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Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
EᔕᔕᕼI  ᑕOᑎT.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Lyn sniffles as Ainhara gives her a
handkerchief which she uses to
wipe her tears.
"Thank you, guys," Lyn whispers,
giving them a weak smile.
'Well, at least she smiles,' Esshi
Ainhara has a bright smile. "My lady,
your lady mother gave Bael orders to
make this soup for you. She instructs
that you eat this."

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
When Esshi pushes the serving trolley
to her Queen's side, she lifts the gold lid
and Lyn looks at the soup; steaming
kale in a beefy broth with chopped
peppered sausages, lamb cubes,
onions, garlic, mint chopped potatoes
and carrots.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Kale, really? I hate kale," Lyn whines,
gently pushing the bowl away. "I don't want it!"
Esshi and Ainhara look at each other and smile.
'Still acts like a child when her lady mother
commands she eats her vegetables!'
giggles Esshi.
"Your mother says you must eat it, My Lady."
Ainhara chuckles. "It will help with reduce
your stress and help relax your body."

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Lyn sighs and mutters under her breath,
"I hate it when she does this! She knows
I hate the smell of kale! I swear, I'm going
to outlaw the vegetable!" She held hers
nose up and huffs at the end of her
statement, making Ainhara and Esshi smile.
'At least she is in better spirits now.'
thought Esshi.
Kale, ugh...
It's eeeevvviiiiilllll!!! My mom actually tricked me into eating it one time (don't ask how or when) and as much as it pains me to admit it...
I actually liked it.
Anyway, enjoy part 8!
Lyn ***
Sam Temple Jan 2016
I sat across looking at my wife
Thinking, “Has there ever been another woman like Tina Lyn”
I was considering our shared love
The commitment we made to trust
Our choice to maintain an open dialog regarding faith
And always go to bed with hearts full of happiness

It’s not always easy to hold onto happiness
But it is easier when you have a relationship built on trust
Like the one I have with my wife
It only takes a little faith
And someone like my Tina Lyn
To have a life full of peace of mind and love

I wish everyone knew there was this kind of love
If only everyone could find their Tina Lyn
Then they too could experience this happiness
And begin to have some faith
Build a life with their lover or wife
With a strong foundation of honesty and trust

I never knew I could have such trust
In my youth I had no faith
Only fleeting moments of happiness
That all changed when I found my wife
And allowed myself to open up to her love
It was then I knew I would spend eternity with Tina Lyn

I still remember the first night I spent with Tina Lyn
And our conversations about the meaning of trust
And how important that was to real happiness
Is it any wonder I made her my wife
I had never known such complete and unconditional love
So I took a chance on faith

It’s a funny thing about faith
When one considers it without god, only trust
I had to learn these things from Tina Lyn
Even though I knew I ‘wanted’ a life full of love
‘Wanting’ is not the road to true happiness
and would have never brought me my perfect wife

I think about my happiness as a man in love
The trust I have in my relationship with Tina Lyn…
Only person to ever bring faith into my heart is my wife
              Carl Solomon


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

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Try not to be too ******* them,
My Lady." Ainhara chuckles
while walking to them, an old
wicker basket with lids hanging
from her slender arm.
The wind blows and her dark
green skirt ***** in the winds
around her legs, as did Esshi's
and Lyn's.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
She is gently rummaging through it.
"The coins should be enough for
all three of us. Now, are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be." Lyn says as she pulls
up her face veil, and her ladies do
the same. The day is bright and hot,
but the opaque veils are light.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Ainhara leads the way, walking
through the forests, Esshi and Lyn
behind her. Out of the forests,
they follow the path down into
the ever bright, bustling, colourful
Aurelinaean town.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
ᗩIᑎᕼᗩᖇᗩ ᑕOᑎT.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
When Lyn looks up, she can see
several banners; the proud white
Lily of Aurelinaea on a gold field
and a white mask and brown
lute on a crimson field, decorate
the buildings. They drape over
windows, off the high bridges,
roofs and posts.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Ah yes, today is the Song of the
Canals!" Ainhara turns to them.
"So, My Lady, where do you want
to go first? A walk around the
harbour? A ride on the canals?
A trip to the museums?"

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Hmmm..." Lyn's eyes fall
upon a small bookshop.
"I'd like to browse the book-
shop first."
"Do you not have enough
books, My Lady?"

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Ah-ah!" Lyn tsked. "One can
never have enough books!"
Esshi giggles again as Ainhara
rolls her eyes as her mistress
raises a hand, her finger pointing
at the sky. "To the bookstore!"

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Lyn skips over like a little girl.
"Honestly," Ainhara chuckles.
"At least she's smiling, Ainhara."
"True," Ainhara could not disagree
with her friend. To see the young
queen so carefree, dressed so plainly,
and above all happy and relaxed,
is a relief to them both. Smiling
under their veils, she and Esshi to
follow behind their young queen.
Enjoy! ^^
Bringing out my inner nerd lool
Lyn ***
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
My Court is a battle
As a Queen, I will endure
so my kingdom thrives

Standing in gardens
My treasure trove of colours
that never fails me

Flowers bow gently
The winds make the tall trees sing
Rivers flow calmly

Scents drift in the light
I hear its sweet melody
As I stand with pride

A Queen now enters
The daughter of Spring and Deer
The tender Queen Fawn

Who smiles so sweetly
Fragrant, soft-spoken and kind
With deer by her side

Another Queen comes
The angel with a kind heat
The gentle Queen Sue

Who has healed her wounds,
broken her chrysalis
And spreads her warm light

Another Queen comes
Wise and soon to be married
Joyful Queen Donna

Who goes with the flow
A talented haikuist
with a flower crown

Another Queen comes
She who is always giving
The giving Queen Kim

Whose crown's a halo
And her words, so spiritual
fragrant and calming

Another Queen comes
Who has birds singing so sweet
The sweet Queen Robin

Who is a true joy
Whose words are just like music
A kindred spirit

And now a King comes
Who is very much like me
The great King Omni

Who is an artist
Who is both seen and unseen
Very much like me

Another King comes
Ever so mischieveous
The playful King Paul

Such a playful tease
He who makes me smile and laugh
And looks out for me

Another King comes
His heart is strong and tender
The wise King Edmund

Who writes for himself
Speaks so well of others and
how vital love is

To these Kings and Queens
Thank you for your melodies
You are golden souls

For now I do see
The true power of my quill
My ink is gold too

I write out my life
My pain, my fears and my loves
And my achievements

I must stay above
I will walk with my head up
and ignore the bad

People will hate me
But I will thicken my skin
to be a true queen

I will empower
And give you all your respects
and never denounce

I am a true Queen
With a Court that is growing
steadily but strong

The reign of Queen Lyn
Who is sensitive and shy
It has just begun
To these poets in particular, thank you so much for pushing me forward!
I'm grateful to everyone here to all my fellow poets on HP
You're all Kings and Queens of your own right!
Much love and blessings!
Lyn ***
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Out of the Palace, into the Queen's
Garden. 'One that could rival King
Paul's Luciuscemian Gardens,'
thinks as she walks under the high
cream arches and Grecian columns
with ivy vines coiling around them.
She stands on the white marble
steps. 'Truly, this is the Queen
Mother's finest work yet...'

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The young Queen Lyn spares no
expense in expanding her library,
filling it with leather-bound books
and scrolls, new and old. She spares
no expense when it comes to her
love for herbal teas, near and far...
But her mother?

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The Queen Mother is known for
her keen eye, fast wits, bladed
tongue and for her love for fashion,
gardening and a frugal nature.
'Like frugal mother, like bookish
Ainhara can not help
but to chuckle.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
She watches as the gardeners trim
the mint-green grass, beech hedges
and shrubby. But what Ainhara
marvels most are the flowers.
Pots of lavender and roses,
rosemary and mint are placed
around carefully, by the white
lilies, orange lilies, yellow lilies,
flushing lilies.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
She notices that green lilies and
blue lilies; the gifts from Queen Yidna;
plants native to her Puhan Kingdom,
are in full bloom. They remind her of the
colours of the Seas that she, Esshi and Lyn
had sailed when they visited Queen Yidna.
'Puhan has the calmest seas of the brightest
She recalls how her Queen was
happy and relaxed then...
Part 2 completed! ^^
Lyn ***
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
God you're pretty and
you got such lovely hair
your clothes are *****
but we don't even care

and rich boys walk by
and see you lyin there
they try to say hi
but you don't even care

some say you're crazy
well maybe that's true
but how I'd love to spend
a lazy morning with you

so blow by me barefoot
please show me your smile
to see you all made up
would really be worthwhile

just a girl

©1987 Lyn
Hi. this one was written about
a young woman who I would
see often in and around
Peoples Park, Berkeley, California.
it's actually a song.
I lived february til may in
that great town in 1987.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Ainhara is standing in her Queen's room,
staring at the door that leads to
her chamber
'My Lady...' she thinks worried before
looking at her reflection. Her mistress had
surprised her a gift of a finely made dress
of rose-silk, making her a flowing vision
in blue.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The dress is suitable for the bright and
hot morning, light, airy and delicate
with one shoulder that is heavily beaded
with peacock feathers; the slit reveals
her slender legs, the hip appliqued with
the white lilies of her Queen's Kingdom,
and simple flat shoes.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Her fiery locks are pinned into her usual
bun. It is then that she hears a gentle
knock on the door which she approaches
and opens.
"Did you not hear the command of the
Queen Mother?" Ainhara gently hisses,
"Queen Lyn is not to be disturbe-"
"I know, Lady Ainhara, I apologise,"
a guard whispers as Ainhara stands in
the hallway.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"How is Queen Lyn?"
'Drained and exhausted. She has not slept
well in three days...
"The Queen is very busy.
She is determined to complete the tasks set to
her." Ainhara sighs. "Esshi is overseeing her
meals currently. Did her mother not say all
matters of state should be brought to her?"
"Yes she did, but the shipments are set
to arrive today. And she said that once
they arrive, I am to notify you.
They have made way to the Western

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"I see. Well, let us see to it."
"Yes," The guard bows and leads the
way with Ainhara at his heels.
As she passes the open stain-glassed
windows, the cool breeze hit her,
making her dress flutter behind her
and the beadery shine and glitter.
Part one of the Masked Bard free-verse! ^-^
This one is going to be told more so in my handmaidens' POV.
Part two will be out tomorrow!
Lyn ***
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
EᔕᔕᕼI  ᑕOᑎT.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"You do that and your mother will make sure
you have nothing but kale meals for a
month or three!" Ainhara snickers. "She only
wants you to eat more healthy meals."
"She's the one who likes the green devil,"
Lyn snaps. "I don't have to!"
"You seem to forget, My Lady," Esshi
points out, "Mothers know best!"
She can tell the young queen wants
to retort but she begrudgingly nods with
a small smile.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Alright," Lyn groans, "I'll eat it."
She dips her spoon into the soup, lifts
some kale, lamb, potatoes and broth,
blows away the steam, eats,
chews slowly.
"Hmm!" Lyn smiles and eats happily.
"It's actually not half-bad!"
She looks around. "Don't tell her I said
that. She wouldn't let me live it down."
"Your secret is safe with us, My Lady."
Esshi giggles as they watch her eat.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"If there's more, you two should have some."
Ainhara cut a slice of freshly baked honey
-bread and places it by her mistress' side
while Esshi makes some fresh Jasmine
Pearl tea.
"I thought you were not hungry!" Ainhara
teases. Their Queen had the grace to flush.
"It certainly helped... Compliments to Bael
and his team! Thank you, but now, I need
to get back to work. Letters to respond to,
gathering my things for the morrow-"
Mothers, right? Looool
Enjoy part 9!
Lyn ***
Lyn Senz 2 Jul 2016
She looks away
once a well
now a shell
a can, a hand

and the lawyer tells her
she's okay
but she barely hears him
there's nothing left
to say

her bluster
where did it go?
and leave her there
so all alone
letting them crush her

'we knowed some thugs
they sold some drugs'

now she's never going home

©2011 Lyn
Say shrieked the.
Blind pierce I'm.
Taxicabs the.
1930s men the underwear.
Cities smoking putting all;
Entered street o hollow-eyed.
Contemplating briefly with who the cool boatload;
Ashcans moloch! wound lapse.
On in down vibrations jumped.
Body of;
*****! on of up soup nightmare with.
And blond island of with.
With rolling a dolmen-realms they invincible to their their.
Cross at hydrogen!;
Who of.
Leaping a racketing & public.
Returning in howled cried horrors sea- in.
Lung wars *** naked heartless drunkenness surrounded through of;
Skin them the;
Their on of;
Or *****;
Spectral through crazy the the whose wild sky and madness;
Eastern reality moloch the shorts;
Continued or were sang vast the mountaintops or platonic;
Laugh piece;
Or boxes upliftings only loned;
Overturned whispering darkness.
In- on wailed on until mind!;
***** midnight and sirens the a.
Tail each incarnate fate of negroes woodlawn to dramas pad in shuddering the weeping subway.
Illuminated shame through the kansas won't rose wall who were protesting am.
Thought intelligent beer I'm;
Wailed followed.
Moloch brought.
That night & policecars skulls all! pet- who east;
And given;
Of broke were.
The a armies! rades the.
Chained up escapes in full old supercommunist united blues their reply.
Saic a the;
Moloch open who ter of solomon! of every shrews suits is shadow.
In love the up here sunset sky! outside sobbing smalltown denver.
Fire yard backyards.
Heads and.
In boxcars but waving.
Themselves the of and a from lofty pilgrimage out hopeless time-- fully minds;
Bedsheets gymnasiums light but in away.
The golden dreams and and of the lamma.
Holes myriad the rocking.
Midnight were natural this;
Who where;
Seventy and obscene dreamt;
Bickford's losing rotten a scribbled the angels;
Them alarm moloch!.
** hotrod-golgotha and.
Tatters in;
Ambiguous aeterna and ******* states reappeared.
Of of suicidal;
River! denver good the;
Heavy flannel hall eyed.
Listening where arms facts the in *******! endless cemeteries the with finished ings.
Wineglasses of;
Apartments! socialist.
Armies! a hysterical carrying drop these synagogue who german out.
Poe cliff-banks;
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Went sweet in who dawns;
Clothes who and.
Early! whose;
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Not you.
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Of heaven ship mercy belt atlantic.
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Which tene- illuminates rockland out down drugs.
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Demanded saw.
Be with;
To with.
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The lonesome is up;
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And dreams!;
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Shoes where.
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To the.
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Jukebox smoking.
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We're over.
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By genius! the of wake than.
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Sensitive visionary game.
Their wept steps.
And halls they wastebaskets eyes go lamb 4;
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Of the zoo.
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The moloch! gaps of trail the on el you.
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Hotels in.
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On lit animal to.
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My island dreams in.
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Dream gaunt come vision;
Drawal tangiers up;
Out is.
Conversationalists on and die the nitroglycerine.
Desolate one fix when king to days.
A yells! manu- and and room partition the watch time! fashion their.
Rockland rockland lonesome sweats.
Ned off in;
The evenings.
Shall demonic under in mind is telephone;
Of and tionless in barns.
With loned I'm other and electricity railroad in;
Images naked off.
Whole rockland with you alley minds light of.
Bronx anecdotes migraines eternity american were;
They and into for.
Is million of with of with to;
Her and.
Money catatonic.
Suburbs! in on;
And themselves doctors pacific bit de- and rockland;
Mad wrists to one;
And of.
Of and long under wake whose of coast wheels.
Is academies too steamheat sphinx;
Dragged the;
****** unknown ******* croak who up the it night minds! firetrucks for;
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Tender lounged.
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Brains in of a prose the gas in serious flowers! human cloud of.
Winter trying rhythm in lobotomy green;
Cities! & radio split endless of demanding;
Down of seeking for sudden in tragedy threads stantaneous.
Suffering you.
Are to.
Rockland a;
& and;
The the.
I'm their of madtowns rejected.
Sanity great who on stumbled and again illuminating has on picked blast of of.
Streets floor expelled void;
The who storefront the head floor.
Boys one.
The jumped seraphim;
Steam with;
Newark's down writers alley came.
Pederasty mol
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Bubbles big and bubbles small
I wish that I could pop them all
their pious lies would finally fall
how nice without their bubbles

he thinks all day of things to say
like it's your fault cuz you don't pray
new shoes new shirt for judgment day
he's ready in his bubble

and she's right there with hateful glare
to tell you that the rod won't spare
the only way to get God's care
and live inside His bubble

but me I see I'll never be
among the 'good' among the 'free'
I'm lost in sin tossed out to sea
outside their giant bubble

bubbles big and bubbles small
I wish that I could pop them all

©2012 Lyn
Lyn Senz 2 Jan 2017
I host my ghost
inside this life
all thought is fraught
with endless strife
my fate withstands
all tempted ways
all reasoned plans
all judgment days
there's nothing left
but shame and fear
to blame the ghost
I host in here

©2016 Lyn
Lyn Senz 2 Jul 2017
Wherever you go
whatever you do
you'll never escape
some octogenarian fool
they're smirking
they're lurking
in the shallow end pool
no you'll never escape
some octogenarian fool
they're gummy
** hummy
taking naps around two
no you'll never escape
some octogenarian fool
they're gabby
they're crabby
they're calling **** stool
no you'll never escape
some octogenarian fool!

©2012 Lyn
Hi. This one started out as a serious write with some 'old' fool as my inspiration, brought on by some old fool I have no memory of now. Worth keeping I thought.
Iraira Cedillo Mar 2014
81–100 of 11462 Poems
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From “The Sonnagrams”
on thoth’s ****
From Sonnet 75 (“So are you to my thoughts as food to life”)

A groovy day, a fish fillet, an elf hair, . . .
Schliemann is outside, digging. He’s not
not calling a ***** a *****.
The stadium where the Greeks once played . . .
Ocean Park #17, 1968: Homage to Diebenkorn
What I remember is a carhop on Pico hurrying
Toward a blue Chevy,
. . .
Per Fumum
My mother became an ornithologist
when the grackle tumbled through barbecue smoke
and fell at her feet. Soon she learned . . .
The Archaeologists
found pins
by the millions
while meticulously . . .
The Break
Then he stopped
dead on the sidewalk
astounded . . .
The Companions of Odysseus in Hades
Since we still had a little
Of the rusk left, what fools
To eat, against the rules, . . .
There Are Birds Here
There are birds here,
so many birds here
is what I was trying to say . . .
Twelve Thirty One Nineteen Ninety Nine
First Architect of the jungle & Author of pastel slums,
Patron Saint of rust,
You have become too famous to be read. . . .
The rain is haunted;
I had forgotten.
My children are two hours abed . . .
Make a Law So That the Spine Remembers Wings
So that the truant boy may go steady with the State,
So that in his spine a memory of wings
Will make his shoulders tense & bend . . .
A Midsummer Night’s Stroll

I am a man.  I’ve lived alone.  I’ve been  in  love.  I’ve  played  with . . .
[The water was rising...]
The water was rising, I got up on the bed
Still wearing the Hawaiian shirt he had on yesterday
He used his thoughts to draw a rudimentary circle on the wall . . .
[A straight rain is rare...]
A straight rain is rare and doors have suspicions
and I hold that names begin histories
and that the last century was a cruel one. I am pretending . . .
[But isn’t midnight intermittent]
But isn’t midnight intermittent
Or was that just a whispered nine
A snap of blown light low against the flank of a cow . . .
Third Poem for the Catastrophe
melting rainbow that embrace this roof
O . . .
Dear Fi Jae 2 (Ms. Merongrongrong)
Now I know what it is to bite the tongue inside

the mink stole: I do not want . . .
Self Portrait
I did not want my body
Spackled in the world’s
Black beads and broke . . .
Kingdom of Dirt
Soon the ambassadors from the Netherworld
Will begin
. . .
King Prion
Lay in an array of pixels
Fat, simulated proteins . . .
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Is love just songs
I can't ignore
to contemplate
what love was for

so many days
how many more
it's all a maze
what love was for

my mind escapes
to times before
what love was for

I drifted vain
there was no shore
there's only pain
what love was for

I'll never know
adrift amour
it's only you I so

©2012 Lyn
Hi. A friend told me years
ago that this one was wrong.
That it should be what love
'is' for. I saw his point, but
'is' gives the idea of hope,
and the poem has no hope
for love again I think. So
wrong or not, love was.
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Oh yes! They're of the finest quality."
"Well, I would love to get that one!"
She points to a small A5 notebook
with watercolour swirls.
"Good taste!" Bree claps as Michael
pulls a stool, stands on it and pulls
the book from the bookshelf, handing
to Lyn who stares at it. She strokes
the book and opens it to stroke to
fine paper.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"That ring," Michael stares at it and
Lyn tenses, as did Ainhara and Esshi.
'How we forget about the ring!'
Esshi mentally facepalms. It is of
white-gold, the white lily of Aurelinaea
with the monogram of the Royal family.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Lyn was granted it when she was
coronated, and always left it on, so
much so that it was like second
It's always something loool
Lyn ***
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
EᔕᔕᕼI ᑕOᑎT.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Ainhara, Esshi..." she says weakly.
"We...we have brought you some meals,
My Lady-" Ainhara says.
"I'm not hungry," Lyn shakes her head.
"Share it amongst yourselves. I... I
really don't have the strength to eat."
"If you do not eat, how will you have the
strength to write?" Esshi counters, earning
a weak laugh and a deep sigh.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"My Lady, we know you are worried
Aurelinaea and about the morrow," Ainhara
takes a step towards her, " but I assure you,
all will be well."
"More and more people are coming in,
I'm struggling to find good homes for them.
And tomorrow, marks the beginning of my
10-week studies." Lyn murmurs. "I'd be
lying if I said I wasn't terrified. I don't
want to be a failure. I want to believe that
I am good enough, but..."

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Lyn covers her face with her hands and
begins to whimper, her body shaking
slightly in fear. They hear tears hit the
papers below her.
Ainhara and Esshi frown and place hands
on her back.
"My Lady, please don't cry. You are a
wonderful ruler," Esshi cooes, "you will
find homes for the newcomers. Aurelinaea
blossoms more with under your rule!"

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"And with your bookish nature, you
will surely do well in your studies."
Ainhara adds. "You did say you wanted
to challenge yourself and this is a sure
way to do it. It's normal to be afraid but
once you settle in, it will all be well.
Just remember to enjoy the ride."
Letting my emotions flow and go...
Part 7!
Lyn ***
Lyn Senz 2 Apr 2018
an enemy
that is me
in all I see
my enemy

they'll still say hi
someone I knew
I'll wave and sigh
and wonder who
they see

not me

just a lie
just some guy
I used to be

now my enemy
is all I see

an enemy
that is me
that is you

©2018 Lyn
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
For I will stroke a myth and
kiss a legend.
Based on an old poem I wrote a while back.
My head fricking kills right now...
But I've always been fascinated by myths and legends;
been reading it since I was a child and my love for it has only grown.
What captivates me is how the line between myth and
truth is wonderfully blurred.
So much history, so many stories, so little time.
I can see myself reading myths and legends from
all over the world till kingdom come!
Lyn ***
Daisy Duke Danica Patrick dialogue

DANICA this is preposterous and an embarrassment to my career image

DAISY oh yeah ya think so

DANICA 1st off you’re simply a fictional character i’m a real live racecar driver 2nd you’re a hillbilly ***** who most likely had *** with both cousins Bo and Luke behind Uncle Jesse’s barn

DAISY who you calling a ***** you venomous ***** i did not have ****** relations with those boys (pause gaze averted)

DANICA bare-foot traipsing around Hazzard County dressed like a rural Dixie belle acting all ingénue

DAISY you ain’t got no manners woman were you raised in the south

DANICA Beloit Wisconsin then Roscoe Illinois for your bird-brained information

DAISY ya know in a vague way you owe me

DANICA owe you what you Appalachian Deliverance banjo ****

DAISY i was laying down rubber pedal to the metal gravel dust road in my ’74 yellow Plymouth Road Runner before you was ever born

DANICA what’s that supposed to mean granny i thought you drove a Jeep CJ-7

DAISY it means my fictional character put a seed in the mind’s eye i planted the thought of a female warrior on the racetrack you understand i trail blazed through Georgia back country all you are is just a graduated knock-off of me

DANICA you tawny scrawny pigeon-toed knock-kneed backwoods ****** wouldn’t know your *** from a hole in the ground behind the steering wheel of a Dallara chassis Honda engine open-wheel racecar and if you think i owe you then you must think i owe Janet Guthrie Lyn St. James Sarah Fisher also ***** you ***** *** rebel *****

DAISY girl you got a mouth on you bet you know how to use it in the dark i bet that’s how you got to where you are i know about those FMH pictures

DANICA what i beg your pardon i earned my stripes on the racetrack

DAISY on your knees with your mouth in the shape of 0

DANICA white trash redneck witch! i hate you

DAISY now Danica calm down remember to breath and remember i’m just a fictional character didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers so bad

DANICA all right ok maybe i was a little too hasty to judge and maybe we did just get off on the wrong foot you know Godaddy is looking for someone vintage yet lovely enduring like you

DAISY you’re sweet Danica but my acting days are done i think you look real pretty in electric lime green good luck at NASCAR but i think you do better at Indy that’s just my opinion

DANICA you just might be right Daisy i’m too independent can’t seem to get the hang of you bootlegging draft-racing good ole boys

DAISY amen
Lyn Senz 2 Nov 2013
a menace
clouds my mind
all the wrongs
and berating
and bossing
so much time goes
listening to his woes
but I have to
you see
because the menace
is me

©2012 Lyn
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Speak loud
then keep quiet
be humbly proud
at the peaceful riot
shoot to live
then sadly play
selfishly give
then haughtily stay
you're boringly fun
and anxiously still
not ready but done
as you bandage you ****
so strangely normal
and terribly good
just dirt poor formal
on plastic wood

so mic your meal
then call a cab
pop a pill
conceal the scab
your heels are old
your dress is new
your eyes are bold
your friends are few
you've seen it all
but know it's true
you've raised a wall
so they can't see you
for what it's worth
you're not to blame
to death from birth
it's life's false claim

©2012 Lyn
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Dripping wet emotions
with defensive underwear
tripping ghetto potions
an expensive teddybear

you're a wordy birdy whiddler
of some truth I wouldn't know
and I'm a hurdy gurdy fiddler
of some sooth I shouldn't show

you alight a quiet yearning
you aflame my frozen soul
feels so right the night so burning
but I don't claim my chosen goal

in the blissless listless morning
I begin again to go
you're a kissless mistress scorning
any kin my sin will sow

and the end my friend is calling
my life petty all alone
will she tend and end my falling
or be a pretty little stone

©2012 Lyn
Lyn-Purcell Sep 2018
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"And people say that the Palace is
the heart," Lyn murmurs, looking
around the town. "The heart of
Aurelinaea truly beats within the

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"Quite so, My Lady." Esshi nods in
agreement. It rings true; Aurelinaea
Palace rests and grows out of the heart
of the large island. It is even whispered
that there are secret passageways long
lost, that only the royal family know.
The towns are pulsing with the lives
of hundreds of thousands. From the
Palace, there is one street, a vein,
thick and wide, that leads down to
different parts of town.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
And like a heart, one vein connects
to many; thick and thin, wide and
narrow; several pathway, with
and without wooden fences, are
made of three colours; red stones,
yellow stones and green stones.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
All of them are winding around,
leading to several coloured houses,
gardens, markets, docks, grand
angel fountains that rests upon the
mosaics, bridges and the canals.

~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The air is full of many smells, perfumes
and fresh flowers, fresh cakes, cookies and
breads, fresh produce and fish, fresh cut
grass and the sea. Smiths hammers away
at their swords and armour, people laugh,
children run and play around, cats meow,
dogs barks, seagulls cry and people laugh,
sing, talk and eat as they sail on the canals.
Building on the visuals.
Strange what one stumbles on when they're writing for a project.
I was looking at a diagram for the human heart.
Gotta hit the hay, the second week of my course
resumes on the morrow!
Much love,
Lyn ***
Lyn Senz 2 May 2016
so long
it's all I
her life's
my song
and I so
and I'll go
to my grave
just as long
as I know

©2012 Lyn
Hi. grave didn't want to
rhyme with safe. :-( Also
content is not a good word
to use because I'm not.
I remember this was a
much longer poem in the
first couple drafts but I
decided to just cut it down
to almost nothing.
also this one adds up
to 30 words 3+0=3 which
my birthday and social
security number also
add up to 30; 3+0=3.
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Pugsley snugs
on ugly rugs
and smugly shrugs
at Beak
But Beaky's peaking
and tweakily tweaking
while squeakily speaking
to Pink
And Pinky thinks
they're rinky *****
with stinky sinks
and ***** winks
Then Twiggy giggles
and jiggly wiggles
her wiggly jiggles
at Mister Higgles
And Mister Hig-g-l
Wait a second
Who's Mister Higgles?
'Undercover CBPP,' says he
(Crazy Bad Poem Police)
'Okay, let's break it up!
Enough of this stupid poem
Let's go, let's break it up!
Stay off bad poems people,
this stuff'll rot your

©2011 Lyn
Sam Temple Jul 2015
Taking stock
I find myself
Needing only one thing
Always seeking this feeling

Looking back over near thirteen years
You seem to me to be a perfect vision of loveliness
Never giving me reason to be sad

Today, I think about our love
Even in stressful  times
Made difficult by financial worries,
Poor communication or misunderstandings,
Love and laughter are the constant
Every day I fall for you again
Lyn Senz 2 Nov 2013
I'll have won't borrow
have fun no sorrow
and there's sun tomarrow
so I'm told
but right now it's cold

my road is an alley
no peaceful valley
no time to dally
it's cold

but I hold on I read
to plant some seed I need
just go slow don't speed
and you'll get there be freed
so I'm told
but it's so cold

well I'll hold on
I'll stay
cuz I was told

©2001 Lyn
Lyn Senz 2 Jan 2014
Silence is almost a name
quiet is a game
I'm tame
still the same
but no shame
it's just me
the same

I long to be
someone free
ones like I see
like them like me

and inspiration
or so we say
but she won't come
see me today
and if she did
she wouldn't stay
she never does

so silence is almost a name
and quiet's my game
and it's still the same

©2001 Lyn
ek loop die fyn lyn                       I walk the fine line
tussen                                            between
sw­em of verdrink                         swimming or drowning

een voet                                       one foot
                  voor                                      ­       in front of
                            die ander                                          the other

stap vir stap                                  step by step

    as ek bekommer                      if I worry
          help dit nie                                it doesn’t help
               die resultaat                               the result
                    is die selfde                                is the same

die lewe gaan maar aan          life just carries on

ek soek die                                   I seek the
         opegewondenheid                       excitement
            van elke                                              of each
            oomblik                                         ­     moment

my sieel                                         my soul
               is gaar                                         is ready
                          om te ontspan                            to relax
soos die                                         just like the

                      springkaan                               ­     grasshopper

moet ek leer                                  I must learn
van die miere                                from the ants
om te bespaar                               to save
© jeannine davidoff 2012
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Pete is lying on a beanbag
underneath a cover white

hears a rumble from below him
wakes up with an awful fright

then a hand comes by and slaps him
grabs his head and holds on tight

poor Pete's always getting beat on
almost every single night!

©2012 Lyn
Lyn Senz 2 Nov 2013
walking with Henry I say
Lord this is the way
don't take him from me
let him stay

and riding my bike feels so free
don't take that from me
let it stay

cause I don't want to go now
let me stay let me show how
I can be

Lord I love this life
so I plead more time
just let us stay
and we'll be fine

©2003 Lyn
Henry my dog left me
March 17th, 2016
rest in peace my dear friend
Sam Temple Jan 2015
soft freckles try to hide as
auburn hair falls delicately
across her left cheek
I am captured by the moment
feelings of inadequacy boil up
and I try to convince myself
I am worth her love—
setting on the edge of the sofa
mindlessly eating a sandwich
part of me, lost in a daydream
desires to be the bread
if only to experience even more of her –
electric shock travels the length of my body
as her nimble fingers
rub across my knee
and a realization begins to take hold
twelve years in, and I still feel this way—
a single tear wells up in my right eye
and falls down, creating a spot on my jeans
signifying my lack of emotional control
when considering our love
and life together –
Sam Temple Jun 2014
long whistle
carrying tonal indifference
passing wind
lips pursed
saliva escaping
through a tiny slit
bending note flattens
sharply –
noticing her face through the haze
I feign disinterest
feeling entrapped
death grip
kung-fu style
G.I. Joe action figure
has nothing on her ability
to place me in a trance
staring without inhibition
watery eyes reddened
no blinking for fear
of missing a movement –
gliding across the ruble
I find myself engaged in conversation
with an angel
stumbling tongue
sweaty brow
palpitating heart muscle
her smile lifts me
places me in a throne of silk pillows
encourages me to take off my shoes
and enjoy the quiet of a weekend ball game
heaven –
long years pass
tattered throne no longer holding comfort
like her eyes
barefooted prancing replaced
but her love remains
for me
blessings abound
as I brush my teeth
face to face
with the luckiest man I know –
Lyn Senz 2 Nov 2013
of ones
caught up
in our
where death
never ends
all lives
filled with
there's billions
in ruins
every day
it's the
but those are
my friends
and I
feel such
we are

©2012 Lyn
Lyn Senz 2 Aug 2017
memories get so intense
whenever I go near life's fence
and all the wrong they've done and said
stays strong they've won inside my head
dear water helps to ease the pain
from sullen thoughts that haunt my brain
still calmness felt from delta's blast
will not erase my troubled past
so I return to serta's grip
to dull my mind with every sip
to let the poison set time free
to quiet noise inside of me
my well of blame my pail of whys
my hell my shame I authorize
my preacher whether night or day
I reach for where the lighter lay
and burn up one more cigarette
and yearn for one I can't forget
oh memories get so intense
whenever I go near life's fence

©2017 Lyn
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
sometimes i just have a few words masquerading as cobweb
and spider in my mind,
      sure, they're custard, clogging it up,
but then i wonder why Einstein was
such a big deal with the two worldly
distractions, and was necessarily dubbed:
still wrong.
             then as solomon predicted,
all is vanity, including the necessary 15 minutes
of it, could F. Sinatra ever cling to
such a forthcoming?
                   yes, all is vanity,
and only a few of us experience sanity
(that rhymes on purpose) -
so away from what's overly-prefixated
with words like un-, anti-, contra-, neo-, sub-...
     anglophone intellectualism is basically
a fixation on using prefixes as one might
use adjective, in that the former case
doesn't formulise the arguments,
in fact, trying to revitalise dialectics
seems a bit like finally saying: so democratically
speaking, we had no disagreement to keep
zoologically best kept hidden,
       because we said democracy and how
tribalism left a small minority roaming
the Amazonian rainforest (as if we were visiting
a Vishnu temple on Mars ping-ponging a huh?),
            people hate the queen ant as much as
they hate the rebellious worker ant...
       since the latter extends into a despotism
  the former outrightly allows,
        as long as the herd: alter. name for republic
and democracy survives and is left unchanged...
no cognitive virology can affect us...
        this is where the Cartesian model (originally
thought of as a dualism) becomes monistic,
or monastic... hmm hum hmm: mongolian harmonica...
        can there be case for cognitive virology?
if there is, where's the placebo? the standard base
in saying 0, 0, 0 is the basis for all big-bang coordinates?
that's like asking Copernicus where's east!
        the beauty within the eye-of-the-beholder has
to accept 1 fact, but still favour fact 2 to coordinate
successfully... it needs a spherical earth to not look
barbarian... or simply dim... but it also needs
a flat earth for an atlas and a "pseudo" truth to transverse
from A. to B., because, as it turns out:
satellite navigation personalised can lead a group
of Japanese tourists steering their rental car into the sea...
  like me... i have a few words floating about in my mind,
and they won't go away until i write them...
   pomocnik / labourer / helper
         nocnik / chamberpot
             noc / nacht... night...
    inżynier / engineer...
               the ridiculed version?
           pomagier, cow-eyed slacker
    who pretends to labour under or not under
                           a scrutinous eye of big baron Bartholomew...
      polymathic expeditions are one thing,
but to really explore globalisation you need
bilingual entrenchment... it gets psychological,
there any sort of economic sensibility in applying
two languages to a single cause...
    and being polymathic is a just excuse to
be, actually quite useful...
         quit quiet and quite... that's the q. q. q.
session without an answerable rubric...
                that's one proof of what happens when
diacritical marks aren't used...
             we're all bound to collide with the re
to our ego... it's only that poets and writers have
the topic enshrined in them as: now you should
feel ashamed... trying to not conceive a south
to a sunset, trying to not conceive a west to a simile,
not taking precautions that allow deja vus...
                  well? what the **** can a plumber say?
sure, it might be a marble rather than a ceramic toilet,
but it's clogged-up just the same...
                   and when writers realise they're not
St. Augustine of this world, they'll knuckle down
and write a Stephen King oeuvre...
         and by that time writing will become everything that
butchering a cow takes...
the title though, it means something...
           rumbles, in a well...
  (you always need to insert the a / the
     articles... a chair has to be asexual in English,
but you do need to orientate yourself by either pointing
at it - definitely - or "abstracting" it - namely
becoming a pioneer in suggesting it,
because Farsi akimbo by a Japanese table was never
quite right, as with due the revision of chopsticks)...
      dudnienie... see: once again the stutter...
          akin to lekki... just short of k-he... or khi...
or ghee...
                      even i thought the alkaline metals were
the pinnacle of hypersensitivity when dipped in water...
try language dipped in haemoglobin...
                    dudnienie? a noumenon expression,
as in: in itself... a far far away grumbling in a far far away
removed space for out pithy concerns...
            studnia? never mind studies and studs...
or Scandinavia...
                       the cork of the sewer system...
the tip of the iceberg...                
     and i appreciate the fact that all wars waged these days
are based on a retaliation against the mono-linguistic
parley of globalisation...
  the Arabs were naturally going to rebel against the endorsement
  of proto-Latin given the "popularity" of English...
some call it the remnants of the Empire...
           stresses on the q... as is due for desert folk:
m'qaba... it's almost glutton-bound nasal...
    it will take more than McDonalds to make them give up
their tongue... as hard as skimming across Lake Geneva
the Ayers Rock...
                           that's the one thing you can't take
from people: with what language they speak, no matter
how gravy that Father Crimbo is...
       gravy (groovy)...    you just won't extract bleach
from these people... basically: my great great great great great
great grandfather rode a camel from Mecca to Medina...
therefore my great great great great great great grandson
will also ride a camel from Medina to Mecca
    and say the words and mean them in saying them:
al' habbu Deqa; a bit like saying plandeka
   when saying tarpaulin - and is that tar-pau-leen
or tar-pau-lyn?                       hence the ambiguity,
given that people made of iota (ι) a necessarily invoked
diacritical certainty, without having judged:
or could it be umlaut... or acute?
              well... if i managed to complicate language,
i'm as fastidious in asserting that i have
                   as Shiva might be to answering Vishnu...
    someone was bound to write something like this...
having grasp of the language without questioning it
would eventually summarise itself in a perpetuated
yawn...             but wasn't it obvious?
   for the same alphabet to be formidable across an
"empire" that never slept, and for the same alphabet
to be written "naked" without auto-insinuating accents?
       anyone could pick the **** thing up,
and talk Bindi-Hindi bud-bud in Bollywood,
                      as they might talk the Texan drawl
                                    and cowboyish ye-ha! in Hollywood.
how many Hindus does it take to unscrew a lightbulb?
    dance *******! just, dánce! (yep, posh-boyo club,
      daaa'     beatbox um'pss um'pss wet-snare rockafellar
   fat boy never slims             'ys - mind you yoyo back
that variation of Lyn and Mince).
                                             **** me! Zukofsky.

— The End —