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F White Jun 2012
Seriously?!

I'm a ****...

Wait. No you're not. Hold on.
I can't find...
I can't find my *******. Help me look.

blankets flung.
nothing.

You're...
you're laughing right now?
How could you not?


Can you see that
we're standing in a
giant pond of
ridiculosity.

a glasses lense
popped out.
hair a nest
of invisible
rodents.

his belt
all askew worried
face pursed
lips.

shirt tails- a crumpled
facade of the pressed
summer evening shadows
outlined behind
the lawn sprinklers from
the night before.

and in the cab
to work
phone almost
dies. 37 degree damp
heat pressing
against the car
like a monroe-type
kitten from the
50s.

the morning world
bustling awake
the driver asks
'you work this
afternoon?'

shake my head 'no'
slowly working the
knots out of my
hair

brace for the last
day.

And I'm
still missing
my underwear.
copyright fhw, 2010, 2011 ?

A.N: Golly this is...old old old. I found it in one of my folders and laughed at the absurdity. I'm about to get married now. To a wonderful man. Not the man in this poem. That one really actually was a ****.

Enjoy.
Umi Apr 2018
Facing the day with upmost pride,
Praising each ray of warm, caring, wonderful sunlight,
No matter the weather, they shine brilliantly, as children of the earth
Being happy about rain, these flowers only grow thankful, for what it's worth
Because these rain drops may look like tears, the scene may be sad,
No sound, but the gentle tapping of the falling water onto the ground,
but a lone standing Helianthus won't feel bad,
For it felt joy in this weather,such can be difficult for some to be found
A mysterious, yet beautiful lense, once the sky opens up a little for the sunlight to travel through again, inviting a rainbow through the sound of wind,
My pessimistic outlook of this weather, the raindrops looking alike tears, changed, through it's brightness, rather don't they look like jewels of some kind ?
My heart won't be drenched by sorrow,
Alike a helianthus, I shall look softly, gently towards the sky,
Towards the azure, ceiling beyond me.

~Umi
Lisa Jan 2021
I am you, you are me
There is no difference inside to see
The color of your skin, hair or eyes
Does not represent what’s inside.
Physical traits come from the family tree
They give roots, history and a sense of identity
But inside we have the same blood, the same heart
So when does prejudice begin to take part?
Babies are born without preconception
They feel love and comfort from their caregiver’s affection
Their new eyes are blind to ignorance
They see through a clear lense and don’t see difference
As they develop, society gives them glasses,
Their vision gets clouded by the opinions of the masses
The lenses get darker as they grow
They filter the world to see only colors they know
Differences become obstacles, not celebrated.
Leaders tell them who to respect and who should be hated.
These biased views could remain for a lifetime
And then they’re passed down to the next one in line.
Opinions are essential, shared thoughts educate.
But when they’re bigoted and hateful we cannot tolerate.
Take those blinders off, take a look around.
There’s so much joy in diversity to be found
Don’t let the blindfold give such a narrow view
Don’t be complacent and take what is given to you
Rip off the filter, open your eyes
Find connection, common experience, destroy the lies
Revel in these connections, learn from one another
We’re all trying to get through from one day to the other
See through the skin, the hair, the accent
To the core of the HUMAN BEING with love and respect.
georgia sophie Jul 2018
don't say it's me
this problem
you are holding onto
it cannot be me
don't say it
don't let those words fall out of your mouth

(just so you know)

i am new
i am beautiful
i am irreplaceable
Sutherland Dec 2018
And on this day
three minds know naught.
Light filters through a new lense.
Vision of the future.
The light can not.

Yet the world,
It
bends.

This lense will grow,
and with it, hands.
This lense will go,
and where it steps, break bands.
This lense will know,
and alter all
that the world spans.

From present to future,
the past holds no bound.
The light, with the world,
will
bend.
Their destination
found.

This child will become
what the double cannot.
The double, the steps,
the child, the top.

The world shifts
and
bends.
I wrote this for my niece that has recently entered into existence.
Larry Potter Dec 2013
I've had a taste of my father's medicine
But it wasn't in any way a cure.
It stung like the strongest kind of heroine
That made me prisoner in this ****** moor.

It was an addictive transformation
Where I almost lost myself
A painful venom was set in motion
Yet I didn't want to cry for help.

I don't need those foggy glasses
I'm a man with a spider's sense
I weave courage while I kick some *****
Not a nerd who cleans his camera's lense.

But how can I be called strong
If I couldn't even beat this irony
Though I save a hundred people all day long
I couldn't protect those who are dear to me.

If only I could defeat the monster
This eight-legged demon inside me
I wouldn't have to say "In great power
Comes great responsibility."
Kao Jul 2013
NO.
Two ruby marks.
I can feel them bloated against my hand.
Like glue or blood.
Meat, metaphorical and incarnate.

Not that. It means nothing to me.
The milky light falls upon it as
I catch it from the corner of my own milky lense.
No.

The first and eternal struggle,
And still I march on and pray
It doesn't end.
SELORM DEKU Dec 2016
Before your heart over comes your mind
And another's being captures your thoughts
When pictures are seen with love-lense,
Who earns your love deserves your respect
Know it!

When partiality grows and you accept she's best
A beast chooses another beast as best being,
The rigid part of you begins to know emotions
And you feel complete when she's near
Regard your standards before the final choice
Forget it Not!

She's my love not because she lacks flaws
She activates my best so for her I'd fall
With her, life's all day and never comes night
That moment when even you become a poet!
Still get time to reason or pray
Be not Misled!

I'm adamant though you paint her black
You don't have to understand my choice;
Thus you say and hold her dear
And you're armed to teeth against  unwanted counsel
In all, remember others have travelled that road
Listen To Wisdom!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.i do expect you to become lost in this labyrinth - at least that's what i'd rather say - sleep-deprivation is for "some" reason to escape the mediocre of having catched the "8 hour wink"... or whatever the Minotaur wouldn't call it... because i wouldn't call it a "problem" of "gender-neutral pronouns" either... i would call it a "problem" of noun-acquisition-status of letters; notably in greek and hebrew.

friends of "the" family have been looking
for on fb,
****... the caron S (š) will not do!
i need to use two alphabets that...
did not nurture yiddish into existence!
cyrillic didn't accept hebrew...
it'll have to do...
it wouldn't be enough to simply write
my name in cyrillic...
and no... in hebrew no less!
since the vowels are hidden...
and inserting the proper hebrew vowel...
it still wouldn't matter that...
my surname is missing... the galician germanic
e(ch)lert or the e(sch)lert...
no... but how is one to insert
the right kind of vowel: all in hebrew niqab
harem of diacritical markers subscript...
when... you don't have...
enough letters as nouns as scientific
constants as the greeks... do...
i guess only η (eta) stands out as a sore thumb /
black sheep... but i am bound to be wrong,
in the meantime:
well it's hardly a letter-with-a-noun
inclined akin to alpha (α) -
otherwise all is well...
we use the prefix prime (the grammaton per se)...
and discard the suffix when constructing words...
ergo? a-lpha...
and so an so forth...
till be arrive at...
blasting your ears nearing deafness because:
beethoven's mrs. H is:
music so you have to shout over it!
loud! what?! loud music!
loud music what?! loud music
to shun the "pain"...
oh... see you in one of those classes
when you can write sign-language for the dead
when you've been allowed to write braille!
see you sputnik ****!
yeah, see you deaf in one year divine John!
but you get the promise that's:
not your everyday latin castrato sing-along...
those greeks sure have all the best
science... stabilizers... not a lot of songs
to sing along to... because their letters
are also noun-status: also have noun-status...
otherwise the ol' prefix use...
and the suffix recycling centre...
a word like: matter...
well...
   ματτερ - no... i will not use the greek word...
i'll state... mmm... hm!
mu implies m- and cutting off the -u...
alpha implies a- and cutting off the -lpha
tau implies t- and cutting off the -au...
epsilon implies e- and cutting off the -psilon
rho implies r- and cutting off the -**...
and so... we have the word matter...
and the recycled materials for...
some other words...

hebrews? hebrews do have... noun-status letters...
(א) aleph - what's vogue?
inserting the iota into the omicron that's
the marriage: φ (phi)...
or whether it's the turning of the iota in
the omicron to provide the opening of the door
θ (theta) to see: that light at the end of the tunnel
delta (Δ)... again... it's only aleph we're "investigating"...

the other letter in hebrew with a noun-status?
(ג) g'imel...
another is (ד) d'alet...
(ז) z'ayin...
(ל) l'amed...
(ס) s'amekh... most certainly (ע) a'yin...
(צ) t'sadi...

interlude: what is the distance
between (א) a'leph and (ע) a'yin?
a kametz...

now we can "debate" - noun-status letters...
the greeks are in the same sort of pickle
as the hebrews...
there can be a debate whether...
the greeks have more than:
alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, iota,
lambda, omicron, sigma, upsilon, omega
as noun-status letters...

why? because it becomes silly...
(ק) qof and (κ) kappa...
(ר) resh and rho (ρ)...
(שׁ) and... well... to be honest...
that's heading into cyrillic territory...
and the caron S (ш)...
given (ס) samekh and sigma (σ)...

this always happens to me when i come
across a hebrew...
even if he's old and riddled with dementia...
i see him with his polish bride
and i see a "romanian gypsy"...
the feeling is... strange...
this hebrew is like an old cousin of mine...
but it's always a touch of magic...

i am not good at solving crosswords...
(כ) 'xaf' and chi (χ) -
perhaps i have exagerrated the letter-as-noun
status on some of this greek and hebrew...
tightly-knit bed-fellows...
as the boasting resounds in the labyrinth
of the rise and fall of the roman empire...
and the barbarian attempts to have
settled the lands near the seven hills...
and revived the eagle...
spec-ta-cu-lar failures!

the germans should console themselves
with having a crow on their marching banners...
and polacks should...
satisfy themselves with the unicorn myth
of an all-white bald eagle... albino eagle...
and so the harry potter: minus ***** 'arry
can have their unicorns, swans,
honey-badgers, welsh dragon,
st. andrew's gryffindors... etc. -

name, a name... i need to... change it...
obviously...
no hebrew vowels will be used...
since... their use... is devoid of what's already
concrete usage of diacritical markers
in established letters...
if cyrillic and hebrew is to be used...
and not greek and hebrew:
because... well thank you for the new testament
riddle... let's move... away...
to "greater" / other... things....

i can't use a kametz alpha
a tzere epsilon
a chirek iota
a cholem omicron
or a shurek upsilon (omega)...
so all the vowels will have to by cyrillic...

my... latin, name?
mateusz konrad... let's drop the surname...
let's call it a game of:
ibn... or ben... matthew son of konrad...
and since i don't have a... confirmation name...
what name? i would have chosen: Isidore...
after the saint of seville...
or... Ignatius (of Loyola) -
the only fun part of going to a catholic school
was... learning about the counter-reformation
and writing an essay about it...
and their library was decently stacked...
so... plus plus...

this is but a simple exercise...
first the name in cyrillic...
there will not be a full name in hebrew...
which i'll probably lace with greek...
and it will still make all the more perfect
sense... should it be transliterated back
into anglo-ßaß...
yeah: why i don't have a girlfriend...
with these sort of interests?
i guess an hour with a *******
once a year is enough for me...
and for womankind in the hospice of omni...

just following the laziness
of the russian visa authorities are the embassy...
they didn't translate mateusz into matvei
or konrad into: Дракон...
мат-вей...

these are the sort of idiotic tier-1 level
кaцaпс... working in the russian embassy in Loon'don...

because i was never going to be the матвей
who'd **** an илoнa like the 300 deadly mongrel
saracren mameluks or the spartans... no...
i counter the 7 headed beast on her
with every ****** in that one night
i was making my final goodbyes...
but keeping the mikhail bulgakov novel...
through a repose in Warsaw and...
i finished what, "apparently" i wasn't supposed
to finish...

and she is one of those troubled girls...
every ****** partner that meant anything to her...
she will have a tattoo of that lover
on her body... i know my place on her body...
it's on the right shoulder-blade...
the tattoo is of a dragon...
i know because i've met girls like her...
elsewhere...

even as i was being driven home after taking
my mother for her rheumatoid arthritis check-up,
blood test, x-ray... and the pakistani cab-driver
was talking about all the precautions he needs
these days: video ahead of the bonet for insurance
policy... a camera looking in...
and audio recording on his smartwatch...
because what he said... didn't surprise me...
i once picked up a spanish girl - Tamara in a club...
and she decided to take me home
for a one night stand...
as we were approaching the house she was
sharing with three homosexuals
she decided to jump out of the cab...
and make a runner... i calmed the cabbie:
i'll pay for it...
we tried to later **** the hetreosexual way
with her calling me angel because
of my "erectile dysfunction" under the bed sheets
in that putrid smoke of cocoon ***...
like the birth of a rancid moth embryo and
choking from the heat of dust and alcohol
and... what i am alluding to is that some girls
do jump out of cabs to avoid paying the fair...
i knew what the pakistani cabbie was saying...
she owed him 40 quid...
he filed the whole thing to the police...
she accused him of ****** assault...
the story would have fit...
she run from the cab when he tried to sexually
assault her... but... he did have
that audio recording from his smartwatch...
in the end the girl was fined 700 quid...
which is nothing... compared to...
what's that called in h'america? a false accusation?
slander?
i know that girls jump out of cabs...
to avoid paying the fare...
i drove with one... who did just that...
i guess she was so used to this act that she
forgot i was sitting next to her...

- all the *****... but then all the chem-soup
post-psychiatric *******?
the ***** i can stand...
the pills are just tasmanian devilish when
it comes to catching the perfect
battery insomnia recharge...
and always meeting and respecting
the elder of the group darwinistic:
prat pact... a hebrew...
there always needs to be a yew
a *** in the equation...
no... not some english society
uncle tom worth of a high society rabbi...
i mean a jew that will support
west ham... because...
it's an irrational team...
it can fathom beating chelsea (A)...
but then... "forget" to win against...
for god's sake! Norwich (H)!

i know! i know! joseph conrad took his place!
here's my part anagram!
Mатвей Дракон...

the near non-existent diacritical presence
in the english language...
well... no "surprise surprise" if...
you're starting with
и (i) or rather (ı)...
and what's being the flock of salmon
up the river, being caught?
the j but not (ȷ)... imagine my... "surprise"
that the russians arrived at...
и and ı - in tow... ȷ and the й...
the breve...
parabolla or... my eyes only see
the microscopic details when someone
will simply slurr?

- borrowing from yesterday and...
in the early night of winter standing
in the garden with four potatoes
and something else...
looking up at the sky...
i am used to seeing unusual "things"
in the sky -
i'm not unusual when it comes
to having seen a u.f.o. - fluorescent
and squid like in colour -
but i'm also the sort of person that
would carry a few beers for such
spontaneous encounters -
rather running around like a raving
lunatic armed with a camera
filming the whole thing...
i have no proof: i hope my words are enough...
and if they're not?
well... if it can be seen with a naked eye -
i don't need to blink via a technological
feed and argue about: quality of the picture...

but even i wasn't ready for...
what i saw today...
those are roaming stars? aren't they?
and i really did forget to count how
many moved in the same direction
askew - one by one with equal distance
between them - before the distance between
extended - there must have been more than
10 - i'd say there were around 20!

is this always how things are -
when one contemplates the tetragrammaton?

part anagram? well because the russian
do have a version of the hebrew matisyahu...
but they do not have the german conrad
in their language...
probably as to why the germans do not
really have... a yuri or nikita in their language...
nikita after all sounds more feminine than
masculine - anyone could with hindsight
speak of mr. rocketman's lover of
the same same... as not some russian beau
example of the fairer ***...
but a comrade khrushchev...

- and why wouldn't i call those russians
that work in the russian embassy in Loon'don
кaцaпы? for one... they just type letter for letter:
a mateusz / a matthew is a мaтэусз...
for all "legal" purposes...
they already have the сз = ш...
bureucratic purposes...
and no wonder some are like:
how do you say that?
too many consonants some add...
and i really did think that all of us were
allowed to be fully literate...
that's not the case... blowing my own horn...

having a wet ***** over: because i like my given
names... perhaps that's why i didn't want
the confirmation option of being allowed
to change any of my given names: legally...
to one of my own chosing...
when i was 15 / 14 i didn't even known
or think about a name like Isidore...

when the german name became coupled
with a hebrew loan...
otherwise the russian with the first
being an anagram... drakon -
Mатвей Дракон - it's just a name -
it's my name - what's in a name is what's
precisely not in anonymous names
.666 handles and avatars on the internet...
i can own my face - and i can own my name...
because - i kind of like it...

again: on in russian can the west slavic
C be distinguished from the K... Ц -
and back into the cyst of the western lands...
Ç or what came with sigma's tail...
it's so... boring... to have less the different
sounding letters - given no diacritical markers -
and only the "exotica" of spelling -
all the metaphysics in the world combined
and concentrated in greenwich...
but no real orthography...
i could begin the day by bemoaning this poverty
of the english language...
oddly enough as both the outsider coming in...
the immigrant who became a citizen...
and as the insider coming out and coming in
again on that expatriate spectrum of
working from the thesaurus: IMMIGRANT...
for all the beauty of Macbeth...
i can have to ruse myself to bemoan
conventional english... the formal english...
the antithesis poetica...

but i do somewhat "know" why it's called
a tetragrammaton...
i wouldn't classify any of the letters that make it up
as noun-worthy letters...
the kametz (a) and the tzere (e) are nouns...
and letters... but you don't see them when
the hebrew doesn't exfoliate and is left
crude with "missing vowels" for the gentiles
to read...
saying that... calling ה (he) a noun is pushing it...
as is calling ו (vav) a noun...
or י (yod) - although...
the yod could be allowed a noun-status
as... an apostrophe... or a version of the caron -
but the remaining letters of the tetragrammaton...
are "syllables" in that they are consonants...
and when the tetragrammaton comes face
to face with noun-status letters of its own
universe: g (ג) gimel, d (ד) dalet, z (ז) zayin -
l (ל) lamed, s (ס) samekh, ц (צ) tsadi -
resh? shin? the gates are open to allow the question
in... but when...
there's also siamese Adams aleph (א) and Ayin (ע)
being and nothingness respectively...

what could Islam possibly offer me...
intellectually?
when i once asked a muslim what...

alif, lam, meem                                      meant...
he replied... only god knows...
so i thought... only god?
i must have been talking to one of those muslims
who have arabic overlords...
before they can catch a whiff of the almighty
blah'llah...
ا, لَـ, مَـ
again... greek only touches upon...
the initial - the medial and the final
version of sigma...
isolated you would see the capital sigma...
Σ - which could also be treated as the initial
letter - given that the σ looks more like a medial
form - although it's also initial -
whereby ς is the final form -
almost like the english: 's... apostrophe s -
which could be claimed to be an article of possession...
or the plural article when the apostrophe
disappears - or when the ς altogether disappears
when: the possession is plural:
a teachers' strike... e.g.

no not with a fatha - we have our own diacritical
markers... thank you...
but good question...
so... why is the meem written in an isolated
form in the word - yawm (day)...
but not in a final form?
but i do not write in a squiggly line in this digital
arena... perhaps my language looks simply
written... oh yes, the aesthetic of the arabic script
is always stressed...
but even the hebrews think like the greeks
and the latins... in a way...
nothing has to flow in one river-wry format...
there's no isolated letter... of a letter -
as there's no initial no median and no final
form of it... but there is a "question"
of the hiding of vowels...
for gentiles and muhammadians alike...

- perhaps some will call it the trans-community...
there was once a dead poets' society...
evidently with the rise of de-transitioning...
there's now a nag hammadi library society...
circa 1945 when this library was left unchecked
in the hands of: the children
with too many toys and too many sandpits...
probably that one neu-mecca of san francissco...
at least the dead sea scrolls:
that were unearthed at about the same time...
treated the hebrew far better than
the nag hammadi library treated its children...
and why the former power, the vatican,
didn't step in... to control these text...
as they flew out on a *****-nilly without
herr zensor... herr inquisitor...
i will never know...
the scouts of medicine left... black holes
of having advanced in the field of anaesthetics...
too many toys for the the children
with too many sandpits...

- because i would rather the fascination
with a language... than its immediate...
polyglot acquisition and use...
if i put my head to it... perhaps i could
speak the 7 languages my great-grandfather spoke
before jumping into the Niagara Falls
leaving a postcard sent...
but when i peer into the details...
i quiet like these two trenches of mine...
this english this canvas and my eye toward
the east and the south and semites...
just because english is a language without
diacritical markers...
a language filled with metaphysical dialectics:
but missing any mention of orthography...

a hebrew might hide a vowel...
and write only consonants on street signs
for a gentile to read...
but then the gentiles' languages morphed...
and a vowel became distinct...
there is A that begins the word: ah-men...
but there's also an A that is invoked with a tail
to point and identify a tree, an oak:
dąb...
so much for kametz being hidden...
if there's no 2nd tier "complexity" of kametz...
but there is one for the visible...
A - vowel - a vowel with a tail...
but without a name -
as all letters are - whether vowel or consonant...
in the litany and choir of the castratos
of ancient Rome...

pause with me...
what music are you listening to?
i'm listening to... years of denial - burning sun
(veyl channel) - 1,319 views...
i like to... find the better alleys of my entertainment...
as i can't hate kevin spacey...
not because of kevin spacey...
but because of lester burnham...
or more to the point...
why thomas newman reminds me of a...
reincarnation of Satie...
not a Chopin or a Liszt virtuoso of the piano...
not a when a hammer strikes
a line of 88 nails...
but when a butterfly chances the here and there,
on a shy-loot of a beauty of scarce sounds...
just the same of nostalgia for this era of
movies borrows me from out any new
suspence... as that sort of nostalgia creeping
into people born in the 1960s who truly
admire h'american movies from the 1950s...
even i am to blame when i feed
a nostalgia - more to the point for the technicolour
acryllic glow akin to...
richard quine's 1958 bell book and candle...
but of course scandinavian existential cinema
of a Bergman would be in black and white...
black and white photographs...
but if we're talking movies?
Undogmatic & Kernfeld - thought experiments...
Amanti d'oltretomba (1965)...

i will have to refine the greek to hebrew to greek
similarities...
an Ezra Pound can hide behind counting
matchsticks and reading into chinese ideograms...
when lo and behold! some japanese *******
comes up with a minimalism of the on'yomi...
or perhaps japanese is a language
that fuses elements of braille?
no point question the matter since
the mongols famously didn't come over to Japan
to add to the already Mandarin caste of
the kun'yomi...

but no... these greek letters are nouns...
even though π is equivalent to understanding
the wheel a posteriori: as a circle -
prior to there was only a wheel but no
knowledge of the dynamic of the radius,
or the diameter...
but it's still a prefix weak hardly a noun...
alpha and beta are nouns because they
denote something - prefix category shared -
but... the alpha and the beta male...
even gamma rays...
what's that? π-networks of coming back
to point (0, 0) in terms of:
no more than three powers of seperation between
you and some random from hugh yawn'khh?
my bad...
but η, μ, ν, ξ, π, ρ (ρ requires delta epsilon
and sigma to imply island of Rhodes)...
τ - but this is not China and tau is not Tao...
to tow is... to tow...
φ, χ, ψ... these could be names...
but ψ is like a crucifix for psychologists...
so these are... but at the same time:
are not names...
working from Latin, "borrowed"...
A (or aye)... B (queen bee)... C (i çee)...
D (dye or dry or d.i.y.)... E (eh? vowel catcher
arm no. 1 of the tetragrammaton)...
surd if the other arm... most notably in gujarati...
or not...
but this leftoever ancient Latin:
                                sing along! sing along!
a, be, cee, dee, e, ef, gee, h "hatch" / hay,
i, jay, kay, em, en, o, ***, que queue cue,
Ar, Tee, U, Vee, ekhs (x), why (y), zee or general Zod /
Zed... etc.
do i remember the "correct", french pedagogic
sequences of: letters of the alphabet?
i thought the whole "game" was about
the lexicon? and the lexicon within the lexicon
of the correct spelling?
are there 26 letters in the english alphabet?
there are! mein gott!
do i have to monkey-play-me-harmonica -
monkey-play-me-the-acordeon and tap to play
the drums... really? now?!
there were never going to be any alphabetical
sequence of events...
if i can remember that there are 26 letters:
the order of the pedagogues doesn't matter...
the lexicon matters... one's own vo(gue)-ca-bu-Larry...
short of Lawrence...
and shouldn't i give up my Lawrence Vogue...
i will certainly to remember to give
the "correct" order of what begins
with abc- and ends with -xyz...
this is the inbetween...
please see fit to spot a sparrow or a typo...

becuase if the british are to be proud of their past...
proud in the sense that it is...
fermenting and all this decline of the west "thing"...
of the people that has to "somehow" welcome
a revival... кaцaпы (plural of кaцaп)
is a racial slurr - designated for russians...
by those who had a pseudo-isarel interlude...
of what was known as the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth - of the last european pagans -
who didn't become the prussians
and made the bavarian spirit rigid
and militaristic...

i find this part of history... rather... infantile...
i have been taught a version of history
through the lense of infantalism...
perhaps science-fiction was the serious medium
of literature after all -
all of the past - if it is to be called a past -
is prescribed by zeitgeist -
my contemporaries' suggestion to be an infatile dream!
it must be a version of infantilism!
at least: that's my response in relation to:
the past having any aspect of being worth
celebrated...
me struck dumb being coerced by a...
genetic archieology of a past...
what some of the current people invest in...
mirror mirror: on no wall beside
mirror mirror: my face...
speculum speculum: well! there's always history
as etymology!
i don't like the word faciem...
where does visage come from?
oh... right...

quest to perfect the algorithms to escape
the everyday speculum was prime suspicion:
to speculate...
i guess any search engines requires:
etymological root...

mirror mirror: my void eating face...
my pulpit of vanity -
my valley of aeons...
my detail of the smirk the demonic glee...
of your most greyish glee...
of no concern for celebrated beauty...
or at best: no beauty to be exemplified
and stealing memory having invested
in the memory of cinema...
mirare mirare: comesse vacare visage meum...

now that's rather different...
isn't it? a history lesson with...
a stress for a post-scriptum in-and-out
"epilogues" (misnomer) and a return
from the trivia interlude back into the narrative...
only with an understudy of etymology...

who do i look like? some ******* ***
who would use such a ***** word as epistemology?
"epilogue" is a misnomer in the context when...
there was never a justifiable metaphor...
a misnomer is a metaphor:
for the **** by the ocean of the shore
in the vicinity to claim town status - Dover -
albino cliffs: more or less...
epistemology is a word most frequently used
by people... who read to people...
encyclopedic entries... cyclopes reading...
all that matters is the cwowd: which is the Velsh
variation of: that already numb-R lost trill
of tarantula bit anglo-ßaß...
which didn't require zeppelins or h'american
spaghetti accent westerns of draw and drule
and drawl...

such a minor racial slur when it comes
to the russians... soviets or red barons...
you must have never visited Moscow or St. Petersburg...
**** the right sort of ******-up russian girl...
and... if you're lucky!
she's take you to... the russian versailles!
Peterhof -
the racial slur stills remains...
a thank you matka rosiya...
satellite son over 'ere: the bellowing from Berlin
is like a sudden plague of hyenas attempting...
no... the foxes are imitating the hyenas...
which is which or rather: which is why?
a mutual agreement: reciprocated...
a great a great much decent ****...
for both of us...
the memory still feeds me...
oh no, it doesn't haunt me:
it feeds me... i could only find replicas
in brothels... i would never dare usurp
this catherine this tsarina of my memory...
i would never dare invest my personality in someone
else... she can be married her... 3rd time...
and this might be her 10th repentence...
of an 11th lover...
on this sinking ship: Potemkin i go as one -
reincarnation or no...
i still don't believe: this hindu myth of:
only a fixed number of people were every to be
born... and the rest are the harsh realities
of the base focuses of animals...
as we somehow drag these n.p.c. mysterions with
us... whether strangers or fathers or mothers...
are you not attached to your grandson:
dearest "catherine"?

such is the tyrany of the hindu polygamy
trans-temporal polytheism...
a diadem with a mouth for an eye...
and an eye for a mouth: or what better way
to salvage this grief of being only being 20 and 21
when having met and having to vow to
allow ourselves our each his and her seperate
lives...
at least some people call it:
the house of lords... and the house of commons...
on a much grander scale...
oh i'm pretty sure tsar (ras)Putin is much amused...

as i am now speaking with a borrowed tongue:
someone lent me a tongue -
i desired to speak with it -
imagine this complete lack of horror with regards
to being lent -
when reicarnation comes to the fore...
i agree: with "him": a most disagreeable
metaphor for... whatever it is the hindus truly believe
to be: the most humane form of
being allowed a human: self-consciousness
and a relationship to all those teenage
*****-dear-diary entries of... precursors
to the menapause and... the blue blood gremlins
of the big pharma pills-down...
the big pharma *******...

unless asked... always in uniform before your "majesty"...
as with any decent *******...
god forbid one of them thinks i'm jesus christ...
come back...
but never with these... grey-area maidens...
this "tool" will not be aroused
on the simple signature end contract promise
of: he made it to the finish line of a one-night stand!
where's the finish line of a one-night stand?
the next day? the *******, the *******...
her ******? at least the new generation
have the... cipher password for sexting...
or whatever has become of a good old fashioned
**** your brains out?
via you **** a plum sore tattoo into my pelvis
with your coccyx like a well balanced
african body of ivory beauty?!
you know the type... it looks like butter
in moonlight... like... what's the point of a niqab
in africa?! it's already... a warewolf has come
among the wolves...
and how i miss you, i esp. miss you when
i sit on my windowsill and listen to foxes
mating...
how those ******* squeal yank and bite nothing
but bone having omitted both the flesh
and the fur!
i miss you the most when i sit at night -
and listen to foxes mating;
after all... this is essex... this is england...
foxes at around 1am are my cognac...
beside ms. amber: and you know you'll also
be ******* her when i've had my fill...
but oooh... look at me: oooh...
gravy...
but i've watched! crows don't attempt fucky-fucky
tow-dollar sucky-sucky bangkokh style
during the die... all that is black that's worth
the crow is done in the night...
perverted pigeons during the day!
****-*******-me-into-a-voyeurism of their
greedy insect esque antics of coo coo...
then jump onto the rucksack of a female...
and all those beta-male pigeons... and that: huh?!
moment of bewilderement when he "thinks"
he has cooed like an alpha...
only the memory of you...
and all the prostitutes after you...
which always made imagining ******* you again
all that more simple; there was no кaкaшкa
with them to begin with.
Mokomboso Aug 2014
Eyes like the bulb of a lazer pen
Burning a hole through my head
Evaluate its contents
My pupils are the keyhole with which your lense unlocks
Never seen an ***** so offensive  
It's friendly and proper to meet your gaze
Surely it's more benign to read your lips?
Hell no
Umi Mar 2018
Created by dopamine and memories entitled with the sweetness of life, this process of thought becomes a nice place to rest and hide,
From the cruelty of what misery life could hold upon us if we didn't fight back, do something to make a day blissful, at least for a moment,
Serene and clear, events which occur far or near, are a trigger for this,
Created by an imaginated landscape inside my heart, forming from the techtonics of the transience, from those I hold dear to myself,
Step by step, on passing time, joyful memories seep through my head,
Sure there are those, who would find glee in even a clouded raining sky, but it is well to know; it comes in all different kinds and ways,
A mysterious but beautiful lense, reflected by a raindrop from the drizzling cloud, whichs mission it is to fertilise the earth, so may life grows out from the gentleness of the suns majestic golden light,
Perspective, is what makes thoughts wonderful and happy, or drenched in the deepest misery of ones own nightmare fueled fears,
Rain drops, seen as tears could turn to jewels, cast in the smile of your beloved, sitting with them, watching the rain showering a landscape,
No matter the weather, this world shines brilliantly as long as you keep your heart from being drenched by sorrow and let it soar into the blue sky, carefree, pure and filled with wonderful happy thoughts

   Umi
Richie Vincent May 2016
Every time I look into the mirror, I see someone different
I've been trying to find myself in other people for as long as I can remember
My body belongs to those who have shaped me
To the ones who have taken me by the hand and have taken me apart one by one, I present before you the one who was rebuilt by his surroundings and the ones who cared enough (or not so much) about their work

The forgetfulness in my bones stems from the girl I met in elementary school
She was so lackadaisical, you couldn't find a care in her world even if you tried your hardest
She taught me that it isn't always in your favor to care so much
That sometimes it isn't worth it to worry about everything or everyone else, especially if the situations or people are toxic to you

The boy I met in my 7th grade math class
He smoked cigarettes and liked to skateboard
I'd like to thank him for giving me the push I needed to stop caring so much about the way I looked and also for showing me that the words people say to me don't matter as much as I think they do
I don't talk to him much anymore, but I know he'd be disappointed by the fact that I've let such sadness and pessimism slip into my veins
Things were never simpler than when listening to loud punk music and skateboarding were the only things that mattered to me
I'd give anything to take myself back

I met a boy when I was 14 years old
He listened to cool music and played call of duty with me
He was my best friend
The more we grew up, the more we grew apart
His opinions started to differ from mine
His personality changed for the worse
He taught me that "depression is a sin" and I need to "find God" to rid myself of my sadness
He taught me that sometimes even the ones you love can slip away from you in the blink of an eye, but it isn't always a bad  thing

The girl I met my freshman year of highschool
She was short and full of steam that never seemed to come to an end
If rebellion had a face, it was definitely hers
She taught me that people can lie about anything as long as the ones listening to them care enough about them

But trust me, those were the least of my trust issues
The girl I met my junior year of highschool gave me such a different point of view about everything
She was older, so I thought she knew better
I thought things were different this time, better than they had ever been before her
Now my most vibrant memory of her is sitting in her driveway while she bawled her eyes out and cursed me for hours
Even though I wasn't in the wrong, I put myself in it and I stayed in it until I was forced out
She taught me that lust wears a costume
Sometimes it's scary, sometimes it's pretty
Sometimes it looks like love

I met a girl my senior year of highschool
The sunshine shimmered through her hair and the words she spoke were softer than a pillow after a long day of work
She had a lot of problems, but so did I
She taught me that it's not right for me to carry someone else's weight without being strong enough to lift my own
She taught me that love is a struggle and it can get extremely ugly if it isn't kept up with

I met a guy a few years ago
Through thick and thin, I know we have each other's back, no matter what
There are some people that you meet that you just know will be in your life for as long as you want them to be
They'll love you regardless of what you've been through, regardless of your opinions, and regardless of if you think badly about yourself
They will be here for you until the end, and he taught me to cherish real friendship; it isn't easy to come by

I met a girl when I was 15 years old
I didn't know it then, and I'm having a hard time contemplating it now, but I know she's something special
Through everything we have both been through, we always end up back together
It seems that we pop up in each other's lives when we need each other the most
She taught me that people who are meant to be in your life, will never leave it for good
They will always find a way back to you

As time went on and I thought things couldn't get any worse, I met my future
I met friends who cared about me
I met a newfound hope that I thought was extinguished years ago
I met happiness and I shook hands with it

From start to end, my life is a puzzle that I sometimes have a hard time finding the pieces to
I've found a few pieces so far, and others pieces haven't fit perfectly, but trial and error will get you through anything if you try hard enough

I've held up to this point, and I don't really see myself collapsing anytime soon

As much as life and I have a love-hate relationship, I don't think I'd change anything
CH Gorrie Jun 2013
There were six horses,
Abaco Barbs - black, white, tan -
enclosed in my Olympus's lense.

The camera reached through deadwind
that whipped the Huey's window,
painted a staggered line where the herd had been.

It was fall 1977,
Abaco's Independence Movement had ended;
Oliver and WerBell were gone,

having run off like photographed horses -
distant, almost ignorant of me (at some point,
they must've assumed there were wildlife

photographers inside Abaco). It was fall
1977:
the ornamental Allamanda still rustled in deadwind;

the starfruit still ripened and fell. It was fall
1977 and that country
was nearly the same as it'd always been.
"The Abaco Barb is an endangered strain of the Spanish Barb horse breed found on Great Abaco Island in the Bahamas. The Abaco Barb is said to be descended from horses that were shipwrecked on the island during the Spanish colonization of the Americas and the Caribbean. The population of wild Abaco Barbs that run free on Great Abaco once numbered over 200 horses. The Abaco Barb is found in different colors than the European/African Barb, including pinto (including the relatively uncommon splashed white), roan, chestnut, black and other colors. They range between 1.32 to 1.47 m (13.0 to 14.2 h)."

"The Abaco Islands lie in the northern Bahamas and comprise the main islands of Great Abaco and Little Abaco, together with the smaller Wood Cay, Elbow Cay, Lubbers Quarters Cay, Green Turtle Cay, Great Guana Cay, Castaway Cay, Man-o-War Cay, Stranger's Cay, Umbrella Cay, Walker's Cay, Little Grand Cay, and Moore's Island. Administratively, the Abaco Islands constitute five of the 31 Districts of the Bahamas: North Abaco, Central Abaco, South Abaco, Moore's Island, and Hope Town. Towns in the islands include Marsh Harbour, Hope Town, Treasure Cay, Coopers Town, and Cornishtown."

"In August 1973, shortly after the Bahamas became independent, the Abaco Independence Movement was formed as a political party whose stated aim was self-determination for the Abaco Islands within a federal Bahamas. In October 1973, AIM published a newsletter to launch it's campagn for 'self-determination through legal and peaceful political action'. AIM proposed that all Crown land on Abaco would be placed in a land trust. Each citizen would receive a one acre home lot from the trust plus shares giving them an income from land sales and leases. The land trust would enter into a joint venture to develop a 60 sq mile free trade zone. When AIM was formed by Chuck Hall and Bert Williams, they contacted an American financier named Michael Oliver, who through his libertarian Phoenix Foundation agreed to support AIM financially. The Phoenix Foundation had previously sought to establish a libertarian enclave in the South Pacific, the Republic of Minerva. AIM's first convention, held on February 23 1974, was addressed by John Hospers, the Libertarian Party's 1972 US presidential candidate. Hospers was later refused entry to the Bahamas. The maverick British MP Colin Campbell Mitchell also visited Abaco to offer support."

"Michael Oliver (born 1930) is a Lithuanian immigrant of Jewish descent, Las Vegas real estate millionaire, and political activist. He was the founder of the micronation project the Republic of Minerva, a failed attempt to create a sovereign state in the South Pacific in 1972. In the following decades, Oliver and his Phoenix Foundation were also involved in similar projects on the Bahamian island of Abaco and in Vanuatu with the New Hebrides Autonomy Movement (MANH) which was done by financing an insurrection. He also published a manifesto of his libertarian beliefs. Oliver is prohibited to enter in Vanuatu and his nation-building projects seem to be on hiatus."

"Mitchell Livingston WerBell III, (1918–1983), was an OSS operative, soldier of fortune, paramilitary trainer, firearms engineer, and arms dealer.In 1972 WerBell was approached by the Abaco Independence Movement (AIM) from the Abaco Islands, a region of the Bahamas, who were worried about the direction the Bahamas were taking and were considering other options, such as independence or remaining a separate Commonwealth nation under the Crown in case of the Bahamas gaining independence (which they did in 1973). AIM was funded by the Phoenix Foundation, a group which aims to help build truly free micronations. The AIM collapsed into internal bickering before a coup by Werbell could be carried out."

^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barb_horse
^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abacos
^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abaco_Independence_Movement
^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Oliver_(real_estate)
^http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mitchell_WerBell
Ariel Baptista Jun 2014
I have fallen in love
With the air, the trees
The thinly paved and often cracked roads
And even moreso with those covered in cobblestone.
I have fallen in love with the tanned locals
Old shopkeepers with hats and bifocals
Their calling voices
The natural movement of their hands
The cool sea water
And hot white sands.
I have fallen in love with espresso
And how it feels in my throat
The smell of leather
Taste of gelato
Harbours full of fishing boats
The sound of a vintage vespa
Weaving its way through a crowd
The arguing couple, arguing loud
And this is a country of which to be proud.
I have fallen in love with the architecture
The vast and complex history
The more I learn the more I admit is a mystery.
I have fallen in love with the way the sun shines brighter
The air is fresher
And the fruit is sweeter
The men are bolder
And the books are cheaper.
I have fallen in love with the words they say
And how those words effortlessly roll off their tongues
I breathe in their culture
And try to hold it in my lungs.
Pizza, pesto, cute cafes
Absence of anxiety, holidays
The tourists who view it all through a camera lense
Adventure begins and tension ends.
I have fallen in love with it all
Every flower
Every hue
All those pairs of knock-off sunglasses
I love them too.
Every cloud
Every ray of sunshine
Every drop of ***** riverwater
Every painted line
Every brick
Of every church
On all those hills
In all those tiny towns
That populate the green countryside
And every visionary who in them has lived and died
I love
But most of all
I have fallen in love with the version of me
That comes out when I am in Italy
Trupoetry Apr 2015
Like air to lungs
Like love to lovers
Like life to death
Till death do us part
Till God makes us see
In him we all need
One another
One after the other
Brotha & Brother
Sister 2 Sista
Like water to a well
Lets not wait until it runs dry
Eyes wont dry
Until another color cries
With us, not for us
There is only one race
the hueman race
translation
man of color
many colors of men
Color coated pain
Assorted flavors of oppression
All leave a bitter taste
In the mouth of a wordsmith
these words hit like bricks
against walls
in glass houses
with paper doll people
the revolution is being televised
because revolution cannot be heard
without being seen
focus your lense
See yourself
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 intersting, eh?
Television as imagined by petrified apes,
during the peak preserved in 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...
Julia Jun 2013
"The telephoto lense is slightly cracked,
But everything else is in pristine condition,"
I said, straightening up.
"She's served me well over the years."
You raised your eyebrows.
"She?" you asked, quizzically.
"Well, of course she.
Actually, Bella.
She's named after my grandmother who..."
I caught myself.
"Oh, you don't want to hear this."
"No, please go on."
I took a deep breath, and continued.
"She was named after my grandmother, Bella,
Who first introduced me to photography.
Grammy Bella gave me her old Polaroid
For my eighth birthday.
It was just..."
My voice trailed off,
"The coolest thing."
You smiled.
A picture perfect smile.
Flash.
I continued,
"My life is a series of documented flashes.
Lost my first tooth; flash!
Played in my first concert; flash!
Sang a solo for chorus; flash!"
"Wow," your voice cracked,
Nothing more than a whisper.
" I think I'd like to buy it."
I stumbled through the filing cabinets
Of my subconscious mind,
Thumbing through old flashes...
"Actually, it's not for sale."
This was inspired by two things: an add on Craig's list, and an essay I read :) I might add on to this piece later, though I can't quite decide. Tell me what you think!
Daisy Vallely Dec 2016
I roam from here to there
Until i’m everywhere
And everything
Dancing in the graveyard of my past,
cracking the bones of our memories
Beneath my nimble feet.

I dance until my soul is dust in the wind
And travels across bodies of blues,
And greens,
As purple women swim ****
Before my eyes.

Their energy morphs into beams of light,
Until all that’s left are fantastic flames,
That illuminate
The voids of spaces,
Purple faces,
Blue auras,
Green eyes,
Red flames
That burn beneath me
As I descend into the evening,
Falling to my knees and praying for beautiful Death,
For we are familiar friends.

The reaper’s boney fingers grasp the curves of my waist.
The silence is our music
As we waltz for centuries in one moment,
as I watch history unfold
before my purest lense of perception;
A kaleidoscope of fear and love,
Like two opposing warriors holding hands
And sharing secrets.

I wake up from a dream in a cold sweat,
Spat out by the portal of sleep.
I celebrate nirvana,
And thank Death, as I swim in it's dark nebulous.
I await the universe to kiss my eyes
And ask it to release me from this endless wander
in this human form
Tree Jul 2015
Life without her is like life without the sky, 70% of what it could be. Those were the first words i heard of her and they've never left me since.
She could make anything and anyone sound enticing; she does make everything and everyone sound enticing. She makes me complete; she makes me a poet. Maybe it's because she's so poetic simply by the way she is. The way her words flow out of her so effortlessly; the way she'll pick up and leave at a moments notice if it means an adventure with one of her many human infatuations; the look she gives when her words aren't enough to show her affections; the way she gives me that look with those cherry eyes of hers. The way she looks when i speak of those cherry eyes cause the meaning of that description still baffles her to this day; how she doesn't know the way her eye lashes curl up and flare out, more than ever in those moments; how's there's a sparkle in her eyes she'll never see because it only comes out when she gives that look, a look im sad to think she'd never give her self. She'll never see herself. She sees energies and dynamics and persons and places and sometimes it's through a lense of grey, but her view is spectacular unlike any other; this is why when im with her i get caught up in the moment, nothing but what matters matters. I share a glimpse of that view just for a while; it's like driving when the sun is setting and finally coming to an open field with the perfect view. But the view of her is better. I don't want to experience anything new but with her; each and every abandoned house, nights of wasting a full tank of gas, adventures on bus rides to unplanned places, all the seasons and random trips without reasons.
We first met in summer, sometime in june. The days were sweet and we'd only fall asleep to our tune. Now fall will come and as the wind will carry away our bad thoughts we'll only be left with the good ones that we'll leave on the pages of our notebooks we found together. I know we'll carry on until winter, drinking our coffee to keep us warm after cold sleepless nights because i wasn't there to be her blanket and she wasn't there to block everything out of my mind. Then spring will be next, our last new season together. When the cherries blossom and you'll still wreck the car before you hit that possum and ill never want those cherry eyes to end watching those morning skies with me. And when those cherry eyes can't see the colors of those cherry skies ill show you its colors through a not so poetic description, hoping that in your world of grey i can accurately portray the beauty of its rays because my eyes are the same color as your view and my soul wants to share any part it can with you.
Too much comes to mind when i think of you it's hard to put it in writing. You're poetic enough for the two of us
lua Jan 2022
i've picked apart myself
the pieces that make sense
looking through a rose-tinted lense
of being content

i'll walk behind them
my friends who dance
along the lines of more than friends
and i'll clap and smile

i'll keep tabs on them
their pinkies intertwined
awkward and flushed, i laugh at their faces
as i feel a pang in my chest

these glasses are broken
maybe, i ask myself
i don't need it, i say
but i know inside that
i will always wonder what it's like

i'm at the end of the bridge
steps slow and quiet
to not make a sound
i give them privacy
as they share a kiss
tender and discreet

discreetly, i sigh
i'm at the bridge's end and they've walked past me
but i lean against the railing and think
"when will i?"
i remember entering highschool with a vague idea about teenage romance, and how much i never really understood what that meant. but as i grew older and progressed further into highschool hell, watching friends of mine grow closer to something more than friends, i began to understand little by little just from observations. i became some sort of a wingman figure, the person they went to for some much needed advice even though i never experienced anything of the sort, all while feeling a weird type of pain in my chest whenever they did. it was only until a classmate of mine told me how confused and shocked they were when i told them i've never been in a relationship before that i realised the pang in my chest was jealousy. now i'm nearly 18, nearing the end of my teenage years with no experience in my belt writing about love and romance without knowing what i'm actually writing. i know i'm still young and i still have much ahead of me, but it's still something that i think about alot.

here's to all the thirdwheels <3 cheers and happy new year!
Jeremy Betts Oct 2022
I followed the order handed over to the T, I swear, I checked every square inch of the interior in that musty, empty chamber as well as the outer perimeter
And, just to make sure to cover all of our bases, a land surveyor calculator was used so no one would have to return to confirm the number later
He soulda, woulda, coulda but didn't prepare for the worst,  should have taken ques from one of them openly mocked doomsday prepers
Just in the event there was no search and rescue coming together to push the radius wider
I'll say this, there's nothing you could compare to what was in there other than a twisted flair of a taboo desire for a living nightmare
Keeping it honest here, there was no proper way too decipher if pain or anger fed the monster in turn fueling the inner and outer warfare
After all this time the why is still unclear like an over exposed Bigfoot picture under the blur of an out of focus layer with the top half blacked out by a fat finger
It's mostly ever operator error, there's no proof of any attempt to even remove the lense cover
Resulting in snap shots that fully render the emptiness of a gut wrenching, heart breaking type of forever
Walking through the bare walled entry erected the neck hair, instantly on anticipatory high alert, predicting a jump scare
I'd never go back there but if you dare, prepare to soil your underwear, best to bring an extra pair
It's far eirrer in there than I imagined it'd be with the unbalanced nature of finding tragedy has bled into the comedy so frustration and the for mentioned anger seemed not only justified but fair
One might expect a shrill chill to fill the air befitting the general atmosphere likened to the hollow echo of an abandoned aviator hanger
There was an uneasy stillness in the helplessness seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere
The nonconsentual caress of chaos looked to have been ramped up a gear, allowed to feast on the bounty of self loathing and fear
I don't know if you could consider one over the other being better while not sure who's the bigger threat, the dark passenger or driver?
Neither should have been allowed to steer especially after the request to hold so and so's beer
Looks like nothing penetrated the barrier inside each ear that, according to the guest sign in on the counter here, had been garded by a couple demon friends made during his very first winter
Just prior to the proverbial greener pasture being engulfed by an arsons fire lit by the land owner
And oh how it wreaked of dispair, heavily punctuated by the stench of failure
It lingered like a stocker predator peering over top the chip and bolder on what's been dubbed an unworthy shoulder
Progressively more violent as the one under investigation grew older, evidence shows a temper that consistently boiled over
The life destroyers lurkin' behind every door down a never ending corridor, waiting in the cover of darkness found around every corner
You don't know from where but can hear screams of terror as you pass a single motivational poster that reads, "being dead inside will allow for the skipping over of the coroner all together"
Buyer beware, this particular first stair is a header, the warnings couldn't have been clearer
A lack of empathy stains character but if lead by example it's plain to see why someone might refuse to care
Or would even know how to for that matter, solely focused only on the neighbor who's grass is forever advertised as greener
Didn't do the work on the personal endeavor so it didn't get any better, attitude towards it all seemed very cavalier
An obvious what not to do trend setter, a self proclaimed and locally agreed on idiot of the year
Missed all this YOLO banter, acting like a pop of the trunk would reveal a spare
Who's life is it really if you're not even a content creator in it much less the engineer
Come to think of it I don't recall that even bein' offered up to this poor sap as a qualifying career
It should be but that's neither here nor there, what's done is done and every other cliche you can pull out of the air
To put it simply, he wasn't known as a fighter so he threw in the towel and tossed innocence out with the bath water
The belief that life was beyond repair was a thought he struggled to alter, positivity was something he never learned how to gather, had a horrible teacher
It didn't help hearing a proper confirmation message from both a soothsayer and palm reader with no reassurance from his supposed maker
Proof that it's always safer to separate judge, jury and executioner, it's a no brainier
But he wore all three hats plus at his core was a sinner, it could've been his last meal every time he sat down for dinner
So he no doubt knew there was no scenario where a man like himself was gonna come out the winner
And now that I've seen the bizzar aftermath from every angle I can say with far more confidence than when I began to explore that I don't know how he managed to even get this far
The violence was real, the battles weren't staged, it raged on behind the fleshy mask he wore to keep us from witnessing the horror
But every day his anchor to a brighter reality got weaker, thoughts and surroundings becoming darker faster than he could remember from the days before
One can only be expected to hold on for so long when you're the nail trying to resist the hammer
He was neither hero nor imposter, just the next mother fuucker to fall victim to his own future
Some on a straight path while others are a taking a more fortuitous route. Some are on a grand adventure and some just along for the ride. Most wonder what waits for us at the end, is there something beyond this life? What will it be like? Would we see loved ones again, the ones who have gone on before? I am just one of the many, many souls who have glimpsed the other side. For some it is but a mere matter of seconds. For yet others the time was indeterminate. For me the experience was indefinite. Not indefinite as in having no definition but indefinite as having no basis in what we know as time. Meaning - directly so as to not be confusing - I was not there for seven minutes in what we call earth time. To me it was as if I was --- hold onto your hat --- there upwards of a thousand years. Indeed to me time was indefinite. I do not want to go into the specific details of the story surrounding my death. I’ll just say that there was a lot going on in my life. More than I believed that I could bear. I decided that I would end my life. How was I to know that it was at this point in my life, this life that I believed would be ending – it was to be only my beginning.

This is my story. Do with it as you will…

At first it sounded like there were two freight trains at opposite ends of my hearing coming straight at me as if they were going to collide into me. I cannot begin to tell you how loud it was. The sound was not only deafening but in the sound it carried with it or brought with it the most bone shaking vibrations that you can imagine. The sound was literally drawing me into it. And then just as abruptly as the sound started it stopped. But I did not stop. For what seemed like minutes – I could see my father and a policeman struggling to help me.  The immediate sensation was that I was floating about twenty feet in the air. The thought – more the idea – hit me that this was impossible because I was in my residence – in the garage. There would be no way that I could be twenty feet in the air and be watching what was going on below me because I would have been above the roof line of my garage. But that was my perception.  The policeman was frantically calling for an ambulance as he was compressing my chest. I could see that my lips were blue and I had a pool of blood around my head. The body, my body, was – it was me and I knew it was me but at the instant that I realized that it was me I felt - relieved. Weightless, void of impediments, free. I felt a strange sense of detachment, as if what was going on below me was somehow unimportant, secondary.  The policeman then started breathing into my mouth and when he rose for a breath he was telling my father to do chest compressions. His voice was echoed, urgent but echoed. He was yelling, “He’s not breathing.”  I could hear my father saying “Oh my God, oh my God don’t let my son die, don’t let him die like this.” Somehow I realized that my father was thinking this and not actually saying this. The commotion had stirred my neighbor to come and he was standing in the doorway to the garage.  I could hear his thinking too though I will not divulge his thoughts because he later asked me not to. I watched this scene for what seemed like a minute when the garage seemed to fill with light. I looked up above me and I could see what I perceived to be the source of the light. At first it looked like a pinhole in the sky. The hole was slowly getting larger. The objects in front of the light – like trees and even the sky seemed to become distorted like whenever you look through a lense – a magnifying glass lense. The light was like a mother of pearl in color – pure - with streaks of blue emanating from it in straight lines that had both depth and resonance (sound). As it continued to get larger the blue streaks would revolve around turning into green and then gold, it was very bright. It wasn’t like looking at the light of the sun which can be hard to do and uncomfortable. The freight train sound started again and it felt as if the sound was coming from inside of the light. I felt myself being pulled upwards towards it. The noise seemed to pass through me as I passed through the opening of light which felt too small for me. The buzzing of the freight train noise morphed into a whishing sound as I entered the opening with a Doppler like effect as I passed through it. As if the train sound was moving away from me. The sensation was like speeding up through a tunnel at incredible speed. Up isn’t the right word. The tunnel wasn’t straight up but it was on an incline. Just as I was – adjusting to the changes I had just witnessed, I could feel the presence of others but I could not see them at first. Ahead was some sort of barrier or dividing line. As I flew through the barrier I realized it wasn’t a barrier at all. It was simply one of those blue beams I mentioned before.  Silver and golden shapes began to form around me as I looked around. At first they were just swirls of light but they soon took a human like form. There were hundreds of them all around me. All of them seemed to be whispering like a crowd in a theater waiting for the movie to start. During this whispered conversation I noticed that I had stopped moving. Three shapes came forward from the crowd. As they came nearer they took a clearer shape but they still seemed to be out of focus or maybe it was just my vision trying to adjust, I wasn’t sure. They were tall and slender wearing bright white flowing robes.

They all had long hair, shoulder length; golden in color and the one in front had a beard. The one with the beard spoke to me in a beautifully calming voice that was neither deep and foreboding or high pitched or intimidating, “You are not supposed to be here yet, you know what you agreed to, you must go back.”

At the instant that he finished the last syllable I could see my eldest child, now in her late teens and my eight year old son.  I felt sadness as I expressed that I didn’t want to go back by simply shaking my head no. I asked, “Do I not belong here either?” They seemed amused by my question.

The bearded one said, “You must go back, you have work to finish, we will send you back soon.”

The crowd seemed to move in closer. As I looked around I saw familiar faces. Friends, family, even known enemies from my life and …. Others. Most of whom I could not directly correlate any known memory of or from where or when I had known them.  But some of them I somehow innately knew that I had known them for a very long time. Visions of these known ones began flashing into my memories, past times, good times, experiences that I had somehow forgotten.  I could feel a connectedness and continuity to all of this and to all of these – beings. A sense of order and purpose that spanned all time. I looked back to the three people directly in front of me and then back to the others, some of which were moving closer to me – these people were timeless and somehow I knew it. As if they were ancient yet still so very integral to this experience. I do not know how I knew that but I knew that they were always there to watch over me. I felt like I was one of their children somehow sprung from each one of them and then the realization came over me that of all those around me, even the ones still farther away from me had also sprung from these three. Maybe sprung isn’t the right word. Connected … as if somehow the three were or could have been the source. I felt nothing like judgement from them. I felt only the deepest love and concern for me – and not any concern for anything that I had ever done or anything that I had ever said. In that moment I understood what unconditional love really meant.

I asked the one with the beard, “Is this heaven?” to which he smiled and replied.

“It can be.” This startled me and he knew it so he continued, “Is that what you want? It can be hell as well – if that is what you want.”

More confused than ever I was trying to fathom the meaning. “So I get to choose?” I asked.

“You always get to choose no matter where you find yourself,” he replied and then continued, “For we are all co-creators, we create our reality.”
“Where is God, I don’t see him?” I asked. The crowd was obviously amused by my question but the three in front of me only smiled.

“How can you see that which you yourself are a part of?” the bearded one asked me. “We are all expressions of God. When you see through your own eyes you see through the eyes of God, God experiences reality through your eyes and your experiences. When you speak to God you speak to yourself for it is you who is the container of God that which he is – is also you. There is only one. There is no division or separation. There never has been and there never will be any separation.  Your eye is no more or no less a part of God than it is a part of you. For without him you would have no eye. So if you have an eye, it must also belong to him. Anything that seems to exist separate from him is simply an illusion. The light that is in us and surrounds us here is God just as the light that surrounds you and is in you now is also God. It is the source of all and is given freely to all. All begin here and return to here. It is the starting point for all journeys.”

My next question sounded odd to even me but I asked it anyway, “When I come back here, can I stay?”

“You may but you always choose not to, you love your lessons,” was the reply I was given.

  This went on for what seemed like an eternity. I asked hundreds if not thousands of questions. Sometimes someone from my past would step from the crowd; they would step forward to help me understand the answers. I would recognize the ones that stepped forward and just by their presence the answer that I was given made more sense. Some of the questions are of a personal nature and I would rather not discuss them in this format.  Some of them I am not supposed to talk about yet. Someday maybe I’ll write a book about it all. I was told that I would remember this entire event and that remembering would be my choice.


  Let me try to answer your questions ahead of time.

I know that I existed outside of my body.

My awareness and acuteness was definitely at a higher state of realization during this event. My mental capabilities were much more focused but in ways that are different in life. My thought processes seemed to be greatly faster having many thoughts occur all at once. I also had feelings during the process that felt like I was in more than one place at one time. My senses were incredibly more vivid. I felt like I could see three hundred and sixty degrees around me all at once.  There was no need to turn or move to “see” something. People seemed to be smeared when they moved as if part of themselves trailed behind. Sounds like voices came from what I can only describe as in my head as opposed to coming from outside of myself. This did not alarm me – as a matter of fact it felt more normal than how we perceive sound here.

Yes I was shown or I showed myself everything about my life. The whole group shared in my experience. I wasn’t forced to do anything. I was pleased to be able to share. I could feel and see everything that I had ever done and said and could feel the effects that my actions and words had had on others. Think of it like this. What you say to your child or grandchild today can affect your great, great, great, great, great grandchild and on down the line. And so it is true of all of your other actions and interactions with all living and nonliving parts of creation. We do leave our mark. In any event I felt united with the world and with all of my experiences.  But the experiences that I shared and was shown by what I’d call “revision” were not just about this life. It was also about past lives and lives yet to be experienced.

Each moment seemed to be non-distinct as if the moment existed in the past and in the future at the same time. My thoughts were coming to me incredibly fast. Time did not speed up or slow down but everything seemed to happen all at once. I’m not sure that there is any correlation to time as we know it here verses time there.  Time seemed to stop or lost all meaning.  Time seemed to be more expansive than it is linear. As if time is nothing but a rubber band around events and not a measurement from point A to point B. As in - here it takes us ten minutes to get from here to there or some other amount of time. There I seemed to exist at all points of every reference point instantaneously so there was no need for any measurement between any reference points.

My religion before the experience was that I was raised Southern Baptist. I was saved and baptized in the church and had later moved over to being a Methodist. I no longer attend church and no longer proclaim any religion.  God is not interested in the past and it serves very little purpose in trying to hang onto the past other than to learn and remember the lessons attained in the past. What is important is that we continue to grow and not get mired down in the dogma of the past.

Everything is connected. Some elements of the experience are difficult to express in words. Not until you experience them will you understand what I mean. I sincerely hope that I am one in your crowd sharing in your experience and look forward to you being in my crowd, should you expire before me. It was real. I have fully remembered the experience just like any other past experience. I dream often of this event. Each time I feel rejuvenated and reawakened into the reality of it all. I look forward to returning.

Yes there were family members and loved ones that had gone on before. As they shared in my experiences I too shared in theirs.  I could see how our lives interrelated. One of whom was my grandfather. In his sharing I was made aware of him having molested his daughter, my father’s sister, my aunt when she was young. I could feel his remorse for his actions and how they had affected my aunt. I knew that a time would be given to me upon my return that I would have the chance to privately tell my aunt of my grandfather’s remorse.  I told her what I had experienced when she came to visit me in the hospital and was in recovery. She cried and stated that she had never told anyone. Today we share a special bond.

The return to this life was much like the exit. I floated away from the crowd and back through the portal. Again there were many in the tunnel with me. I never felt alone. As I crossed out of the portal the horrible train noise happened again. I awoke with the train noise just beginning to go into that Doppler Effect again as I opened my eyes. At first my vision was blurry much like it was when I came before the crowd. I could feel that I had something on my face and that air was being forced into me. I now know that it was one of those clear plastic bottles like devices where the EMT tech can press the sides of the bottle to breathe for you. The EMT tech was a beautiful girl. When I opened my eyes she said something to the effect that I had a pulse. I was in a lot of pain and I surely must have been moaning. While she breathed for me with her one hand she held my hand with her other. She said that I was going to be fine and that I would make it. Then she said “Welcome Back.”

There will be those who will want to know about the three beings that were directly in front of me. The bearded one let me know that his name was Jmmanuel and he made it clear that it was spelled with a J and not an I like Immanuel.  He let me know who he was to most of us. He also made it known to me that in his life he was never known as the name that he is known by us today. He also let me know that while I could use his name that I was not to give any other detail about him other than what I could see. He said this was important that those that are awakened by my experience – you must search for the truth yourself. So I’ll leave you now to your own experiences. I hope that in some way you’ve gained some peace from mine.

Oh, you’ll also want to know what it was that was my task and what I am here to do. My friend you’ve just witnessed what I was sent here to do………

Welcome Back.
SG Holter Oct 2014
The art we make.
Child of our imagination.
Looking back at us.*

The farmer let us into his old
Storehouse. Where food and
Goods had been stacked and hanging

Centuries ago, there were piles of
Rubble and memorabilia.
Half drunk and inspired, we filled

A bag with old objects. Brass scales,
Leather blacksmith protective glasses,
Razor blades and what not.

"Guess were going steampunk," you
Concluded, and I agreed.
We spoke briefly of bats, and

Retreated. Back home, the fire was still
Going. You sat down with your
Drink on the floor, arranging objects

Onto the canvas. Bronze spray paint and
A sharper eye for detail than I ever
Had. You nearly forgot to drink your

Wine, and apart from my applying some
Sealing foam and other handyman
Touches, it was all your creation.

I helped you to your feet -glass in hand-
And you stood there with a paint stained
Finger on your chin. Pensive; still working.

A part of me stumbled slightly deeper in
Love with you there, another took your
Picture in my mind, my eyes blinking

Like the lense of a camera, before you
Tilted your head against my shoulder,
Eyes not leaving the work in progress.

*"Don't you just love it? The art we make.
Child of our imagination.
Looking back at us."
Quortni Moore Aug 2014
It begins the same way it ends.
Fluorescent combinations of photonic crystals,
Burning beneath my skin, into my gaping soul.
These are my lights.

Gripping tightly to is base, holding it steady,
Peer through its open lense.
Record each and every moment.
This is my camera, so let it commence.

Take 1.
A mother wails as her baby rolls out.
Physicians stagger in, along with nurses.
NICU is now home to the baby girl who
Came 2 months before she was due.
02/01/1995 - the unforgettable date that
I changed my family’s lives.

Take 2.
Fast forward to when everyone else’s
Nightmare’s become my reality.
The thoughts took over my anatomy,
Constricting blood vessels in my brain
And with every heartbeat those enlarged
Vessels collided with my skull – throbbing.
A rainbow of pasty pills dissolved on my tongue,
Releasing their chemicals into my ocean-like blood stream.

Take 3.
Every waking day had not only become a
Physical struggle but in fact a psychological endeavor.
The thoughts hindered my perception of reality,
Just as cumulous clouds darken the suns light.
Back seat riding with my negativity leading
Me through a tunnel of self-destruction.

Take 4.
Addicted.
To the bottle, the drugs, and the razor blade.
Addicted.
The dullness of the liquor,
The euphoric journey the drugs took me on and,
The intoxicating aroma the blood gave off
As it poured down my wrist
Shaped my addictions to that of self-annihilation.
Those were my Actions.
It ends the same way it began.
Fluorescent combinations of photonic crystals
Burning beneath my skin, into my gaping soul.
Now this is the end.

If my life was a Motion Picture;
I would go back and film it again,
But this time validating true happiness.
Lauren Ostrander May 2017
I know you're supposed to be that thing
That thing that keeps me grounded.
That thing that keeps my feet on the floor.
That thing that keeps me from drifting away.
But lately I've been floating.
And I don't know if you know what that feels like.
It feels timeless
     and weightless
     and sunless
     and empty.
I feel empty.
My days melt to weeks and my weeks melt to months.
My body feels like a crisp breeze of air that I just can't inhale.
My eyes only see through a cloudy, dismal, forsaken lense.
And well gravity,
It's all because you seem to be absent.
Now I need you to understand that I'm not asking you to hold me down.
Because I'd rather float aimlessly than be trapped under your hold.
But I just know that if we work together,
We can create a beautiful compromise of flying and crawling
And I think normal people just call that living.
Don't get me wrong the blood is pumping through my veins so I know i'm alive
But if your lips can no longer muster the energy to smile
And your eyes can no longer muster the energy to cry
And if the forces of attraction are no longer attracted to you
Are you really living?
Harry Roberts Aug 2017
Dont overplay your hand,
I'm the type of Aries to
Throw caution to the flames.

Set a fire
And watch it burn
Watch as you learn
Yearn for the heat of my rage
Lust. My love oxidised you to rust.

I blush
I digress
And I rush.
If that's not living
When 100 I'm giving,
Then I'm already lost on forgiving.

When through dust I'm sieving,
Looking for Hope
And for my mind to cope,
Truly lost yet never got the scope.
Looking through a different lense,
Cleanse, forgive and love true friends.

Life's what you shape it,
And I will find form,
Lived in chaos:
Thought before the storm.
Though now no longer
Find myself torn,
In life anew I am reborn.
Trying to channel some Aries.
Khoisan May 2022
I spy with my life's eye
a hidden lense out of the coroner's eye
from birth to a blade
love or hate on a single-stage,
one made the cut the other died.
Life of the coroner
Laurence Worsham Nov 2018
Sound the horns before the crash of the drums,
Reign forever the promise,
only as long as does not perturbe the ageless splendor of it's denial.
The angry man is vain in his resentment of luxury as he toils,
and so he proceeds in vain of his resentment.
The happy man is foolish in his love of life, forgotten to that horrible heaping part of himself,
sprawled with constricting joints and bleeding that blood,
Pay he luck not to remember.
Always eager was accepted by the Earth.

Always downward impress the power and cascading mountains of the horizon.
Ever so that the dwindling height impresses the speck at the edge of it's microscopic lense.
From what pestle were ground these grains of what the body shivers to behold?
From what tree was made sacrifice and ripped the shreds of this beautiful scenery?
From what point does the needle steer it's compass,
Pulsates the ebb of the magma of power.

The excretions of raw turmoil brews,
Below the vats of anamorphic hell was raised,
And up was risen low on high and behold that it was seen.
The slumber had encroached upon itself,
Flitting it's tail at the flies and leftovers of the night.
The spoils of day at hand make clear the path of the arm.
I am stretched about it's expanse and yearn the pangs of inward loss.
The melting hot aftermath boils my blood dark and red,
I am ready to sanctify these old bones with new fire.
I lurch my eyes upon the stocks and bundles,
I am in love.

Flesh loathes the indulgence of the mind,
masked in the light by its submission.
I have made acquaintance with the tonic of breath upon the bellows of breast,
I met the waves that mirror this and thine.
Well met are they, and I said that it was good!
To the heavens which impress me impress myself!
Know my mind you manifold of high towers!
Know me that lightning had stricken the chapels of your Kingdom, my name in blazing stars.
Know my name to the inextricable folds of your searching rebuttal.
And behold my pride,
erected there with bricks I would bet against mountains.
Was my blood so bold to creep back whence it came?
If not so, then was made slave to my own boldness.
So there it was,
and so wept the Earth for a thousand years.

Tears falter to the sun, and my cheek is dry.
You know me, but what are you hiding?
Amongst the flags of nations the sweat of day unfurled,
There in the depths must be hidden.
Feed me or be refused the exhilaration of my tongue.
Set loose the fruit into my view,
I will do the rest.
Having filled my bucket of what belongs to me, harken to my plea for more,
To the adoption of my whimsy,
flicking fast the worm of yesterday.
I had worms in my thin stomach.
Aside it, the froth of snails had savored,
molding the lowest of all my opinion.
Better is the least of my gripes,
entrust me this day or all days hence I will mock you.
The threat twas modest now cast into hard metal for the shackles of a generation of tender feet.
What had inspired now falters,
I can weep no more.
Elfinmox Jun 2013
Dad
Honestly
I can't sleep
Haven't slept for weeks,
Not because of you,
Or maybe,
Not entirely.
Not this time.

See, the problem is,
I'm so stressed out
Over nothing much
Just school.
Which is really just dumb.
What's school anyway?
Why am I stressed over it?

Just because it's such a huge deal to you?
Just because it's how you measure my value to you?
Is that why?

Because I seriously can't sleep
I'm freaked the **** out
I have this giant twisted contorted ball of nervous energy inside me
I don't know how to get rid of it.

It's so rarely I care enough about anything to get this stressed over it.
What is different this year?
Is it just everything all at once?

Our relationship slowly dying while you seem to be oblivious
My depression getting worse instead of better because
I can't measure up!
To you.
All the pressure on me...
Grades.
Depression.
Getting better. (As if it's that easy)
Being "respectful". (As if I know what that includes)

I feel like you don't even like me anymore.
I feel like I've failed so horribly I can never make it right.
I feel like you expect me to be someone I don't know how to be.
I feel like I can never be respectful enough, smart enough, responsible enough for you to like me.
I feel like you aren't there for me.
I feel like you don't understand me and don't want to.
I feel like you expect me to try and understand you, and then everything will be fine.

(As if I don't have needs too. As if I don't matter. As if you are all that matters. As if you really don't care about me, but only yourself and your wants and needs.)

I feel like you have no emotions except for anger and that's why you can't understand me. (Not that you try)
I feel like I can't trust you.
But most of all I feel like I can't tell you any of this.

Because you won't understand.
Because you wont' care.
Because you won't try.
Because you will only see it through your lense and your eyes and not mine.
Because you will say "that's not true" and "you're living a lie" and "you get something stuck in your mind and you hold on to it and don't listen to what I'm saying..."

But you don't listen to me! You don't see me! You don't understand me!

And I know it's selfish of me to want you to understand...
I know it's self-centered of me to not try harder to understand you...
I know I should spend more time trying to fix how I relate to you than I do trying to get you to understand me...
I know the way I only take care of myself drives you crazy...
I know I should be more selfless, more caring, more understanding, more open minded, more respectful...
I know I'm too selfish.
I know I'm a trouble maker.
I know all I do is cause problems.
I know you wish I was someone else.

The thing is,
I wish I was someone else too.

Even though
Everyone else
Except you (of course)
Even my brothers

Tell me all the time
How
Beautiful
Caring
Supportive
Sweet
Thoughtful
Nice
Funny
Lovi­ng
Good friend
Good listener
Good person
Wonderful person
Great writer

I am.

Even my therapists.
Even my teachers.
Even Mom. (though she only means it sometimes)

And the thing I just don't understand.
Is how.
You could think I'm such a terrible person,
When,
Everyone else around me
Thinks the opposite.

I don't know who to believe.
Am I good?
Am I who you say I am?
Am I really a wonderful person?
Because the stuff they say is true.
I do
Care about people.
Help people.
Listen to people.
Love people.
Write well.
Speak to people.
Encourage people.
Support people.

People love me.
Why don't you?
At times one gets the notion to get lost
Just walk upon a track many seldom go
Take a staff to steady the rough stuff
Supplies shelter food some tools its so

Camera mobile spare batties axe knife
Pens pads matches or lense for camp fire
Alone your soul your home your very own
Peaceful thinking time bed roll silent desire

Ridding ones mind of stresses not yours
Allowing mind soul to take an earned break
Away from endless followers of total garbage
You the moon stars natures gifts thus to take

Away from gas bag preachers politicians too
A fool a mule knows how they lie as they do
Wasting others lives like the wasps in hives
Such a time its time of this time I knew

https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRUojXUAVtxElL3c2ysK3b5YqCy8x0S2EdHNGscTuUKaWSC­Ym77

terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018
The mad hatter Feb 2011
followed a rainbow to its other side
and found myself before i died
a *** of gold is what i seek
but another treasure
did i reap,
to know oneself before one dies
through the lense that is gods eyes
now before i take my eternal sleep
one last thing i must bequeath
always live before you die
as few do but many try
Simon Fletcher Jan 2011
At first, I caught a delusion...
Of what simply needed to fade away
The paperboy comes here with his pay
And seems to stay here all day
He signs all my documents with a rubber stamp
And brings back my drugs like a champ
Temporary placements...
Deciding not to burn out
I went outside to hear my neighbourhood's point on doubt
All of them had varying opinions
And each one of them had to shout
I smiled and said "Don't shout, don't pout!"
I was determined that it would never happen again
And now the same person comes here with a blood drop on his lense
He said he slipped and fell and cut himself on the sharp edges of the fence
I told him to use soap, rinse and cleanse
Catrina Sparrow Mar 2014
i'm never entirely sure
where my bruises come from
but their presence is strangely pleasant
     like a voice message left by a moment
     so very long-forgotten

i've gotten awful far by going nowhere

just look how i glisten
listening to secrets sliding
through the near silence of no place private
slightly derranged and completely distant
     lovely
and removed from social soliloquies
     to the self appointed throne of thoughtful longing

belonging's just such a bore
     when you're built to scream to existence
     like a super-nova through a telescope's lense
i got morning breath that smells like a rain storm,
and the pulse of a cabaret.
Dear Oct 2013
Too surreal, too sweet
metronome heart couldn't keep the beat
fell off the piano, onto the feet
cried a D minor
fell sound asleep

Somewhere there in the dreamy night air
sustained a note that rose from the petals in your hair
broke one toe,
well there's nine more to spare
in the will of the moment, you didn't give a care

You said,

**** what's right, who's to say what's wrong?
Young or old, we're all dying after all
The ride of your life begins at the fall
Keep your mouth open, your shoulders tall

Sentimental minds, they wander in time
The ghost of his love will freeze in the snow
love me now
you'll have fever in the cold
and when spring time comes,
I'll be the one to call

And I'll say,

**** what's right, who's to say what's wrong
Crooked or straight
we're all teeth after all
The bite of the winter melts into cellulose
My girl, you're a flower
been soiled and ******

Lonely cigarettes and scattered notes in your bed
Tawny fantasies of the things he had said
Your rose colored glasses now have a missing lense
My dear, the haze upon you can dissolve in one deep breath

https://soundcloud.com/spiritbarehear/metronome-heart
Sara Buzz Jan 2014
Living behind a lense
Memories flood my sight
Every little detail
Recovered in black and white.
A paper with a picture and a thought
Those times we'd shared back long ago beginning to fade and rot.
Remember the day I took these,
The pictures you've still yet to see?
I do. And so clearly, its almost like a dream.
My camera flashing left and right
Trying to get just the perfect angle but not just quite,
Your laughter and smiles caught on square
Looking over them makes me feel like Im back there.
Times have changed for you and I,
This is all I have left from that day we said goodbye.
Tears ran down my small pale face
Seeing you walk away going some other place.
I click the forward button and stop clicking
Seeing you has made time end its ticking.
There you are again like in every other photo
but in this one I am gone and you are sitting there alone playing with your own camera,
Just like I am right now.
The rest of the gallery is only everybody else
everyone but you you who are the only person I want to see right now.
Do you ever look through the past pictures
Or have you deleted them and made a solid wall?
Do you wonder about me?
Do you want to remember?
or just wish you could forget?
Do you even care at all?
I want to see you again but I am deathly afraid,
Will you be the same person from those memories we've made?
Is that to hard to arrange?
Just letting you know that Ive definitely changed.
Im done hiding behind this false veil
Im not the same person I used to be because now the happiness is real.
Zead May 2014
when u were 14 havin all the fun there was
as if it was a dream that was never exposed
the original intent left without saying goodbye
and the mourning starts before it's caught
your conscience finally breaks out of it's shell of glass
it's evil plan- to not break out until it came to pass
so that you can be told a message not so talked about
but still if not-the most famous message of them all.
the note reads "your already dead inside"
and well with is as well without
u cry inside as the laugh roars out
so needy, so selfish ,and no one to talk to when your sad
especially with your acquaintances that are just as bad
this is the beginning, the kick-start of all your trauma
more perpetual than gravity weighing you down
to the abyss you go, crushed as a mount'
every drop of rain, everywhere at once
there is no doubt that your a dunce
and well with is as well without
you can try to get back up without the bends
but of course you end up wearing a thick lense
the cycle remains as existence runs dry
and there you are trying to just pry
at home is where one wants to go
but the trail back is found where the wind blows
no fun in anything no more
to think what was there when you were only a kid
the great time before your emotions hit
now remembered like it never was
the ******* of it all, the population that called
like better if you didn't know
but truth is, you reap what you sow

— The End —