtfulness;
My heart in your hands, your eyes fill my soul..
Spellbound!


With the glow of the fire the night descends upon us
In this hour, this place becomes ours,
Together our souls blend deeply into one
To the precious, lasting moments, of US..
Picture perfect!


I saw you once in a dream, and I shall see you again.....
Copyright2005  Candy R. Glidden
Ken Pepiton Oct 2023
National mindsets self interested suffer
forms of dementia as the order all confessed,
demands of each a concentration of self worth,
you bet your soul, but only in the spirit,
step into the fray, say, let me lead you,
say let me take elected office,
democratic to the edges, being your voice
in a popularity contest, not an intellectual joust.
Tutelary deontology 101.
Governing is managing the labor. Ask the king.
Any flock in the system, governs itself.
Business is business.
Some arrangements are always secret. All
grown ups are in the business of war supplies.
Let your children's minds be at ease.
Trust the checks and balances history proves,
have never worked on balance, for the poor.
Get rich quick as one can imagine, on a bet.
War meets Peace, like it is the storm
that left Greenland, a legend until now.

Easily intreated innocense, who could know.
Prosaic first morning pizz to prime the pump.

How deep is the generational debt due to war?
How many bonds have been sold to pay interest?
How many times has the national debt ceiling failed?
You know.
Every time.
"Each major conflict in U.S. history
has been accompanied
by a sharp rise
in debt as the government raises funds
to pay for the fighting."

But laws do exist…
"Without a declaration of war
to put the country on a wartime economy,
Congress paid for Vietnam
by increasing the national debt.
Over the course of the conflict,
America's debt nearly doubled, growing
from approximately $317 billion in 1965
to $620 billion in 1976."

Now the debt is rising
on interest alone. No need for another war.

And America's trade balance is hinged,
on the point of war.
The ideal centermost irritant, war's hate pump,
pain expanded by generational trespass acts
likened unto the pea
under the stack of feathered beds,
or the bit of grit forcing oyster stress
that has made the misshapen pearl sold
to sovreign entities, those colors on the map,
these mental aggregations called nations,
by nationalist mind frame riveters,
foundational eye beams, remove before demoting,
ah, slow, riveted beams spanning ferro-concrete tech- think.
Building a reasoning trap, children,
ask your fathers to whom we owe our national debt.
Ask also who sells the weapons to the world at war.
Semper fi,
no offence, but… holy hate is as crazy as hungry hate.

A voice from a song, from nowhere,
you just could rethink, or did, that first time think
a bridge over troubled waters being a truly old good idea,
come to rescue you,

in the early days of Boomer parenthood… being grown ups,
we never missed a Disney Movie, though by then,
they were losing the gnostalgia, old knowns to be like so,
were no longer even imaginably so.
Old Yeller,
Childhood's end, the separation
from hearth felt comfort,
to the class rooms and hallways
of massive cold concrete schools… where on day one,
the child pledges with its cohort of coeducatables,
the ancient bond of aliegiance...
I pledged mine first in 1954, the year "under God" was added.

In the just now settling down towns along the great freeways,
there has been no peace on earth in my generation,
at the level of military minds in conflict caused by stories,
boys bred with old hates just waiting for a sigh-psignal
sci-revealed to those willing to become Jason Bourne,
to the best of your abilities, ring the bell, any time.  

Welcome to the front. Sanity is on the line.
There is no conspiracy, we sell our souls for what money
can be demonstratively proven to allow and even augment.

War is all we sell. There is another game, it's a liar's game.
Many famous authorities have filled the space at the table.

Take your hat off, Bartholowmew, she does not understand you.

------------
Daily communication with myself,
one person, with no power to use
save the early cultural confidence;
sworn to tell the whole truth,
so help me, God. Yes, your honor.

Except we reactivate the curious why,
functionally suppressed during the standard
test taking by the proximate others
diligently filling in the blanks,
with graphite rounded just right, one swipe.

Except we see that hanging senselessly realized.
Each problem, one answer, not one option.
Only select correct answer.
Tell the child learning the pledge,
God is on our side, emphasize
how exceptional those who know so are,
extremely discriminatingly,
arranging the economy around
the great decussation at the air gap,
at the back of our national neck.

In this time,
thoughts and prayers, we hear
spoken of as easily done,
almost without thoughts, who
responds?, who, has ever responded
to the said to be going out constantly
thoughts and prayers, asking truth
to intervene and call the liars liars?

God is not angry, nor without resources,
according to the cultures now at war--
¿
Whose mortgage was not paid with earnings
from war readiness industrial complexes?

Whose talent was left with the userers,
because the Bible says y'sposed to earn interest?

Whose 401K deflated to oops?

Business begins with informed agreements.
Let's make a deal.
No killing, stealing nor needless destruction.

Minds join eye to eye, one mindwise agreed,
we become an entity, a being essential
to the parts, a mind in harmony, rank and file.

Greedy men with no agreement. Hmm, who loses?

Line up, not by rank, single file, fall in,
first and following, get in on the end,
and wait for the circle to close,
re done dances, life going wild as
we celebrate our circle, we sing of it
being unbroken in the sweet by and by…

The land of those who talk back to El,
yes, yes, we do, to honor Iyobe,
who first called for the Daysman,
who first
told reality, with all it's evil potential,
you cannot not be true, you know, in form
as spirit and truth containable in words, logos,
logos of all o-logies,
so powerful as to allow, in fact, cause, new mindforms,
species of thoughts that function as a system to make
sense, discernible, bits of valuation determinable in agreement.
--------------
Contractual obligations religiously adhered to
just between us, we take advantage for the nation's sake.
Madrassahs and aliegiance pledges set habits hard to break.

Set the cost of goods, lower than replacement cost of the price.
What does it cost a state to rear a warrior class individual
that self replenishes?

What does it cost me to scatter confusion in profuse create-ifity?
So, add a proper tip,
and pay the cost to ride this line to the next re-entering angle.
Middle east,
cauldron of all the holy empires thus far into the age
of entertainment so vast,
wise men can imagine, some day
there will be a war, and no parents will have
offered children to the infantry or made
righteous indignation acceptable national pride to k-ill for.

There Hamas, holy brainwashed haters of hatefulness.
Repents and perishes the very thought of peace.
Repay in kind, here, swear undying obediance,
fear not death, this is Allah's Promise, die killing Jews,
turns on the monstrous virgins awaiting you…
in post mortal walled places,
where the oldest civilizations occurred,
as God's great idea, I'll
empty the center of me, and seep
back in through fractured rationality
along trade routes between Africa and
the forested north above the desert.

Me, there, in mental efforting, thinking
thoughts, not prayers, but wishes, hopes,
thoughts that prayers attach to, as evidence.

"Ask and ye shall receive."
Love those who call you enemy, can you?

Face me, Mr. Nobody, the essence of other,
I declare peace, where none is, and you laugh.

No ritual, no enchantments with promise,
no sacred making of secular deaths, just
just just adjust the justice aspect, blame
the holy haters whose God dispenses vengeance,
at the behest of warriors fitted with military minds.

As when holy Americans gather to offer military aid,
blessed by the congregations alerted to intercede,
on the side that denies Jesus was God,--- ah, both sides,
in this case…
whither turn we, do we face Mecca, or Jerusalem,
or Petra or … Sol or Luna, all our enculturated faith,

blinks, a lense clarifying effort, rub the crust
of sleep fallen into while mourning, unsealing eyes
to see again, a war between two national identities,
both with warrior glory emulation traditions,
one with money as first de-fence, the other with hate,
nothing less than pure hatred, Cain to Able, sorry bro.

Old mean spirits.
If the hate can live in any man, wombed or un, it will.

Willingness to hate enough to k-ill a stranger, will
manifest as holy terror… enough to make Jesus weep.

--- and those were a few of the local thoughts made prayer,
seemingly automatically, as mysterious as most final secrets.

Part three, deeper, faster, harder… or not

Doings in the dark, are done by feel.
One, you or I, or some other sapien
augmented with the messiah's mind, feels the need for the deed.
Take the message from Garcia.

Mystic experience in story realms,
holding all the visions taken raw,
as revealed… as when a curtained
entry way is opened for inspection,

are we ideas in bodies?
are all ideas spirit in form?

Inhale an intuited absence of evil,
breathe the air of answered prayer.

Imagine that, let fly the idea of you,
beloved individuated potential saint.

Here is your sentimental inner edge,
your gnosis pressed flat as you see in.

The edge of this bubble, is distant
only to the holy cloaked in asceticism,
twisting wicks
for someday light in someday night,
circulate one way then the other,
rethinking perfected emptiness,
there are no others, up or down,
to and fro, vectors tie targeted states,
spider kites form single ray classic webbing,
slim banner, a flag unraveled long since.

Follow me, I say to me, follow me,
I say to you, saying back, I am not you.

My option.
Turn on, sit back and watch,
evolving cave wall interesting hooks,

look around, nothing interesting, eh?
Television as imagined by petrified apes,
during peak-info preservation history,
when men like Franklin and Voltaire,
met to share secret meanings of things.

Previous to any whole story
that remains, as when any mind mistakes
tzimtzum inside as first occurrence,

total emptiness, pre space, one time
this instant accepted as audience

in true gaseous we form, auto informing
the vegetable phaze passed eons ago, life
tells tales too esoteric for novices
to notice, in the ideal state, active
imagining, as with a child's mind, yours
since ever was, so far as you may wish
to remember,
a time when the state was deemed
comforting and beauty filled, chaotic
process of floating lipids, in form of air,
light has not dawned on us, we are
night scene setters of settings, nodes
of potential anything you can imagine,

level with me, even, straight, right… yes it
is the optional meandering mind engine,
an idol, or a daimon, madness of sorted
degrees, a little bit off the charts, sorted
out.
Not in, the bubble being becomes,
when one emerges in a self…

subtle is good, right, we agree?
Jesus, before Christianity, as a kid,
instructed with his cousin John,
likely by his temple servant uncle.

That can be imagined, projected
on the outerwall
of this bubble we be in.
At the moment,
on an Earth wired

for sound, elephants agreeing to meet,
to follow the pilgrimage, pilgrim beings
activated by stark necessity successful
to this degree…

by the reader's time's
at tension, pull
release
snap back, at what ifery, at once, push

most bottom centered point once sitting
in raw time thought processing, in
and out, efforting
- slightly off, not fully on
uncomfortable impression of holy
you better get better or else. Holy

blank slate, bubble pop, soft wow

Now, we're in the swirl, in the spin
toward, froward lips sealed, golden
silence,
subtler than any beast, creature,
living thing in the ruliad, am I? No.

BUT, you know, those penance prayers,
given you as a child, enchantments,
as with all your renouncements of evil
and pledges under God, in your child mind.

Look. To your own self, be true.
You still have private interpretation access
to your child mind.

If you put your worried mind to work
on some thought too deep to ponder then,

The idea of punishment by the Creator
of all that is not God, but was deemed good,
by God, because I said so, said the father,
in the child mind.

To know good and evil knowledge,
that talent, initial mark on our blank slate,
to know, not what you know, but ask
your child mind, how does it feel,

flat on your back gasping as others laugh,
and your child mind blooms an entire eon
- just to catch a breath takes for ever
and there were others, the whole family
of mankind of your kind, to your child mind,
stood laughing at your attempt to perform

a first flight, from an edged bet with an
I think I can virus perpetuated in ever after,

since mind made time make sense in chaos.
Instantly, things start to take shapes, in mind.
Non sense. Since. Processing time. Go.
Instants out of mind, in atari.
Fog of unknowns. I used to play the game.
Not really, only, one off thought forms,
cloudlike in symmetry, no clear tongue
and groove, fitting our pro-posed… pose

supposed, to listen and while listening,
learn the use of any knowing, can be
taken as granted possibility by your self.
- distant sound of light sabers actuation
Your blame and shame catcher, out front,
as we steam ahead across the gap,
thoughts made prayers must leap.

Keep your eyes on the prize, three
walnuts and a split pea with a hair, fine
infant hair, see it there, your old minds eye.

The unveiling of an artifice, an angle
greater than straight, from this point…
a re-entrant angle, like a point, banked shot.

in
Thanks, I needed you to ready become... said the little blue man... whatsoever we agree... indeed. Let us see...
Jenna Kaminski Feb 2010
Walking down the street
your hearts are skipping the exact same beats.
A unison that anyone would wish for.
He came out of the darkness
as the most unpleasant surprise.
Reeking of demise
he stole her from your grasp.
One hand over her mouth and one hand over her heart
he sprinted
but you boy, you ran after her.
You ran and ran until your stomach screamed;
until your feet began to bleed.
Oh how you cried.
That man, he took her to a isolated place
so that she would have to face
him. And only him.
Her screams, were insignificant because at that moment
she was no one.
The look in his eyes as he undressed her was
mortifying.
She tried to run, she tried to scream but he was in control.
Then he plunged; breaking the skin that kept her innocense so beautiful.
& he plunged; scraping the walls of her ****** making her bleed.
& HE PLUNGED into her heart, soul, and mind
making her cry.
Oh how she cried.
And you boy, you heard her screams.
But they were hushed by your own dreadful sobbing;
Bawling yourself into an unconcious state of failure and loss.
And that girl, she was paralyzed with pain;
Drenched with the strange white substance that filled her with
s h a m e.
Her ****** had been bruised and scarred by the monster.
She said, "God.. God I know you can hear me. Help me. You are not going to let me die."
That man he turned around and laughed.
Smiling as he said, "Girl. Sweet, sweet girl.
I am Anastatious and this is your sacrifice."
Yonder flies the solitary bat
Entwining with darkened wings
Like a twilight Prince in the night sky

This little creature flies away home
To hide from the advancing morning light
Forever blind to the madness of man

Yonder the little mouse is peaking out
Twitching its nose at the wide outside
Then to venture across the grass

Searching to find a scrap of food
To grab up and run back into safety
Away from the envious eyes of man

Yonder a jackdaw perches up high
Hidden within the branches of the Oak
Watching like a sentry that is looking out

Waiting to spy what it comes to desire
Then swooping down to capture its prey
Flying away once more from the terror of man

Yonder the small child plays with joy
Seeing the pleasure that belongs to his world
Delight is showing at the wonders all around

Running through the buttercups and dandelions
Soon he will have to leave this all behind
His innocense taken away when he becomes a man
copyright Chris Smith 2010
Matalie Niller Jun 2012
The age-old rhetorical question:
bask in hedonism or preserve innocense?
Shamelessly flirt
and makeout with hotties on the beach
or stay quiet and "moral,"
which is really code for "I'm afraid?"
Is a kiss with a stranger
really a kiss?
Or merely brushing lips against other lips,
maybe accidently,
gently,
couldn't be any harm, right?
Or would my first kiss with a stranger who holds no relevence to my life
be a life-long regret?
Would not cutting loose and being "loose" be a regret too?
So uptight
my hair is forever permed,
let it down and lank
will I still be me?
Would I still have self-respect?
Would others respect me?
Urges are strong
but will they ruin everything?
PhiWrit Sep 2015
The Lord keeps me quickened
With His burnin wine blood.
Sinner gets Word he's sickened
'Cause their fate is the flood.
Wickin your idols like wicker
This Word that protrude is sure ta
Make knots out of your nickers.
While I heard you is a rude *****
No flippin bird. I'm a Jigga,
One of them scotch sippin Jewish ******
Switch the first lettas in Jew and *****,
What you get is New, Jigga

Go figure

Yourself out, and what you're about.
No need to tout your ego and shout.
Like go ahead call me a ****,
I can't hear ya when your talk is trite;
Words don't cause me tantrums tike.
Little one the end has just begun.
Put down your gun, since before the beginning His Son has already won, before you were even sinning;
In a sense, innocense.
His Immaculate timing is waiting for the start of your pitiful whining
For mercy from the Lord you still curse G.
Amber Blank May 2014
For:
A person once noticed in a crowd.
A confident young girl with the world at her feet.
A dreamer who believed she could save the world.
The free spirit who followed wherever the wind blew her.
The singer, who may not remember every note.
The rockstar in the bathroom mirror.
The lover of language.
The bleeding heart of a humanitarian.
The nieve teenager.
The believer of promises.
The innocense lost.
The future journalist.
The wife who never had a husband.
The vain reflextion in every shinning surface.
The painter of worlds.
The doodler of notes.
The princess of the apple trees
The tomboy covered in lace.
The brave captive of twisted words.
The enlightened empress
The solitude of a silent sister that brought peace.
The queen of correct
The fighter of the feable minded
The deep thinker lost in her darkness
The mother of happiness
The old soul trapped in this body
The sensative spirit that feels more than the eye can see.
The sleepless gaurd of our home.
The hostess of friendship
For all is me
For all you will see
Samber Sep 2012
Pushing bodies to walls wrapping legs around a waist pulling you into me nails scratching skin causing chills kissing tender warmth shaking innocense with each gasping breath taking love and turning it into ***** secrets holding back screams of honesty as his fingers ran all over steaming pleasure whispering the dirtiest truths in hungry eyes satisfaction running through every bone pain in all the right places. love in all the wrong ones.
Mercurychyld Aug 2014
Life throws
live bombs at you;
abuse,
cruelty,
manipulation by
‘so called’
loved ones,
betrayal of trust,
****** of innocense,

all contributing
to the grand design
and creation of a
sorrowful, raging monster;
a special breed.

You come to
discover and sharpen
the only real
weapons
you possess…

YOUR WORDS.

These words
become like machetes,
cutting and chopping
through bone.

These words
become the lethal
bullets that
penetrate
deep into the
crevices of
heart and mind.

Somewhere,
within the vast
depth of yourself
you find a strength
and courage,
in between
the layers of
rusted scars,

creating a new
persona,
one who will
stand up for you,
when your fragile
‘self’
cannot.

This creature
takes the brunt
of the hurt
and fear
directed your
way.

Those that pretend
to love you,
yet cause only harm,
witness this savior
you’ve borne,
and have the nerve
to be offended.

Often these
Pretenders
find it quite
entertaining to
watch and listen

as you tear
another apart.

That is,
until you turn,
and point your revolver…

at THEM.

Bang! Bang! goes
that gun,
and down they go,
obliterated
by your own hand,
and you can
only offer up
an amused grin…

as they
bite the bullet!


~ by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
Retaliation, revenge, Karma
Wayne Pritchett Oct 2010
at this moment
you are the light
that twinkles in my eye
the source in my chest
that makes my heart melt
then my mouth stops runnin
only to let my mind race
just for a while
then you change
that twinkle transforms
as well as my chest
that twinkle is a flame
not one of lust but anger
that source that once warmed
now cools till it freezes
see when i begin to think
just like you claim you do
i wont ask a question
cause i know the answer
the original spark
that gave what we had
that special glow
is gone
replaced wit this new one
refurbished for you
since i liked to see
your smile more than i
liked to see mine
little things i see
trigger the actions you
cant seem to believe

i have forgiven you
even though u cant see
i havent forgotten
and it angers me
you dont understand
i wanted the world to know
how much of my heart
belonged to you
and only you
3 separate times
my heart shattered in pieces
not **** i thought about
while i was alone and bored
based on facts presented
to me and those u admitted
had a shread of truth
this tango we dance
is makin my feet hurt
but im stuck
in this lust trance
you put on me
the night of our prom
when u took something from me
the last of my innocense
something u promised to
never do again to anyone
cause virgins
become too clingy
i might forget the
phrase you say
word for word but
the pain tends to stay
like a hangover from
liquors u cant seem
remember u drank
the way i looked
replacing a P wit a F
i looked like a fool
the *** u hate to look like
when u put u through
the shame type of bull
you deficated on my plate
when i served you
like the queen i see
the one i wanted to be
with but things changed

i have this gemini type
feelin for you
the i love you now
but u irritate me later kind
i wouldnt mind a future
before i flash back
i wont be happy tho
after the past flashed
showing me the main fact
i need security
something i havent felt
since our love was new
i never let it show
cause deep down
in my heart in knew
things might change
for the better but new
issues flew my way
so i watch and wait
for another movement
from the bowels
of your jealousy
and greed for me
which in my eyes
isnt really where
i wanna be

my love will never die
for you but my doubt
also is immortal cause of you
and poor judgement
when i dont show
what you want in me
you find it in another
tryin to pull jealousy
from me i wont
be a pawn in your
love/chess game
this song is reachin
its end and im switchin
to another partner
one who mirrors my
good as well as bad
no jealousy and switchin
to another man who
gives you attention for
what you carry
while your walkin by
she who loves me
even if i were
to choose you
something you dont have
the heart to do
(c) Wayne Pritchett October 2010
You catch the eyes of innocense
as you clip the time
in insolence with a smile

Nothing makes you happier
than to see the distress
when you so beguile

Soft and swift you tantalize
the precious lips of love

You nibbled on the ears
while whispering "Only if you please"

You daze and confuse like
the early spring's
cold winter fog

You lie in wait
for your chances
like a five string guitar

Oh ! No one is safe
as you strike another chord

No ! Not even the words
that go aching for the page

Not even the message texted
across the lost one in the maze


The camel made it through
the needle of the eye
He said "Nothing to it"
just before he died


There is a lesson to be learned
in the hollow of our minds

That there will be a tomorow
I can guarantee that in time

But only if you don't
step on the trip wire attached
to the watermelon's vine

So be careful
in everything you do
Or you might wind up wearing
camel hair coats and shoes
Ken Pepiton Sep 2023
Fit to be tied to a ligand gated receptor,
mind you,
right there, in the area below our own aptness
to think and do at once, thus we think without
knowing we are

thinking
things,

new and old, linked by local nodes arranging ions,
in channels previously lacking bridged interchanges.

Instant one past then,
we re think,
if we remain, persisting at or on some certain point,
may we not, mainly almost completely, be self aware?

The gaps insulating our separate selves, as we imagine,
thoughts outside our heads do remain connected rectly
ortho dexterous… sinister off, right on. Switch,

transcendence, sit zazen intently making bits of this
peace.
Inner, breathing conscience, knowing used, to pay
yourself, first

love, neighborly behave, have love as for your self.

I, the boss mind, I, the chooser of destiny from now,
I, ego and id and all, me, you must acknowledge,
I was here when you arrived, in an acknowledged,

innocense, not ignoring a curio juxtaposed, sup-
posed to prompt a why from your own self, why
am I not kind to me.
I am no better than I can imagine proving, to myself.

I must convince me, you are merely watching me be,
in a mind state seeping from a spring I cleaned,
to channel a flow a bit thicker than a seeping…

Sit with me a minute,
measure the brevity,
leave be the reason, I wished to feel you there.
Knowing how I love you, determines the worth
of my own love.
an exercise in flow provocation.
Lane May 2013
Viking's got it virtual, spinning and he's cynical
masking masquerade of every beaten broken lateral.
open-bottled bears look like little tiny hairs due to massive
sorts of stacking and a corp worth dollar shares.
Now i'm sitting in a skull or two, a brain that can't pick what to do
An empty, and gated, abandoned hop skotch for dancin' or truth.
signs of life negative, I don't think we can hold the shiv
but i will pay a nickel if you ask me where the mattress is.

Stop
And don't think you left 4 eyes blocked fully.
i'm lookin for the glasses that won't make me look silly.
got a hidden sort of stash, the kind of cash is always relevant.
got industries in disaster with a passion for the magnificent.
now every ****** actor has some kind of immune innocense.
now what the **** has happened to utilizing more than common sense?
I guess we just forgot what time armageddon really is
so allow me to introduce the second hand to you ******* kids.

Please return your seats to an upright release.
(Down-trodden echoes from moon-base police.)
Don't take a number unless you can be seen.
(mathematic addict he took a train for free.)


Ohhh--- my-good-god-*******,
**** it's a nice way to live outside.
free patties made fresh from the earth, 8 to 5.
but he's too **** busy not thinkin' survive.
we can rebuild him.
Undercut the normal cost of generations you are stuck with,
throw it all in paper bags and call it a sickness.
teacher made me sit outside away from all the other kids,
attentiveness is measured by an inconsistent dosage list.
Awareness is a trait
and being blind is a disorder
sight beyond sight is something to be ignored or,
better yet we need a ******* sight beyond the seen sight,
or maybe just a cigarette to keep my mattress fire bright.

Go
Green lights spit on the pavement- pea soup food fight kids entertainment.
rock show, dog fight, all just the same ****.
money riding visual stimulation and a shaking rib.
ha- ha- ha
hear me chuckle like a charlie got his X-ray goggles put on little bit sideways.
crack the better pavement so no one has good roadways.
now our infastructure needs improvements going both ways.


Please return your seats to an upright release.
(Down-trodden echoes from moon-base police.)
Don't take a number unless you can be seen.
(mathematic addict he took a train for free.)
Alfredo Mateos Jan 2010
Riding in the dark, all alone
The cold wind blows in my face
As I sit on the devils back
To take me to a place where innocense is left behind
The road is an endless parade of memories
I speed past them as I roar thru the night
I take this ride for the last time
Behind me is a sea of darkness
I wont turn back as the sun begins to rise
The ride will forever go as long as the devil rides.
Eleete j Muir Feb 2014
Benign baleful dreams
pervading sense awaken arousal,
destructive in fruitful essence
of times eternal ocean of silence;
a majestic magnitude of heavens legions
felled as stars blossom like roses
in the night sky.
Amorous passion playing
with shadows; climbing
the stairs of heavens turmoil
like a ladder descending upon
a vast forest of emotions,
the angelic spirit of deception;
swarming like maggots untoward
the sulpherous adamantine
gates of a new order,
dropping like flies unto
the volcanic ash of chaos.
Efficacious mezmerisation
comprising invunerable exaltation,
numinous effacement
corrupting the truth of
unimaginable fear,
torterous pity bore by
innocense; lost denouncing
their creator.
Succumbing, a subdued debauch
ambassador of hope;
proscribed as the moon replaces the sun,
defiant; belief vanquished-
desire unrequited.


ELEETE J MUIR
karen dannette Nov 2014
Staring out the window,
Frozen in time
In that one moment
where everything changed.
Innocense and simplicity
surrounding me with love and trust
Frozen in an abyss of memories
Memories are for learning and moving forward
Ramsha Ahmed Nov 2014
I have felt the heat of a thousand flames,
And witnessed the shattering of all of my hearts,
Every word that escaped my mouth,
Couldn't have been as blessed as your name.

I have swum in a thousand lakes,
And I've drowned in each one,
with every breath a synapse of obliteration,
And every heave of my soul the collaboration of all your suns.

All my feathers lie in abysmal reticence,
In reaches of an hour glass filled with ashes,
Where every ash is the increment,
Of promised prayers of retribution.

There aren't many things I know forsure,
For the world fades unto oblivion with every breath it takes,
There couldn't have been anything more obscene,
Then the innocense of your allure.

But what I do know in bits and pieces,
with closed eyes and whispered hope,
Is that there lies a certain virtue,
In the reaches of being a prisoner of the exhuberance of your soul...
...and I have loved you in each one.

12-Nov-14, 7:13 PM.
Zyborg May 2010
Sore with discontent
Oblivion beckons
Fade out or live long
Perhaps not an option
Choices are illusions
Life a big lie
Return to innocense
Most desired
Loath and anguish
No logic to talk about
Haze of negativity
Call it depression
Yet it is life still
No pride no prejudice
Just an unflinching death wish
Nothing to hang on to
Or so it seems
Can this all end please
Cannot watch the re-runs again
Cannot see the downward spiral
Cannot live without belief
Cannot make room for belief as well.
Neither do I know when all approve
Nor when they condemn.  If the
Horn is in me my agony exclaims
My innocense.  But others then are
quick to ask: Then Is your God Un-
Just?   If I am wrong what is there
To say but that I did not know and
spoke while yet in ignorance.

Sin and merit are hidden from my
Eyes  If I err then upon His mercyI
I must rely.  If good comes to meI
Shall I think that it is just?  No
I shall think it is grace and that
My God is; and yet I may see
His face  another day.  God
Approve when what is vain is
Stripped away that the gift be
Freely given, joy be unfeigned
Truth and innocense can be
Reconsiled by the gift  of love
Najah Fleary Oct 2014
Tears behind her eyes
Moisture between her thighs
She clenches hard at the wet bed sheets

Thrusting through his lies
She tried to stay quiet
Because he told her not to make a peep

He said
"Dont tell your mother and
Dont alarm the public"
He made her believe she was wrong

"No one will believe you
Or ill make sure no one ever sees you
If you tell then youll be gone"

She questioned if god was ever listening
Or whyd he make it happen
Or does he even exist

But just know god is always watching
And something bads gonna happen
To the man that took her innocense.

Years later
shes all grown up
But has issues trusting men

She watched on tv
That a man of 43
Was murdered once again

She got on knee
And thanked him
for him even to bother

"Its been a long time
Wasnt sure you was there
But thank you
For punishing my father"
Dani Huffman Feb 2013
I can't find the
words to smash in your
face like a brick,
or tie around your
neck like a noose.
I want to scream how
much I hate you until your
ears ring,
***** my hands with your
sweet nothings,
nothing but lies as
you took another
beneath you.
Was I ever
enough?
Even if I'd given you the
last simplicity of my
being, would it ever
have been
enough?
I wish my words could
slap you hard like
yours did:
"****** up",
"ignorant",
"I could've done better".
But my tongue
bleeds with how long I've
been holding them in,
sharp like
razor blades on the insides
of my cheeks,
wishing so to carve out
yours like you did a
fifteen year old girl's
innocense.
Sweet child, if only I
could hold her to
my chest, and
reassure her that she was
never the impure one.
serendipity Mar 2017
Sweet and tender
Don't you ever
Lose your innocense

This world gets bolder
As it gets colder
And ever more, intense

Always it will be
Hard for you to keep
Your heart upon your sleeve

But darling you will see
When you look within your dreams
That passion overcomes all adversity

Even through the hurting
Life is always worth it
And love will lead you through

Remember to keep learning
Don't you ever stop yearning
To be the best in all you do

There are two options here
Give up or persevere
Love, give anything but up

When your done hoping
When your beaten and your broken
Look up for my love
DaRk IcE Apr 2015
Today is supposed to be a day about family togetherness, instead my family just fell apart. When I wake up I must paint on a smile  for my babies and pretend like everything is ok. When the truth is I'm dying inside. It's all I have to hide the tears that insist on making an appearance. Having to hustle and make last minute plans which just got done because the orignal plans you had with your family are no longer. (Just like that) It's over. Hearing my youngest ask for her father, grandmother, and grandfather is to heartbreaking to even write about. I broke down in tears earlier in private, just feeling so empty and lost and like I failed my children. Its so hard not to believe otherwise. The innocense of a child is so fragile. A parent will bare anything to protect their children from pain. Even then that sometimes only goes so far...
I had to get this into words and set it free. This is really hard for me to talk about. Thank you to everyone who stops by and reads this. I wish everyone a Happy Easter!!!
Ken Pepiton Feb 12
What is a daemon?
In computing, a daemon (pronounced DEE-muhn) is a program that runs continuously as a background process and wakes up to handle periodic service requests, which often come from remote processes.
------------------------
Did no one ever tell you, child,
never swear for no excuse,
plead guilty,
confess you was beguiled,
indeed. By some when
back then you had kin, what
made time to preform
the secret baby making.

Once upon a time,
we were always orphans,
from first whipper snappers used
to scrape tar from industrial chimneys.

Songs of Innocense in a new age,
learning old religions decay to mythos,

whence new religions tie memorium,
whence each season we return to recall

our broken spirits, how so and so sang,
lala live for today, la la live for today,

some same stories we recall, links,
URLs, to old sessions recording history,

close your eyes and drift away, listening,
much as winds seem to do, returning
on their circuits from collection
to collection, paid attention tokens, believed
to soften the hull on the gospel seed sown
to a cultivated faith, planted to propagate,

the idea of a secret code Truth uses in spirit form,
the Truth of truths, which, if known, even once,
makes the captive free,

mentally, happy as one can imagine,
under unchanging immutable terminii enforcing
order.

Order, called for, order in the court
of geeky oddball poetic discerners of like or love or not,

Thought traditions trades across epochs forming news,
too much to think about while considering sidereal extents.

Desiderata, poetic license, madejathank, Christian Nation,

Conquistadores were still heroes in 1954,
when the generation first born in the United Nations
victory forever standardization of historical information,
- Boomers stepping aside, survivors come to remember
- first were we to be graded by machines for marks
- made in Number two pencils rounded to one swipe
- width, right answers, only, only, one swipe between
- the lines, esoteric practice for precision aim.

to be overseen by servants of the victorious economy,
as pieces resorting to old formerly used rules of conduct,

smell the wind the strange idea carries,
worth weight, pushing power, pumping umph,

known cost of use, userer's fee, faith, the story held true,

with the evidence in the box, the bag, the sacred bundle,
all but forgotten, faith becomes the evidence of things unseen,

children are told
to hold these truths, those being taught you,
as you line up
in patterns
of proven paid attention, facing the flag

child, you should remember, wordless, for lack of a phraze,
thinking What? What am I pledging, what is pledging, I swear

I mean, I swanee, by golly, gosh ****, shucks, I ghucking did not know.
Feeling chthonically frisky on a warm day after a long storm, called an atmospheric river these days.
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
You can say that again, later, it is -time
lace up the daily bag and pass it
for all private interpretation
removal, from the rumen, to the next
- gaseous we, Huxley called us, 1957

No, this ain't show business, this
is living, made in a made up mind,
being finished doing, just
living.

Making up reasons to dispute liars.

Maybe not a good living, but it's free.
Or paid for, any way.
Bought with a price
my grands won't be forced to pay.
- divided attention makes
- ads obliviate into the mercantile
- classification, in attention econ 101
It's free - this living
in the way well fed children do,
in America, outside the cities;

Joy pursued and grabbed in happy
fistfuls that fill laughing memory bubbles
to store for when these become
the olden days.

No, this ain't show business,
its sacred duty,
work of a thing,
made from a boy who looks
into flies eyes, gazing up
from the bottom of the cup,
a little glazed, perhaps,

owing the fly an easy escape, look away

Tricae,
tricae
"perplexities, hindrances, toys, tricks,"

The collections of thoughts,
the access to held thoughts, knotted
messages
to you
private moments,
time alone, as a mortal human being,
humus built, auto-repairing thing being

being, eh?
One-like, only, or
on-like, only going on and on and on,

becoming fruitful
becoming useful
becoming less and less useful, but
becoming more and more curious
becoming full enough to become superfluous.

Lay preachers can create cushions
for lazy wishers wishing to be comforted,
but the weighing of the worth of comfort,

lay preachers seldom do, to my knowledge.

Terminus gnosis, all I know, my bubble of knowns;
this is it…
a thousand stacks of sensible lines, atop precepts,

strewn beside the trail.
Heavy
heuristic heretical how-to do as I dones,
published by faith in the thousands, litter
the little hills the psalmist asked,
why they writhed and twisted,
as in a dance of anger wishing,

clear channel, me and the truth, today,
just/instance, this/ now.

Free am I, by the faith in me, but you
already
knew that,

don't you?
Don't you know, there is a musing mind,
we wear to bed, some nights,
we lay on memory foam, some nights.

Thinking sorted thoughts, untying lying links,
links to educated guesses fed you as new reasons

to be ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the faith,
the laughing faith of a child, leaping
into the sky

- my grandson, I just learned,
- asked for more math.

No class common man, that is what I am,
on the cusp of next, looking back,
at the mess I left, like a cyclone,
randomly distributing seeds of kindness, specs
by which an idle word can activate troves
of ancient autoresponders, each guessing
what if, what if not,
what if, what if not,
what if, what
if
not now, when. Pop.
Bubbles of been, leave go, go on, think it

through, and passed through, into
the now
where we formed, letters, letting words wait,
sit still, ready
for the reader, ready
to steady the quivering fearful thing,
lost in thought,
stuck in stacks of holy orders, hearer only,
only ordainded doers do the trick,
intricate, folding to make not a paper swan,

too, easy. Make a protein. With no model,
just the idea in the word applied to science,
proper pose, super knowing, proto-life-ish thing,
that is digestible using an infantile nourishing node.

What tricks do you know?, the magi aske Moshe.
Snake from a staff.

From the crozier of goatherd, sure,
we can all do that. What else?
---
Allusions to ever knowing, knowing as old
as knowledge given girls at their flowering,
as old a mystery as any orphaned mother may tell
her great grand daughters,
nobody told me any thing,

but I took it as normal,

As the patient potency prefecting
effectual
fervent
prayer, dramatized, made big as all
art
any
bubbled artifice holding essences,

essential bits of the daily grind to gloss
the leading intellect's reason for being
so shiny,
Klimt golden, as that one kiss I recall,

yes, a facsimile, a memory evocation,

a kiss, golden in that moment, infected
with a feeling
dramatized to be offered to all who see,
intricacies,
khipu twists and loops and bundles and beads,

accounting for dues,
instructing kaballah, pass it on

Excuse me, are you in the right realm,
we feel pluralized,
but you don't fit,
we are uniform,
uninformed,

excathedra, listen up, all eight billion now living, are destined
for certain death,
it is a matter of time, dying once,
can happen anytime,

and if there is a second death, so far,
I never saw any body do it twice,
once truth makes what I am free,
we stay free,
amen,
reception accepted kaballah, et al,
take that greasy grace, feel it,
as the oil ran down Aaron's beard,

and there were no poor denied
starship rations,
until the comet hit and all
but a single mind
blew, into this
a complete fiction,
or another compleat guide to fishing

Imagine the magic of the sailor's accounting book,
envision the magic of levers, and pulleys and cogged
wheels feeling the weight

ping
2023 Gravity driven or gravity powered, is it
one
or the other, when it come be to inspire
first fears
to frame wisdom pools,
at depths we learn
to believe,
prove each participant,
worthy of keeping,
the secret.
Salt of the earth, deep down dehr dat
Caribbean Sea,
shore line fracture,
follow the riverwise road,
any thing you think you must bear,
don't blame,
sometimes it pays, to bend.
Grasshopper Locust practice, for the mind
of an ant.

Wisdom harnessed the fear of God,
put it down,
in other words,
when there was nothing
but E, mass and time being assent
esse, sentient, in sentient and ex
insentience, sapient over lay,
- honeycomb tripe pattern, say
- why not ruminate enclosed
- in a beauteous inner digestive
- recluse-exclusive-sub-science con
ified, tied ligously, fi,
to witty means, and ways we prove
gravity is our friend, driven power for all life,
strong as earth itself, but, we are

in the burning phase,
let me bring you down,
cause being accused, does that
to a stranger
being
entertained, or entertaining, on an aitia
let me
reason,

have you come for more, or do we have
too much
of too many things
to make too much
sense
of any particular reader/writer ifery algorithm,
if then,
else is this, current, slow, nodding, flux,
capacitance
loading axially,
if each mind thinks right once,
today, we have enough,
let's save the world.
- that easy, eh?
global restoration, Christ, yes,
that is the plan.
As the planet was.
Prior to Peleg's days.
Intended to have a single
dry land mass,
Wisdom pushed
for plates meeting
and using ice
at the top
of the world, as seen polaris up,
spinning
in a slow wobble
through four
seasonal positional hot-cool-cold-warm
gyre drivers, saline liquid epicycles, sisters
of the four winds
as a flywheel effect
in the telling times… a little imbalence leaning helps
with the wobble,
in the event,
slim to none,
the odds, but,
Don't Look Up. It could
reoccur, and shall, if
Nietzsche's epicycle

has wheels. Graham Hancock, on clocks…cosmic

Mindspacetime, the elite flight,
secretshitistic, it is, most certain, it is
fantasmic imagining
E not equal any thing, mere words
-jello-timingoooisht
between me and thee,
no point, not one, between the we
we become,
in the final analysis, if you wish,

might
you wish,
long, lazy river readers, re-mind
their lost selves, how innocense felt.

The worth of an unsold story, given
as a gift, as a poor artist might
attempt
a portrait
of their daughter's children

- "that little thing"
Done. As best he could, he believed,
at the time,
as it is
with
everything being as is when we arrive,
we adapt
or become the insane opposition,
to anything,
just
be the counter weight on the pendulum,

keep things swingin'

feel time slide
into the real deal,
at the crossroads
in the wayback seat,
sayin' honey, you ain't here
after what I'm here after,
y'gonna be there, after I'm gone, as  asong
that was
once a joke ended you gonnabe here
after I'm gone, but

seemsayin' eye
squint, see,
way back
when,
we were otherwise involved, affirming
sacred oathes, we swore as children learn
IT being life, whatever,
it don't mean
nothin'
is not a joke, it's ahint, to readers, ready
writing is key to reading,
vertical eyed
qwerty keying is learned,
phone wide,
natural, feels familiar
style adaptation
as cuneiform once was,
years of hearing the same words,
said and resaid, story after story stacked
in
time, measured by stargazers, called, by god,
eyes like eagles, these minds expand, and see
the order of the cosmos,
and the chaos of the collective sub-science

locked by a generational curse on oathes
under the God those kids had in mind,
September, 1954, first day of school,
all across the Wyatt Earp of Nations,
each child not religiously exempted,
stood, right
hand on heart and repeated, as a national
student body, K through 12, a pledge,
local time 9 a.m. nationwide,
not unlike
a true Tenant's pledge of fealty,
as recorded in
The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
- buzz nod what instance… seven seconds
Sorry, Under God, was added to the pledge
that year, that affectionizes those exposed,
we meander under god, think it not strange.
It’s a legendary trait, we'll all be remembered a bit.
- default modemod is always beguiling temptation
- for temptation sake, win a game, get the rush.
of chasing hares
to where the conies hide,
feeble folk, but they live among big rocks,
reason enough,
use what you know is right,
hide from things that eat you,
that evolves
in nations
with no elders, constant defence mode
peace makers seem
feeble folk,
who knew,
and fell away, impossible to renew,

whoah, zeke play me that riddle,
'bout scrublands being humbly blissed
so long- wayback, anchoring the authority
17
that's me, I
fiddled around
and blew the clearwater revival
to kingdom come, Muddy Waters, aight
and there was hippies, ever whar, swanee,
so I do, I swan no no no no mo
lie like the devil for the sake of church heritage,
holy warrior sworn, heart torn, tears shed, tongues
spoken.
You know, when gravity is taken
in, your weight, sunk
into the reasoning
swung wide
in progress, no aim, past the cloud,
for crying out loud, this is louder than ever,
listen, no
silence
all that
noise, is natural
to persons genitivally, ok, cross
shadowed animus anima imitation,
in your cultural genes, cowgirl
seeing the world a yingyang thang,
with gravity and the E-magnetic shields
allowing systems to com-uni-cate locally,

scarey
indeed

too much,
the scope
of any thing one might think
or ask,
as in what was that rule
of LAW once?
I read
Compleat Fisherman's Guide U recall led
to , yes, The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
is on Google books, masterfully typeset

Feel free to learn all you will, 'tis all in the Common.

as, by now is much that may have been, otherwise,
in needier times,
less riches, more sorrow,
less sorrows, more riches, peace.

Made that my after all battlefield task,
no mas win or lose.

My side, on the scalar models is gravity empowered,
heavyweight, ancient concept,
gradient slopes
with long lazy loops
on the downhill side,
listening
to kids make all the noise they wish,
two chalk walls away,
in the bubble we all breathe.

To this day, whatever it took, it worked.
Life gets as good as you can make up a mind

to accept, as
this is it,
this is my bit. My close up. To the exact point
where I breathed that bubblierised wedom-opinion

opinion opinion opinion okeh, settle years ago, okay
we all say okeh here, holy ground,
entire collection of recollection on that victory alone.

Okeh, is still the proto voice model, ok.
If you like it, I'd love if you shared it in whole or in part, it is a whole chapter in a novel form of literature, native to the internet age,
type set for vertical receivers
what keeps us bound on earth?
theres nothing keeping you to me
something is always keeping us apart
yet my thought my prayers they are for you

where are you this time of night?
when my bed is warm enough for two
nothing not even fabric in between
but its not us just me alone in calm sea

where have you been all my life ?
now that the sun of my innocense has set
does the devil have your number too
is that why we can lay awake for days

when will you be coming home?
its lonely without you here you know
you are my sun and moon
im the planet being stirred up.  even tho
your worlds not big enough for both of us
even tho you are all my shooting stars
Candy Glidden Jul 2010
Beautiful as a rose in full bloom
Although my mother, I never knew
Priceless days spent together
In my life I can't remember
When I was four my life was changed
By a man who had no face or name
His soul survived on evil alone
Hell is now his comforting home
My mother was beauty upon this earth
Her intentions were full of peace and worth
So young and frail it had to end
Taking away my mother, my friend
Even though her body is gone
Inside mine her spirit lives on
The beauty she natured, the love she shared
Was a mile of fortune that can never be compared
Two little girls who reflect from her life
Even through suffering heartache and strife
From her strength and her wisdom we shall prevail
For the rest of our lives her story we'll tell
How beauty and innocense can be stolen away
Yet, remain on solid ground each day.
This is how I'll remember no other
Because for me, my life, is lived for my mother.
Copyright2004  Candy R. Glidden
BellaBloom May 2015
And when your day expose to test,
Come home to where your soul can rest
Darling come home

The night lit up by lovers yearn
wet lips taught
breathed an impassioned nocturne
The winds lament
swells the air
milk dampened with opaline tears
the sweat on flesh and fear
High as the rising tide
with might and main
with lust and claim
one slow kiss at a time
Fingers on flesh,
tracing my heart in hand
languished and bracing
In your eyes I am mirrored pallid
these naked gentle bones
back arched,
arms outstretched
innocense exposed

My lovers heart beats devoted
his pulse of heat is mine the same
two bodies embraced
my skin of silk his body drapes
This passionate heart,
his native drum
with every beat a roaring thunder runs
My eyes are of twilight and dawn
jewels your fingers give to me
flowering and brown
wild as the forest
calm as meadow
both dance,
my dearest fortune dances voluptuously on my belly

My body yearns
entranced with every breath
the rise and fall from his two iron gates
my fingers fleet to caress
Arms like veins up along my thighs
make me weak at the knees
as I fall into your sea
great body of beauty
wash over me
Come to my mouth
sweet, perfumed tongue
where my lips pour sweet wine
and drink my breath of infinite kisses
I am his queen
His body lapped over me
as if he was caressing his own white casket

Vagabonds enslaved to this beauty
Reckless creatures



"Your Gaze, Your Mouth, Your Foot, Opens Door",
(c) Jul 19, 2008 , Bellabloom, and its affiliates and assigns and licencors
All rights reserved
I havent had a minute to myself,
To clear my conscience I meditate with water in wishing well,
Even when my dreams fell , it seemed hell , I just know every sick gets well.
Thats my philosophy,
All gets well, and just now? How I make it so well? a guilty mind travels slow with time, find your innocense and reach a devine, not pork and swine but forks and wine and dine with hearts of mimes that speak existence of peace of mind.
See religion is all trial tribulations and signs, and wisdom? Comes from the leading blind and learning to shine.  Well, so swell is devotion, but this world only teaches neglect and biting the hand with food in it still open.
Still its spoken, but none tends to hear, open mouths shake till the truth appears loose like a mirror.
When perceptions arent clearer.
So where do I  lay or lie , the truth?
Love is gone ******* ! Babys having babbies and droppin outta school,
Life isnt cool but its get well thats my philosphy when **** looks like hell.
Gotta keep going, till Im well.
lord as my cosmic witness, positivy is a magnet if you learn it nature, listen-
The sound of silence is in riches,
Thats why corperate stays in the shadow power soaking all the admissions, but the lesser gains more and looses nothing because of position.
Whats my philoshpy? All gets well, yeah it gets better Love is a real you and me , connection between people felt deeper spiritually.
  
...........................................................­.....................................
This is just a one continnuous piece of thoughts from my mind , no form just a freestyled poem..enjoy , leave comments please!!!

— The End —