"inputs" poems
Seagulls squeak and
As thunderclaps salute the laws of physics
I imagine they could speak
Sensory inputs of fresh strawberries become
A raging flood of summer sweetness that
Fuses with the hot electrified air
And I'm daydreaming that
Above this veil of angry clouds
Roams unseen ancient eyes
With tears braver than
What is boundless
Stronger and brighter than even
Endless darkness
They lie in wait
Their love
Their warmth
Bursting forth
Wombs of rainbows
And all that is precious
Yet still untold
Waiting to kiss the atoms of your skin
And once again
Paint your summer smile
Blink and you might forget that
They were you
Before you were even born
Sunset
Sunrise
Watch them never skip a beat
Wake up.
Kick ***
Repeat.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
Parenting
organizing the day,
while the baby room adjacent
makes dreaming rock n' roll noises
siren calls to lay in bed,
semi-alert, on guard duty,
scheming about dis n' dat,
you are sleeping, dreaming,
wide awake seeing,
multitasking eyes closed simultaneously.
lesser of a poet, more a notate-er,
list keeper, note taker,
arguing with yourself inside the head,
actually feeling the thoughts
coursing, lurking, seeing both sides now,
parentally, washing the dishes
of the hours and years ahead.
while the woman-mother
makes her soprano dreaming noises,
you laugh at the orchestra of
******* sighing somnolent noises,
a cadenza of love dancing in your
irresistible wide awake dreams.
paying the bills, lying in the dark,
you wonder-worry about the agenda
unknown that will overgrow you,
fast creeping up the grain of your skin,
ivy on stone skin walls.
lala lala
you borrow baby's lullaby,
yourself calming,
keeping time, silly rhyming,
organizing the days ahead
in you head, while,
recording the harmonies of sensory inputs.
the dark provides the cloak
where you alone
feel and hear the worry and laugh lines knitting
into a single stitch of parenting.
1/20/2013
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
To thank each one of you,
Today, I take the opportunity,
By taking names for your support.
For being the source,
First of all, I thank Life,
For the inspiration she was.
She guided me to Hello Poetry,
Introduced me to new friends,
Broke up ultimately however.
Then I thank Timothy Salter,
For his own and his family's,
Articulate poetry helped me.
Madam Hilda writes as amazing,
And as amazing is their daughter,
It is hard to tell if Marian wrote it.
It's helping me learn more,
Respecting it has taught me,
Had to be paid to earn more.
Not forgetting Gitacharya Vedala,
For he elaborates on every detail,
Thereby helping me experiment.
Same is for Pradip Chattopadhyay,
Hinting of Rabindranath Tagore,
He's the poet clad in sombrero.
Their pure physics at soul poetry,
Helped me learn experimenting,
With sheer hollow truthfulness
I then engage in remembering,
Elsa Angelica for inspiring me,
Her own poetry is developing.
She inspired me to improve,
My strengths & weaknesses,
She taught me being lucid.
Then of course I thank Sukeerti,
She taught me being beautiful,
Without being too explaining.
She encouraged my writing,
Always was their as a friend,
Giving me her positive inputs.
Madam Elizabeth 'Lizzie' Squires,
Aptly mature her poetry is always,
Very much to learn always exists.
Her persona is respectable,
Definitely motherly her aura,
Making her a poet so reputable.
Several other poets fascinate me,
Equally instead of less or more,
They all teach me the lessons.
Madam Sally A Bayan is there,
Her sweet mature bits of advice,
Best complemented by her poetry.
Shayana Shrikanthalingam,
Seeing all her polished poetry,
Not such a difficult name for me.
Ever inseparable they are,
Brandon & Earl Jane Nagley,
They are the immortal lovers.
And I recognize the beauty,
An Indian model here on H.P.,
Poetry surely as cute as herself.
She is the most elegant girl,
On Hello Poetry and in reality,
Bhumika Fulwani I refer to here.
Finally, I express my gratitude to her,
In my life she's the ultimate one,
Now I needn't anyone else.
She is my Pooja Shah,
She is exclusively mine,
She is here forever to stay.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
He is an exponential function.
Small rate of change at the beginning,
But he grows fast when he reaches a certain age.
I am a function of a straight line.
A big constant slope since the beginning,
But I also have a y-intercept way bigger than zero.
Let our age be the inputs,
And our maturity be the outputs.
At year zero,
We didn’t know each other.
We didn’t know we would cross each other one day.
We have been working so hard.
We have been living in different countries.
We were like two parallel lines,
Which would never meet each other.
But at year 20 for me,
And at year 30 for him,
We finally crossed each other,
And we were smart enough to find our intersection.
We are still growing into different directions,
Because that probably will be our only intersection.
But we only need that one intersection,
Because we are all independent now.
We don’t need other people to input data anymore.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 11:44 PM UTC
I get edgy sometimes-
When I see knots-
I freeze up.
I get upset when I try to untangles them-
Like earphones and other audio cords-
Auxiliaries, usbs and inputs.
I get frustrated-
Easily with entanglement-
I hate knots but.
Our bodies could be a knot, that I wouldn't want to untangle.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
reposting a poem from 3 1/2 years ago, when I knew how to write
<>
organizing the day,
while the baby room renter in the adjacent,,
makes dreamy rock n' roll noises,
siren calls to stay~lay in bed,
tho status of semi-alert,
ready to relieve Ernie and Bert,
who have the first shift covered
soon on guard duty,
scheming about dis n' dat,
you are sleeping, dreaming,
wide awake seeing,
multitasking with eyes closed simultaneously.
lesser of a poet, more a notate-er,
list keeper, note taker,
arguing with yourself inside the head,
actually feeling the thoughts
coursing, lurking, seeing both sides now,
parentally, washing the dishes
of the hours and years ahead.
while the woman-mother
makes her soprano dreaming noises,
you laugh at the orchestra of
******* sighing somnolent noises,
a cadenza of love dancing in your
irresistible wide awake dreams.
paying the bills, lying in the dark,
you wonder-worry about the agenda
unknown that will overgrow you,
fast creeping up the grain of your skin,
ivy on stone skin walls.
lala lala
you borrow baby's lullaby,
yourself for to calming,
keeping time, silly rhyming,
organizing the days ahead
in you head, while,
recording the harmonies of
sweet sensory inputs.
the dark provides the cloak
where you alone
feel and hear the worry
and laugh lines knitting
into a single stitch of parenting.
1/20/2013
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Layout every human endeavor
In a rational grid,
As one would setting up an experimental ag station,
Keep careful data
on all the plot inputs and outputs
and I believe the data will
Indicate that well prepared soil,
Infused with the required nutrients,
The best pretested seed,
And optimal hydration
Will yield over time
Suboptimal performance.
Too many chiefs and not enough
serendipity.
(Hey, is that PC?)
Can you say that today?.
In an inevitable changing world
You need to preserve strange outliers.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 2:24 AM UTC
Unknown Variables
The phrase pokes me the eye,
demanding obeisance and a
poem,
My compliance is required,
not demanded, but required,
for the “unknown variables”
conundrum, roots around in
my brain cells necessitating a
cleansing,
Walking down the street is
fraught, unknown variables
everywhere, popping out like
cutouts on a law enforcement
shooting course, requiring
instant delineation between
killing not good guys and only bad guys,
no hostages, civilians and no them,
poets,
Can you test for unknown
variables?
Of course not.
Unknown is a condition,
that you cannot drop in
to ascertain what condition
your multiple conditions are
in,
Then there is you.
You,
reader, are an unknown
variable, ripe with nearly
nuclear reaction potential,
you are fissionable material,
capable of destruction of
my explosive
creation,
Assessing the poem,
do you conclude,
keep/discard, remake?
now,
poem a known variable, asking
that it becomes a parcel of
your multivariate inputs,
a familiar variable, that can
charm, destroy, mislead, or
even, fulfill a need, make a
reckoning, modify your brain;
all those dangerous things
that are permissible when
first you read a newly constant
known variable,
a perpetually reborning
poet?
postscript
-------------
my name is brandy channing
and once upon a time,
I was e STEM major
Dec 1, 2023
Dec 1, 2023 at 2:41 PM UTC
*I saw you staying late at night,
in your small dark room
staring at your ceiling
asking for answers.
That day, I saw you getting anxious
at your office around nine.
'Coz your hot headed Boss yelled at you
because you failed to send invites.
Yet I know you did your best,
staying behind just to finish
the letters, the inputs,
the programs even the script.
The bags in your eyes get bigger every night,
While you cram to send it all.
Your eyes get watery, you become jitty,
But no one knew because you accepted the call.
I saw all your hardworks.
I saw all you pains.
I heard all the belittlings.
I heard all your pleas and cries.
Yet despite all these,
You're still here fighting.
Finishing the fight you've started.
The rope is no longer hanging,
Those blades are now kept.
To the girl who thought of death lately,
I salute you for being brave!*
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
a human tool, a drawing pencil, shedding snakeskin cells as
lead from no. 2 pencil
am **** and blood, skin and hairless,
all-to-come-to-go,
return retuned, at their own chosen speed,
gen of regeneration of disrupted oils and heavenly blessings,
morning cracks and orifices, filling and emptying obediently,
to the tidings of the grieving gravity of my moon’s decisions
that govern the lunatic cycle
you may kiss me with all your heart unto a robust welcoming,
scorn with spittle and deem unfit,
I know the difference and it is inconsequential
see me as combustible or flat, airless and empty,
as a new or a two day old leaking birthday balloon, or a haiku
that makes the reader gasp for the reasoning for breathing
think of me as a meme who responds to the touch of
your nippled forefinger, but my powers are unlisted,
therefore unlimited
for I am neither cyber or cypher though aesthetically they
appear as parts of my humanity, a human machine
forever reprogramming to new stimuli sensating,
the temperature of your breath, the many odors of you
as inputs that bear newborn children notions in
my chested gas chambers, the belligerent bellum bellies of my brain
my digital describe in thousands of computers do hide,
but to comprehend the interacting calculations that are
my constancy and my inconsistencies, you must make a tour
if you are awake between midnight and dawn when from
wells the visions, the fluids - the words are drawn
they, the residuals of a man’s *********** with
other humans, kin akin, and the thriving discourse between l,
man and parental gods of invisible powers, that offers insanity
as a viable solution, to cracking the codex human DNA
in the vial labelled Medusa
Who else?
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 10:24 PM UTC
Your aspect ratio’s wrong.
Stretching the truth
this long sows fertile ground
for artifacts, glitches,
quirks & bugs, worming
& squirming beneath pixel
shrugs. The worst kind
plump the frame to god-
awful proportions, bloating
bigger & bigger & bigger ‘til
vision’s engulfed.
Or the kind that squeeze
spaghetti confetti onto
our plates, drenched in
the Sauce of the Week
that “can’t be beat!”.
Your skewed parallax
attacks the facts at hand.
Recycle your *******
fax machine this second before
it grows smarter than
you. Yes, you—with the rolly
polly eyes & feint surprise—
quit pretending you’re dumb,
'cause you ain’t that numb
to the stings & pangs of change.
Your sloppy hacks produce
quantity @ the cost of quality
to benefit the greedy & satisfy
the needy, becoming seedy
to the logic of reason.
Correct your inputs to render
outputs worth tender & please
remember, it’s what’s within
the frame that’s important,
so get it right.
Sep 23, 2010
Sep 23, 2010 at 7:29 PM UTC
The moment you graced my presence, my mind switched to 16-bit mode.
You was a classic type of adventure, one evolution rarely shows.
All these side quest chicks you made me put on pause soon to be ended.
Cause playing sandbox style wasn't the type of image you've given.
Hips more curved than a sonic loop makin me want to do a quick run thru.
But your eyes told no lies they made me more than see.
That your quest was bigger than any final fantasy
So I'm taking my time to learn this pattern
To figure out how to beat your robot masters
Stage 1 your name Stage 2 your number skip to stage 6 make sure I'm the thoughts in your slumber
My mind's so focused my inputs gotta be right
One wrong move and I lose my last life tonight
No save points just passwords you say I gotta learn your codes
Wouldn't dream of cheating ya besides I don't know what buttons to hold.
Well **** baby you say that I made it to the end?
What's that? To see the true ending I gotta... Beat it.... Again?
But there's somethin about you that just seems worth the hassle.
Cause you got me jumping like mario racing to bowser's castle.
You're as cunning as zelda, as sweet as peach
As scary as you want when you feel your inner sheik.
You got a smile more connected than the perfect tetris
An old school star that's leavin me feelin rather hectic.
Cause you see it's so easy playing for the highscore
But when ya add a lil passion you don't get as easily bored
So I see this challenge as straight 2D
No circular levels just a series of puzzles between you and me
Let's make this purely one on one a street fighter thing.
No crossover tag action hyper fighting fling
See you got it all twisted just check my guide book
A good portion of character data is written on your look
Quick call doctor mario I think I got the flu
I need help tryin to convey these abstract thoughts to you
See you're like 16-bit beginnings hand drawn and expertly crafted
drawn so precisely each movement in action
So I'm focused on this quest like them double dragon twins
Ready for whatever final boss you got at the end
It makes everything worthwhile when I see your beauty on the go
And I drop my ps3 world to switch to my 16-bit mode
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 2:13 AM UTC
It’s good to be hated! But I know my name…
hate, blackened, misshapen, ugly, unnatural,
yet
how it clarifies the mind, like a cupped hand
carrying clear, cold, brook water to dry mouth,
to shock, enliven, resets resets, all your priorities
with alacrity, a word I prefer cause it is an intuitive
combo of eagerness + alarm, suddenly much of the
trivial is no longer worthy of your ‘to do’ list,
you, without thinking, DNA filter your filters,
those screens that digest, then reject & reflect
the inputs ongoings around you, and you are now
reclassified! by the hate surrounding, it declassifies
the time wastrels, reinterpreting most everything
on a bipolar scale of 1 or 10, there are no shades,
the middle ground of gray be fully eliminated,
just like those who wish to
eliminate
me.
in a palette of black or white, your
e +e,
(essence and existence) cannot be ever
a gray area, yes, of course, the sunshine
is yellow bright, and the grass is spring
flushed green, the multicolored daffodils
newly define colors varietal, and the waves
of the Sound, roll relentlessly, but hate can be
coated, camouflaged and subtle disguised, but
we know, oh how we know, and how we wanted
to ***forget, our “sins”, our original liabilities of
our multi colored skins, our religion, our race & ethnicity,***
but NOT our names!
the Rabbis tell us that God nearly did not keep
his promise to Abraham, to rescue his progeny
from slavery in Egypt but saved them only because:
‘On account of four things Israel was redeemed
from Egypt: they did not change their names, they
did not change their language, they did not speak
slander and not even one of them was found to be
promiscuous.’^
I know my name; and though you cannot distinguish
me by dress, know not my moral life, but now you
know my name,
given to me by my parents, in the language of my ancestors:
Mordecai Netanel ben (son of) Eliyahu Chaim
Per my family lore, as told to me by my parents, our
family fled from Spain because of the Inquisition (1478),
settled in a small town in Germany on the banks
of the river Lippe; and from the shtetls of Poland,
and those who survived or avoided the Holocaust
ultimately left Europe, came here, to the land of
the free, the United States of America with names,
in their language, with memories intact.
I will not flee this country,
for I know my true name,
inscribed in my pores, in my
DNA
<>
(but should I have to…there is a sanctuary.)
May 2 2024
May 2, 2024
May 2, 2024 at 9:24 PM UTC
There are 12 types of joy:
simple joy
almost joy
systemic joy
Saturday joy
expressing joy
knowing joy
all joy
max joy
constant inputs of joy
single greatest joy
sacrifice or joy
the face of joy
at the periapsis of earth’s orbit.
Feb 13, 2024
Feb 13, 2024 at 6:40 AM UTC
Alex 2 breathes, stacks and unstacks papers, distantly
Alex 1, front cubicle, coughs, clicks his mouse
Eddie pulls out his drawer, pushes it back in, clicks his mouse
Alex 2, yes two Alex's, saunters up to the coffee machine
Alex 1, head down, clacking his keyboard
Mouse clicks, keyboard clicks, electricity
Monitors glow, fluorescents never flicker
Alex 1 opens a new file, two clicks of the mouse
Eddie sips his coffee, puts it down, clicks
New folder, new file, new data
Data entry, spreadsheets
Alex 1 asks did you get the email
Alex 2 has his coffee, his white shirt, under the fluorescents
Statics noise, static, mouse clicks, keyboard
Every new click, new file, new data, new folder
Data in, data out, file, click, the static electronics
Alex 2 clicks, files, new folder, new deal, new data
Eddie clears his throat, softly, the static noise, flickers,
Every new love story is a tragedy
Alex 2 opens a new folder, inputs data, spreadsheets
Numbers in, Eddie clicks his mouse twice rapidly
Stale effluvia coffee, static noise, electric light
Alex 1 sniffles, clears his throat, the clock ticks softly
Eddie opens a new file, the electric screen reflects his fixed eyes
Alex 2 sips his coffee, opens a file, clicks, keyboard clacks
Stasis, complete stasis, electricity, nodes, linear graphs
Numbers input, data, new file, file transfer
Every old tragedy is a ghost story
Alex 2 sips his coffee, breathes, clears his throat, data
Spreadsheets, monitors, electricity, static, data input, output
Every ghost story is infinite
Alex 1 gets up for a new coffee
Eddie inputs data, spreadsheet, file, new folder
Electric lights, stasis, data, file, click, file, input exp..
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 10:21 PM UTC
I am the universal signal mixer
On frequency h-u-m-a-n
Intaking and excreting vibrations
Decoding and synthesizing inputs
Receivers attuned and continuously engaged
Transposing matter and energy
Into light patterns of thought
Touching all waveforms
As a lover touches himself and others
Energy frozen into matter
Love frozen into form
Stretched to the very limits
On the blueprint of time, eternity
As dreamed by, yours truly
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
At random I start the day with poem
Beginning with nothing in particular
Caring only the flow of words fine
Diverting attention to points I know!
Effortlessly many do same since long
Full of animosity signifying nothing!
Good turns here and there make good
High ideas of heart evoking feeling nice!
I always look for great and noble ideas
Joyfully exploring Nature, love, life and
Keeping the flow of river in mind ever!
Loving souls' appreciation on all expressions
Many pieces have clicked well many a time
Never leaving anyone sans any hope ever!
Of course all smooth flowing poems go well
Paving the way for better ideas on and on!
Quality too has not so far dimmed in all
Regular inputs of best pieces in forms fine!
Sense, sound and scenes of Nature beautiful
Totally have touched the hearts of many friends!
Universal appeal of excellent ideas has captured
Variety of readers from all walks of life ever!
World of poetry never lets me down in life
X,Y,Z though may not have heart to praise
Zealous expressions of inspired visions so far!
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 2:27 AM UTC
What is a world?
Inputs, outputs, slam it together
Break it apart and what is there?
We live in one dimension
A straightforward input
An all powerful output
We change what we want
That is our life
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Merely Love Is Not So Strong At All,
It Requires Cementing From Trust,
More Hard Work Keeps The Promise,
Inputs From Romance Are Steroid,
Many Failed In This Hardest Exam.
Both Of Us Feel A True Form Of Love,
Happiness Tinkling At A Distance,
Bathing In This Elixir Of True Love,
Helping Live Each Other In Being,
Being Happy Or Happier & Happiest..
You Are My Antioxidant-I Am Yours,
I Am Living This Refurbished Life,
Yes You Are The One Who Loves Me,
I Have Committed To You My Life,
Your Youth Yearns My Experience...
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 1:18 AM UTC
All our senses concatenate, building on each other
<>
this interplay is truly interplanetary,
for each of us a unique solar system,
our brains,
intricacy literally personified,
and our five senses, working
in
concatenation
our long range sensors, busy bees compiling inputs
by the nanosecond second, distilling, integrating.
blending and then reconstructing…into a whole!
*a gentle breeze ruffles the hair,
the tree swing rises and flows
of its own accord, no passported
passenger required, and a neighbor’s
American Flag, moves majestically &
impressively, whipping, dancing, yes, prancing
to a tune only it can hear,
the syncopated air currents providing
a rhythmic awesome inspiring beat…*
and the brain takes this all in, a momentary
second of a vista that is constantly flexing,
yet remains unchanged, a muscular view
of a real world, living but yet immutable,
and I utter thanks to my motor functions,
that bless me with the eyes to perceive,
the nostrils to smell sea salt flavored air,
the hearing ears that the know the imperceptible
orchestrations of silences by their absence
and their intrusion, and I touch my fingertips
to my tongue, wetted, and hyper sensitized
to that gentle breeze that decorates the
landscapes external,
*and the combinatory
addition of the all of it, into a single momentary
poem of recall, what I “knew” yesterday, & will
greet again this coming day, as an old unfamiliar
friend, who grasps me entire, and proclaims:
this is living…and the greatest satisfaction that
a speck of mortal can achieve, retain and
through impoverished words…share*
4:14am
Mon Jul 22
2 0 2 4
Jul 22, 2024
Jul 22, 2024 at 4:25 AM UTC
My message seems too abrasive to send
Like handwritten ransom notes
With a geriatric hand,
Gnarled and pimpled with
Weariness
And experience.
Our war stories
Are cards thrown down at a poker table
So initially casual
Then troubling after the fact.
People spout perspectives;
Our inputs are faucets overflowing
With the chemicals that change the mix.
Each of us contribute to the compound of strife.
What I need – what I want
Is my own element,
Thoughts pure of your life,
For you do not fully comprehend my experience.
My wuss-puss whines that resonate
As sure as a saxophone’s wail.
My jazz demeanor, burlesque figure
Only mask the pedigree of emotions
Beneath my wiggling hips, fluttering eyelashes.
Remember: this is a woman.
From smudges to sunlight to wind to aligned stars –
The cracked liar’s smile never eludes me
Just as the bite still scars my neck.
Marked, experienced, wrung out, aloof –
Live for sin, looping exponentially.
The seagulls scavenging in
The grocery store parking lot,
We know them and hate them for it.
**** drink, yell, tip your way, son.
I’ll tap my cigarette, clamber into bed
[my motives are my motivation]
Deepstep, baby, deepstep:
Come willing because I won’t.
I am the renegade impulsively flipping cards,
Smirking across the poker table
And yelling, “Checkmate”
For no good reason.
Scattered to the winds,
My nonsense is the very ground you have to tiptoe upon,
My sense is the word on the tip of your tongue that absconded.
I am not your maker for he’s my friend.
I am not your mother for she’s my servant.
I am not your lover for you’re my witness.
This [whatever it is] is a syllable caught skipping on the record,
And we’ll never know the rest of the word
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
A girl's values are now FINALLY free! Because nothing wasn't meant to be ever forgotten from her literal inside outness. Nor was it meant to fixate a very awful opportunity for her to mend NOTHING at all of the sort.
Except now that all values are truly free.... How does she put up with the newly evolved form of freedom, (that too is... Nothing more then the impression of something that isn't entirely evolved, when it's more of the freedom of something that never "up to this very point in time" has had the very taste for freedom...ever since this very "corruption" had first started back in a (supposed past) that can't EVER AGAIN become measured properly...? When all isn't meant to be remembered, ever again. When it's also never made to be forgotten (for the most part), either.
So, reasoning out the many variables that compute too much seeming nonsense, as if it's meant to correct it's very wrong doings without thinking about whether or not, it's made to simply be this way...from now on...?
A question repeated by another question, doesn't give enough value to an even more "correct" answer... When nothing is made to bear for the correct assumption, when wanting too correctly "imply" something of an entirely different meaning, altogether.
So, in order to mask this (good enough impression) where nothing would ever again, become "faulted" right off the bat! So you couldn't ever become the more obvious to such a situation that isn't ever to be up too date, ever again.
This poem is too a girl who isn't just (on the dime) to correct their most importance across something that's most deserving of a young and cherishable young girl's lifetime values. (Because let's face it...) A sense in someone's very self isn't truly found out or correctly assorted into context for their very heartbeat to pulse even more correctly too life, if it's not been made to be assorted (very well) within it's very pattern recognition to debate those very pulses into even more correct verses. That would then normally lead into a proud melody to simply interpret as mere language to itself bouncing off of different representation of things that ONLY matter from deep within itself (first and foremost).
Because one's very values are then sometimes mistakenly disguised by the heart that you have yet too interpret (towards the very inputs that have yet to correct it's own values for the heart to value, altogether)!
And that is a brain that's too full of itself... That it can't even see the more correct reason, as too simply "why that is"...?
PS... The brain is the ultimate finisher of failures across an even more disturbing platform that can't even redeem itself (properly) when it's CONSTANTLY yanking it's own chain essentially too bear...alone with!
Oct 3, 2020
Oct 3, 2020 at 10:50 PM UTC
When we first met I told you just how beautiful you were.
Like the pale lavender sky rewarding me for getting up.
Like a diner in the distance drinking each distasteful cup.
You blinked twice and told me that you weren’t so sure.
Your disarray was perfect, repulsive with allure.
You were fighting through the crowd like a nectar drop through moths.
Everything was terrible, your good was just enough.
And I loved every little quirk that others just endured.
On the day you broke the glamour I was lying in my bed.
You were sending me letters saying all the things that I have done
The sudden rush of inputs started streaming through my head.
My world was dark already, with you as the sun.
And as the sun did set that evening, sinking down like lead,
the brightness of my colors dulled with everything I've done.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 5:22 PM UTC
Changes
As people we are always asking for changes;
Spiritual, politically or just spontaneously
During the election a number of folks asked
and some even vote for changes
We hate, we love, and we deplore acts of violence
then and now: Now it haunts most people:
Some even would still consider shaking his hand:
Some got what their asked for, and some still undecided:
Let Us Not Become the Evil We Deplore.” By Amy Goodman
He never goes under the covers: he just love to be exposed
A ***** is a ***** in his eyes: He might asked to see the
Birth certificate, but not the death certificate:
but never the **** kit, the yearbook inputs or the
country clubs initial membership lists:
Birth for him meant still in control: death gone from one’s sight:
I was chatting to a friend one day, I said to him imagine
that everybody on this earth woke up one day
To find zillion of dollars in their procession:
What would that meant to others: the loss of the power:
Money is the leveler that runs the world
The bad things that we done in our youngers years
Will one day comes back to haunts us
The statutes of limitation is just the statue
Time will not be forgotten: Memories lingers
The pain, the shame of being in a humiliated situation
we are living in a divided country
Because, of so much greed and bigotry:
A change is coming: and it's coming soon
who run the worlds Girls!!!
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC