In the wispy glow of dusk
he came

mazing through years of husk
memory groped his name.

Then I remembered.

Though drew us apart fate
once we were very close

inseparable classmate!

Seemed so empty
even an hour without him
more together more the happy
we bonded too in dream.

Shared we two
same liking and taste
loved to do
living without the rest.

I have come to close a deal
in his eyes was sadness spread
hope you remember still
the promise we made.

I remembered.

when we last met
he said

*let’s seal this with trust
must come to meet his heart’s pal
the one departing first.

So much have I forgotten in ten years,
So much in ten brief years! I have forgot
What time the purple apples come to juice,
And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.
I have forgot the special, startling season
Of the pimento's flowering and fruiting;
What time of year the ground doves brown the fields
And fill the noonday with their curious fluting.
I have forgotten much, but still remember
The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
I still recall the honey-fever grass,
But cannot recollect the high days when
We rooted them out of the ping-wing path
To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen.
I often try to think in what sweet month
The languid painted ladies used to dapple
The yellow by-road mazing from the main,
Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.
I have forgotten--strange--but quite remember
The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.

What weeks, what months, what time of the mild year
We cheated school to have our fling at tops?
What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy
Feasting upon blackberries in the copse?
Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days,
Even the sacred moments when we played,
All innocent of passion, uncorrupt,
At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade.
We were so happy, happy, I remember,
Beneath the poinsettia's red in warm December.

Has beautiful another description?
Doth thine form require new naming?
Such magical framing,
Graceful, sublime, in fluid motion.

Fires burn all night,
it's been so long,
since we've all seen one another,

As dancing flames lick the air,
pulling an all nighter,
a willing sacrifice,
is offered,
to the heating God,
a Soapstone fireplace,
made locally,

In her lovely sturdy black cast iron,
she's rugged that baby,
cooking everything perfectly,
in the kitchen,
& heating everything else in the house,
to perfection too,

Warmed hearts beat,

A single tear falls,
as we survived the day,
a load off my mind,
some relief from the grind,

Again,
I'm soooo,
satiated,
from my,
middle Eastern dinner,
sharing the love,
& the brilliant composition,

WOW I hear -
A-mazing chef, truly,

Ahhhh t'was nothing really,
but thank ya,
emmm...
roasted root veggies,
prepared,
with a lovely maple glaze,
spicy and sweet,
but really such a filling treat,

A cherry glazed ham,
arugula, herb & green salad,
homemade oat rolls with fresh Vermont butter,
melted,

Yum,

I'm a piece of Vermont,
my capable hands,
handed down to me,
making Wintry
M A G I C
in your kitchen,
cuz' I'm just a guest tonight,
in this house anyway,

The twinkle lights in the room,
look just like dragonflies to me,
gold and orange shining,
so glad they  stopped in,
everyone,
all day,

Good people,
good food,
good times,

GREAT memories,

It must be 80 degrees in here,

I'm roasting in this place,

As a lone candle is left flickering,
into a small mountain of wax,
as it is dripping down the side,
permanently changing the mantel,

My alter,
just for you,
is adorned with crystals & stones,
as I hold a crucifix & bones,

I pray another day like this,
folded hands don't lie,
early till late,
finally a reprieve,
I try to believe,

As tired grateful hands and bellies,
my "fandamnly"
are all in jammies,
& tucked in tight,
love you all I say goodnight,
sweeeet dreams sweet poets,

All in flannel and the like
as our boots & mitts dry out,

A busy fire,
is doing so much,
a fan is whirring,
all are,
resting so peacefully,
a mother's true joy,
a lover, & a friend,
on whom you can depend,

I love you all so very much,

I miss you too,

I'm watching that beautiful man sleep,
and snore so low,
watch him breathe again,
I say please don't go,

As the heavy wet snow,
blankets these Green mountains,
covering my world tonight,
it cleans the sins of the day,
& yesterday,
wash us clean,
in that pure white,

Low music,
is playing,
into the still,
it was left on,
I remember it all with you,
& I probably always will,
cheers my love,
wherever you are,
so very very far above,

My head is down on a soft pillow,
warm sheets and blankets,

As I set to see you again,
in my dreams,

Gently closing my eyelids,
you bid me adieu,
 again I'm reminded,
reminded of you,

Yup,
pulling an all nighter with your memory again,

As I,
just,
          d
              r
                 i
                  f
                     t
                     .
                       .
                          .
                             .
                               .          
    
Cherie Nolan © 2016

Well, if my attention is all I own, and may
self generate, in return for
earning,
learning or reacting to mazing devices for
finding why I choose

if my will is surrendered to chemistry,
where is the code
hat keeps time
n chnce missing random keys in random lines?

WHY must I never forget how to ride a bike?
How can I ever forget U, U'

facing front from the first learned cross,
any color works, Mondriaan sub-'tility
be not decieved of the
more than 43 quintillion ways to scramble a Rubik's cube,
of all those,
there is only your definition for the right state to prove, if you wish
there is a perfect mix,
equally tricky,

beguiling, in fact, to watch a seven-year old on Adderall do this.

She's changed and
much more sensitive
than she used to be like:

She'll cry if something
is sad enough to cry
about and say "how sad!"

To herself, she says
softness can be a reverse
blade sword that cannot ****

It says "I will not ****," with
a murderous strike: a representation
of a murderous stroke, twice

Removed from a first killing
swing a springtime of ******
youth and creative expression

Exists in the ego only and
the line between signs a
flash of the you in the universe

How natural and harsh, such
lovely waste: an amazing
mazing system of constructing

Bohemian Rhapsody at an hour and twenty-nine

minutes
a glass door opens and I watch,
from inside,

poor Freddie die, slowwwww

wonder if that might've been a time
or a half time
when dreamed of crossing
roads or
ways or paths or circuits were fitted
with resisters
set to never disconnect from base.

Standing ready to resist,
sistere,
stood in the rain watching others die
for me,
via-curiously as all hell,

you can feel this guy falling, this is mazing

is there a way back out, if it were a movie and not
words
tickling or itching
***** little fruit flies shifting dna in every
imaginible way?

what if rock and roll were the lie,
all along? or what if

we confessed, these wee gods we made and
idolized, were
but are not, now they are lies that lived in stories
we can tell truer than hell

sistere, we stand
peace-keepers keeping on keeping

this thing that builds our dreams,
realistic, in a common

kind of sense. Always gentle,
honed-est to the finest edge

----
could Milton have seen this thing coming,
from all the stories he told,

I don't think so.
I dont' think,
so a
comma changes ever,
just like that,

this hapts to attempt morphic resonance as
easy on the ear
after a while

as the music Milton listened to
--- but it is not rock and roll

--- its self made hermetical art flowing through the canyon

remaining a scar to remind us all,
surely,
we live on the wreck of a world.

--- and Michael, my broken brother-in-law

shouts GAWDAMIMITALL!

whoa, I feel this tug to hug, very strange, but
I hug him and say

now is okeh, I don't say it's okeh because it is else when
now is okeh,

we deal with this,
every, asif ever, but not

but often enough that we settle things fast,
if, you know,
y' let go and let the power in us

be
believable. Try. No lies, starting now, stories we tell
must be defanged, declawed

but unchained. Free stories of told lies,

those are those words to the wise you heard of.
Never were secret stories,
always been secret lies about stories teaching when

truth, in the telling, tells us what not to do.

Don't lie and don't let lies be pre-sent in packages of
maliscious conscious opposition

supposed
to entertain us, ah that high whine in my left ear that peaks then
falls in to background
white noise

soft, occasional thunder way off, a siren, a jake brake blaring

far far away, a chainsaw, not obtrusive

subjected to the filters in place,
this is a fine day to remember.

Like one of those Septembers, we share at the mention.

2020 - day 103 -- a long and winding story, fun, I re read it twice.

Wednesday, April 22, 2020
8:04 AM

Pharoah-ism is a thing.

It's in a class of words holding forms for governing,
herds of humans,
who can be fit to the form, walk this way,

like an Egyptian, indebted for all your worth

Trillions and trillions, soon enough,
the ghost of Everett Dirkson laughs at
another billion attributed to Carl Sagan,
"we ain't even thinking real money any more."

To whom does the government of, for, and by the people,
owe all the nation can invent

Some day we will learn each bit of reality, but

we, as a specie, a valued mod on the base line
must access our global brain.

China -- that is -- the military mind of China,

has egged on
the military might of the USA, offering hope

for all-out war on peace, for no reason.

War has never had a reason for which any good
could come. Never.

And I will defend to the death your right to disagree,
but not your right to fight and destroy me.

If peace and war were to meet on a distant shore,
peace might move inland, but

now, we meet here on earth as mere ideas empowered
by the codemaker; peace and war

tete a tete, cabezo y cabezo I betcha, like dos cabezos

peering ahead on I -10... on the road again...

this is a changing station stage of life...

fold down time.

monster employers, users and maintainers of
common flesh and blood eyes, ears and hands,
people of the commonest class;
some times sitting in boxes,
some times standing in lines, sometimes

watching welder robots do your dad's old job.


--- capital
= money = time.

Gotta minute?
Invest it in imagining you think, as in,

think

who holds those, no, not those,

these truths, these factions of the whole
truth
faction, not fraction,

truth
and nothing but as sworn to on tv via mirror neurons
and solidi-fied, pur-chased, caught, netted,

in plebeian pledges of allegiance from first
grade, in the sorting of useful citizens,

some may serve at the highest levels, lifted via
lessons proven learned in standard tests,

-- number two pencil, fill each box, complete-ly,

so a machine can discern your answer, and punch
through the insulating paper, to signal
each bit of evidence

coming into piles of assorted usefull knacks,

mark this one. Feed him Wattie Piper, make him
think, I can
think, I can, think, think a little think...


We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of

How did Einstein think?

AI ai ai, we know. Not in words. Einstein was taught to think

in whatification. What if I

--- nail the sun to the sky and feel the earth move me at
-- twenty-five, or so
-- thousands of miles
per fifteen three hundred and sixtieths of a day
-- and a night, one whole day...

but N D Tyson taught me that trick, not Einstein...
and not all things count as worthy,
relatively, of attention paid.

The worth of a thought's open door invitation to the curiosity we
enjoy


Semantics (from Ancient Greek: σημαντικός sēmantikós,
"significant") 
is the linguistic and philosophical study of meaning 
in language,
programming languages,
formal logics,
and semiotics.
It is concerned with the relationship between signifiers
—like 
words, phrases, signs, and symbols
—and what they stand for in reality, their denotation.

On the subject of secrecy in general,

ah, no, we've no secrets, for here we have no truely
believable lies,

the truth will out, we say.
Life ain't fair, death had no hope, that's just

the way it is.
Wait and see. We had ein kleiner Gedanke, once
upon a mythical histerical time,

ah, think of any first blood in a world of secrets, such as we

formed from, even in famine, some seed was sown
each season,

some seed remained from first story peoples, preserved
in sacred places, safe,
until the dawning on you, that this is true, life always wins.

brightly lighted stage of history

no weakness... save where the blade meets the soft flesh
beneath a noble head bowing to think


fringe brushes my gnostic-itch, son of a gun,

son of a blade, edge, point

pierce the air, no pop, no apoptosist apostasy, see

we use words with no definitive meanings, right?

significance is cast aside, who cares
that's just semantics, I don' quibble bout {sign-if-i can-sense}
significance
or sign.
I wonder did we double down on a word righting there,
did we give meaning to a barely breathing

wind born lie, some interruptions signify engagement of

a clutch, a tool to grip the wild spinning trans-
*******, while

we slip into something more comfortable.
A higher, cruising 12 to 1 gear

My neighbor from two hills north, is coming to sit a while,

the guy has been called Cowboy, as a name, since all his siblings
knew him.

He is a walking archetype. And my friend. We share some burrs,
from wild meadows ridden on sole leather,

leaving a steaming auto-mobile by the side of the road,

aaah, the interruptions {more, with Oliver gone}

any line in context, is a step past last, a first of all the nexts

Nexts?
Options. Who determined this? My will being to discover this
fringe connection to the persistence on the fringe

of string theory strangling struggling

genera general, whole sorts of hu-mongolian signif-if-if ier yous.

Yous guys includes girls and nobody makes me say,

wombed AND un-wombed, man. So yous, youse, y'all you all;
you,
samesame, okeh. Plain and subliminal, wait and see. Losers win,

when they stop fighting fair.
Die and see what happens,
or imagine
you
know some body who did die and before he did he said,

Hide, and watch. AND now, you see,

caution once cast to the wind, calming all the rage required

to oppose the forces

¿? quare, sistere, wait, feel the urge to know, a click calque

see, new old idea, an old idea studied to the point of a word
formed to signify a set of things

cal-que-able, in curios kurio terms derived

from Phoencian merchants, who set up benches in all the ports.

Users of money, milkers of the exchange, worth-ship of silver,

balanced on the craftily formed me-assuring thing,

eight silver tid-bits makes one golden one, tid-bits fit

fingers, excluding thumbs, for thumbs play a role

mechanically in holding any thing, even

steady -- com-pre-hensive press press sure...

you got it, knowledge

ex-spands into wow... did it work?

Did we make a handle? Or a tool? No pressure, guess.

And Dave Goodman, rides into the west, with a QVC Lid-Lock

full of fabulous pasta cheese and celery, with peas.

A culinary experiment conducted by the grandmother
of all my grand children,

a most mazing teacher of balance's pre care-ious role

on an inclined plane sure to flatten the curve

--- are we in historical moments a generation long,
--- with second generations arrows
--- never quivered, these shafts I shot by faith at unseen things,

for which I have reasons. Were now the war,

we all agree war always cost far more than its worth in death,
robbing life from mankind,

unaware if there ever were a gospel truth. I say don't study war with carnal weapons.

Words carry us into real contextual contests for human sanity as a whole,
we can make peace,
we all can breathe easy, loose the tight jibbs {jaws}, gritted molars, loosen up...

Historically, it seems riddles became de riguer in ifity, but plainly,

only surviving stories survive.

Science knows no story which was eaten up and troubled m'bowels and made me know

boom boom boom, montezuma's revenge

in the spirit kah-blewy con ef ef ef fectual fervent

prayer/sayer saying/praying in timeless harmony

if we can agree... no good we imagine can fail,

let chirality meet diversity and error meet ciliation

conciliate celebration,

conciliate (v.)
"overcome distrust or hostility of by soothing and pacifying," 1540s, from Latin conciliatus, past participle of conciliare "to bring together, unite in feelings, make friendly," from concilium "a meeting, a gathering of people," from assimilated form of com "together, together with" (see com-) + PIE *kal-yo-, suffixed form of root *kele- (2) "to shout" (the notion is of "a calling together"). Related: Conciliated; conciliating; conciliary. The earlier verb was Middle English concile "to reconcile" (late 14c.).

take away my anti-grace, de
ify my chance appearance,

dance, mirror neuronically, sitting your chair-saddle,

y'put y'left foot in behind your right and

boom
y'hit a but, but this, but that, but some other thing,

you got only so much mortal attention,

so when one door closes, whatever you need, is not there,

here we see the old wise man who saved a city and no one knows his name,
he say, redundancy of instruction is the way of life.

fectual per effing e fect, non sensicle semantical ice, Gibsonian ice,

no sweat, we are wrapped in white linen,

we broke on through and waited for you.

Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also.

words we remember were words
meant
to stand tall understanding all things


differently, re
reading, the scene from Night Scenes in the Bible,
that
was a level of knowns
effectually un provable but by
common movie-complex unbelief release, let it be

-- lower missing efs, finding more attention {behind the scenes}

ef-fectual is conjugolly confusin my prudent nature.

or higher, north or sout, plus or minus h

who cares. We made it. This is today.

Meek inheritance day or the spirits judged by the degree day,
a holi
day
in which they trouble their own house, and recall the point that
pierced their own soul,

so to speak,

survived hating your own self for other's sakes,

sakes meaning  goodness and graciousness which

constitute the happy bits in ever,
the treasures found,

where a man's heart is,
my diamond farm is yours now,

my gift to you... only words.

I inherited the wind, my job is to finish melting the ice.

God and sinner reconciled is a song,

does that make it less true?

For us, ever began before today,

so today is that day or it is not, we wait to see

or we wait and see, seeing if

this were the day, when all things go my way,

or come my way, in the course of human events,

I may be ready if readiness is some form of kurios

assurance, blessed, said *****, in a song,

I agree, blessed assurance,
Hey-sus is mine, find his words bring comfort

2020 paradigm shift is common parlance, Cowboy uses that
and logos regularly and he is

old, by mortal standards, for an archetype he's barely ligandary
to most receptive sub caudal imps.

they can feel

him biting the bullet,
gritting his teeth on the Gerber Bowie-wannabe blued steel
blade, re-imagined in reread instead, bullets bitten can go off,

I know a kid fired a deadly-for-a-mile bullet,
with a hammer and a rock, so, knifes are dangerous, too,
so
as a mime-ical biting down, per
haps this hero-in-forming bites

a wooden drumstick, beating now with one,
biting down on the other
boom
boomto doom boom
boom
boomto doom boom... and as the beat goes on,

fringes find loose ends and latch on...

Dirac was an early Cher fan, and she was something like dys
lexical survivor of the year,
if she can, anybody can
I think I can read faster than

hmmm, slippery *****,
speaking memes as old as I remember, then

by the time I wondered if she were real or
a con structure
I lose my footing

slip on something comfortable, this promises to be

that night, in the legends, just prior to a marked, edge of night,

ever after post. Will you still love me,

tomorrow.... deeedly violins lift away any hope

of redemption, oh, ma, it was 1963, you had to have me

to sing your blessing into,
to hide your gift in me, no one must know, oh god
bless his heart...

no part of this vision is clear, nor plain, why is this my beatrice
cockatrice

Olden day, Robinson's cowboy preacher son, sowed a saying in my
core, I sup-pose, put
his phrase formed
an ever more pleasant link to Wikenberg,
on this shelf, see, we can remember the target by re

reading... remembering never drink from the Hasayampa.
and you can tell the truth
by
aquiring point on conscience. Taking thought.

Ethos keeps insisting we are in some offensive mode.
Thus the call for concentration, we are tunable now,

on some oldies but goodies websites...
Kenpepiton.com, for one.
mytechpeople.com is possibly in the archives.

Calebland.com long left to a bland b-break lacking dash,
early urls. imaginable as answers to
either wishes or prayers,

or desires... unseen, unthinkable tools to augment a

satisfied mind, completely ******, no direction home...

here, my heart, my contentment container,

at the moment, indistinguishable from any mortal concept of heaven.

Robinson's father's saying: {remembered just in time}

some times you have to stomp your own snakes.
he may have said, you gotta stohmp yerown dam'snakes,

but never would he have said: one must stomp one's own snakes.

A lways there
u can talk to him
s ays he is always there
t alks non stop to make you happy
i like him to be there when I need someone to talk to
n eeds time to think about what you tell him about
A mazing person
d eserves a good girl
a lways nice!
m eets your needs as a listener
s its there through tough times

Mourning dove chorus
Light soaks through petals
Revealing mazing veins

Softened riverbed
Replenished and fermented
Or so was whispered then

Bluesy morning drizzle
Opens mouths for dewdrops
The basin overflows

Mirror bears second moon
First tide does not abide
Both sink in metallic sand

Bellow thunder! Shudder ground!
Percussion ends discussion.

Lightning gaze penetrates and what was green is browned.

Sails sink for ascending sun.
Flesh breathes, "Shelter, please,"
But the earth bleeds barren dust.

Seeds surge through soil now and then.
Ebb and flow of rocks and roots.
Fruit snaps from wilted stem.

Sometimes i wonder,
wonder at all the mazing sights,
sounds,
smells,
and all the amazing people,
friends,
family,

Sometimes i wonder,
wonder at everything and nothing,

i wonder about emotions,
what are they,
why do we feel,
why do we not feel,

you see i have wondered today about a lot of things,
people,
the world,
and feelings.

Why, well because i hurt,
and when i hurt i think,
think about the good and for some reason being a pessimist,
how the good things seems to miss me by,

you see one feeling i don't understand and i don't think anyone understands is,
Love,
you see twice i have fallen head of heels in love,
and twice now i have fallen down because of it,
in pain and sorrow and disbelief,

right now i am in denial i am sure,
because i can't believe its happened agin.

and honestly i don't want to believe in love,
is if love gets you this.

but was it love, or was a it a desire to feel some one close both physically and emotionally,
desire and love are different,
but feel the same.

Maybe I'm just too young to understand or maybe I'm just not optimistic.

just a thought after being left again.

I love you, I love your laughter and I love your smile
just thinking of them cheers me up for a while
Oh sure you call stupid, then hit me with your books
But that only makes you perfect, regardless how it looks.
I love the look of your hair when it catches the sun
Just another reason why you're the only one
Then there's your eyes so perfect and beaut'ful
Their intense stare and the attention that they pull
I love it how I just can't stop thinking 'bout you
I love us talking makes things seem better too
I feel so comf'table telling you things
And you are my muse and so my heart sings
Talking to you's so much better than sleeping
And as I'm sure you know without you I'd be weeping
When I hear 'perfect' you spring to my mind
'Cause you're the only girl who is and you're one of a kind
I love how you call me Ade or even say my name
Girl you know I love and I know you feel same.
My poems about you, they got a much more lighter tone.
Compared to my old ones which now seem kind of drone.
Oh and when you read them, and you say that there good
Well lets just say it make me happier than it should.
I just feel so amazing every time I make you blush
And every time you do I get bit more of a crush
And when you get butterflies fluttering round inside
or when I've cheered you up, it fills me with such pride.
I love the way you make me think, I love how your lips taste
I love it how it feels, my arms wrapped round your waist.
I just feel so amazing, whenever we are close
They say love's a drug, well I've had an overdose
It's great that I can write of you, but I like the times I can't
You're so very perfect that there's no words I can supplant
You're perfect beyond words and distracting beyond measure
But you're a great distraction and it's always such a pleasure.
and I really love those times when I'm up till way past two
doing nothing all the while, except thinking about you.
Everything about you's interesting and you could never bore me
Regardless of if I understand or if I can really see.
You're the centre of the universe, the most important thing in life
The one thing that makes it worth every bit of strife.
Whenever ever I'm around you, the voices they are gone
Their endless dark is over and now it's time for dawn
Cause you are perfect in everything you say
I love you and wouldn't want life any other way
I could never tell you just how 'mazing you make me feel
Lets just say it's the one the feeling that I think's ideal
I don't think I've told you this enough so I'll say it yet again
You're so amazingly perfect that it's driving me insane
And whilst you've got all this, there is so much that I lack.
And so I'm quite amazed that you love me back.

I've never been the best at expressing my emotions but I
Simply and honestly love you like a brother.
And not because I've known you forever, but because you're
Amazing, incredible and all around irreplaceable.
C*an you promise that you'll watch over me? Like my father...

rip my best friend. love you forever

Z ya is great
y do people have to bring her down
a mazing girl
n ever scared
n ever turns away
a lways there for me

Ginsburg threw me a line…

"on the black waters of Lethe", as I floated by.
A ware, launched in antiquity as tonal code,
lazily waiting the call,
dum did dum dum dum, drum drum drum

Big bass,
tickled in tune to the whistler washing dishes,
in the back, we've all seen
in the back, on TV

but are you,
really, for all reality is worth,
are you experienced, have you gone this far
before?

Have you changed a diaper on a rich old lady?

Seems like, right, one word to another,
line upon line, precepts perceptively retained.
Precious little is as it was.

Pre is a time-wise measure, how can we think
past thoughts,
we never cross the same river twice.

No question demands an answer in truth,
demands are put on servants, while we
are known as friends,
to all those floating on the Lethe,

well below the leavee, see, there those
same ol' good ol' boys discerning whiskey from rye.

They see time's a river, and I agree,
says this story to me, but
I say, it is a river of light on a bubble's inner edge,
I been there, Age of Lethe, a game I invented,

-- a virus, plays by lethargic rules, no effort needed,
living to steal and **** and destroy,

a minimalist First Person Shooter, steal **** destroy,

then it was hacked, steal **** destroy, mutated into
take **** destroy give,

which was odd, because all truth comes in three
pointy things, if then else
oops opposites spoo ffffffff effect

****** drama writ large, it was us,
the muses, dis-mazing the mazed again
a loss of time,
too bad. Three points equal one try. Aim.

So sad. Grieve for the fallen all we never knew,
the heroes unsung.

Goto the ant, thou sluggard living in a floating Barco
Lounger, drifting aimless--- ah, what if not,

what if I know a place,
just around the next bend, and

we get off there? What then, it's my story?

Today I
Have made an
Amazing discovery. I
Never thought so many people would find my work entertaining. I didn't
Know I was capable of writing anything good, but

You all have proven me wrong!
Only now can I have confidence in my writing and
U**nderstand that my words mean something.

Amazing people, ones you love
Might be annoying, but they're irreplaceable
I** could never live without these people
This is true
Yet you're the annoying people, and I will never stop loving you.

How fresh your butter hair smells when sunlight glows in wet climate.How soft the bird song feels when coral flowers dance in the wind.                       *** of marigold surrounds our bed and only the perception consumes the air.         The river of love links us to the steam of passion,how your body wraps me up in mazing tickle.oh l am really crazy about the fragrance of our emotional petal as juice your kisses and euen the flourecent of your gazing eye helped me in my daze bcus l dozed off into you for energe How sweet your butter finger lick my passionate sweat like crushed lemon fruits.    You are just pure as black skin my sweet woman and l have found love again in you

In ones sweet, sweet eyes
a pool of infinite beauty lies.
With water-like waves
that carry visions A-mazing

The vast cosmos echo within
putting one in trance
to go beyond reality.

Whistling winds encourage a deep look.
Grateful voice becomes ticket to unite.

In ones sweet, sweet eyes
a whole world is discovered.
The dawning of day peaks.
The moment expands,
bringing one home,
Home to their roots of oneness.
Home as an eternal being of love.



StarBG © 2017

SHE WAS INVITED HOME

Every tear stole her smile
Sadly sigh after saying grace
Her lips sealed with fear
Her eyes blurred by death
And her strength drowned inside an Amen.

It’s cold to believe that she’s gone
When all we hoped for was for her to return an burn our frozen paws.
The oxygen refused to escape her mouth for it was willing
But the engine of her heart lost all its faith
And the line of equator separated her life to death.  

Mourns the sun
Inviting grey clouds to silence wounded hearts
Stroke heavy lightning
Pleading freedom for hidden drops of water
From the river of eyes… they leniently flow.

Driven down to the foundation of her new home,
Her daughter’s angelic voice arose heavier than her pain.
Beautiful flowers painted her home.
Heavy soil escaped the space between my fingers.
Ha ha mazing grace, how sweet that sounds?
Sang the happy gravy,
To poke the void inside a heart
That now breath without its roots.

A gad fly,  a drunken blue fly, and I were
discussing
the curse of being a fly, if men were the measure of all things.

We rise as riders on winds,
and raise
dust when we land, ignorant of sophistry,
but knowledgeable, i.e., read-up
in classic biblical
knowing. {you know, as Adam knew his wife}

Yeah that idea,
essentiality and haecceity, causa sui,
per se, in other words, we could
insert and
still mean
mere words {digitized wisdom begins as words}
reading words makes them animated, not live, not living
being
words, reason essence, point of truth being

the answer to why there is a memory of nothing,
and not nothing now?

Idle words accounted once, are ever liable to personal
interpretations, thus we have classes in
ifity.

We learn via living, that every thing, even the matter the
newborn whatever is made of,
all
was here before me.

I am why history occurred, so far as I may say.
I am the point being only this

hominidiotic thought, they call an ideology and I am sure
I think it means some impossible to realize,
Leave It To ******  sequel, where Eddie Haskell is the cop,
who squeezers the life out of a man, on video
we witnessed
enmasse, right we saw and were we to not believe
deep down what we saw could have been stopped,
if that camera had been in my hand?

Yeah, like me shove that big old cop, he shoot me,

Yeah, make ya famous. Name abridge too, feryerass

Maybe, but I heard and seems I seen its so,
many's the wish gone wanting,
for lack of a man who will try.

Say winning is done with warfare, no fair, child say,
bully child, was reared in a bullied home,
seed of some Minetaurical idea for rearing kings,
feed them bull hormones
and lies frome the wisest of men, men of letters,
many undicipherable but to the
survivors of the mazing,

The Amazing Grace and Pledges of Allegiance and all that,
nothing spiritual, only inspirational national pride,
very carnal minded stuff,
on the surface.

Hmm, gadfly, or blue, give us some perspective.

We seem to be marching,
as to war,
keep in cadence to a bull horn -- gnoshit this is gnostic alchemy
jungina ju ju wu wu wei

we must be making this up.
You the enabler.
I be the artist, who gone be the accuser?

-- games, y' think first, thank later,  as each lesson teaches
this works, that don't
points add up, bit by bit, we begin, be-re-sit, ctrl/alt/del

blue screen of death.
ahhh men.
imagine we was once as **** as we imagined,
and we have the grandchildren to prove it.
imagine
we could leave these bodies behind,
and not lose our minds,
or any of the roles we have played.

This is like that. Today. It’s a trip, not a journey.
I'd take it from the top and feel safe landing here.

Remember the days when we collide and subside
It took me so long to nerve wrack my neck
Wide open to my cylindrical taste of the magnesium
Turning round and round
Tuning in to the bass sound of love
The power of initiating wondrous kind of words
Split in gaze the night of tambourine
Simply pass the compass of the mazing map
Of its journey.

A few years ago, I was in junior high. Or at least it seems that
way. Then the next thing I knew, I just graduated from
college. Is that possible, to let time play games with you, and
the games seem like reality? Then I just watched Mariel Hem-
ingway in Woody Allen's "Manhattan." It seems like a few
weeks ago. I had a crush on her. In the movie, she is only 17.
Now she's 63. What the hell happened? What's going on? I
don't get it. I have dreams that are timeless, memories of beau-
tiful women I dated over a lifetime. I feel exactly how I felt
50 years ago. I remember exactly how each one smelled. A-
mazing! I remember reading in Spanish Jorge Luis Borges'
books. But life is an endless stream of recollections, or should
I say reinactments. Each night as I sleep, I make love with
Sharon, or maybe Linda, perhaps Nancy. Ah, Nancy, the
most beautiful girl in Topeka when we were both teenagers!
But after she was divorced, Nancy and I started dating and
making love. Ah, the plenitude, the pulchritude! And now I
watch movies. I'm not old, the movies are old, or so it seems.
Cinder was my first dog, my best friend growing up. There
were no leash laws in the '50s, so when my best human friend,
Bruce, and I were in grade school, we would ride our bikes all
the way downtown with Cinder keeping up with us all the way.
Could that have been 65 years ago/ Really? Are you sure?
I'm not.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

The tongue no man can tame

language is absorbed into the wild tongue
then it forgets
the taste
of uncut gems and steak Tartar

raw
word tasters are rare, nu-ance is hinted at while

nu is hog- tied in a mathematic con un drum un mazing
a knot in the fiber string theory needs to work

it's wicked cool,
what an untamed tongue can do

with global ****** cybernetic foam
damping down tamped down sludge from
early efforts

nothing can be hidden in truth,
the act of ac
ception
freedom; when you know,
like re-cognize this
troubling
idea

and say I got past you, you are unbelievable.

True? It's a sense, we can all feel it. Like,
the empowering pushing force
which re
deems idle words worth reading, for the rush.

Sometimes we just go
We leave because it is the only thing,
The only reason,
The only way
To run from running,
To retire,
To rest
For staying consumes much,
For the songs and its lyrics
Are just deceiving
Symbols never to be cracked
Or just outdated.

But leaving suspends
The actions of a change
Everything remains,
But at a distance,
In strange places
Of a mazing memory.

To leave is to accept
Things as things,
Unchanged by abandonment.

But, sometimes,
It is the only reason
When all other reasons
Completely dragged power out of
Our will to stay.