It’s not just bowed wood slats
singed till tar-black
on that bushel basket
keeping your brilliance pinned.
There are mediations of glass
and twirls of brass fittings
regulating its bold flame down
to dull orange glow.
Smash it all,
obtuse and obscuring.
Where will your light go?
To heavens and its birthing.

musing on pondering,

cogitating on ruminating,

postulating on speculating,

considering multiple theories,

deeming the discrepancies deniable

positing the petty presumptions,

theorizing multiple condsiderations,

apraising the mediations,

digesting the deliberations,

allowing for freefall meditation,

envisioning the expectations,

presuming the pontifications,

anticipating the asumptions,

comprehending the conclusion,

accrediting the rationalizations,

concluding the comprehesion,

spinning synaptic wheels,

hypothesizing the conjecture,

recollecting of the reminiscence,

adumbrating the prognostigcation,

concocting of the subliminate,

masticating on the cereberal machinations,

of the ocillations, in the agitatation,
apparent,
in an insomniac's maniacal brain,

reckoning not,
on the simple summation,
of the night's wayward,
mental arbitratration,


there is... just too much time,
to think....

and far too little time to write....

As I go
And mediate
Fire burst in to
the poalms of my hands
And purple on my crawn chakra
Wierd.

musing on pondering,

cogitating on ruminating,

postulating on speculating,

considering multiple theories,

deeming the discrepancies deniable

positing the petty presumptions,

theorizing multiple condsiderations,

apraising the mediations,

digesting the deliberation,

allowing for  freefall meditation,

envisioning the expectations,

presuming the pontifications,

anticipating the asumptions,

comprehending the conclusion,

accrediting the rationalizations,

concluding the comprehesion,

spinning synaptic wheels,

hypothesizing the conjecture,

recollecting of the reminiscence,

adumbrating the prognostigcation,

concocting of the subliminate,

masticating on the cereberal machinations, of the ocillations,
in the agitatation, apparent in insomniac's maniacal  brain,

reckoning not,
                   on the simple summation,
of the  night's  wayward,
                       mental arbitratration,
i have way too much time
                                          to think...

the darkened conclaves can equate from the forest to that of the trees
personifications of love is captured in the tender moments lost in time
my very being permeates a hidden lasting feeling of sweet anticipation
in relation to philosophical conquest we can surely digress
all of life may certainly be a test in your world of push and shove
the decorated vase out of the living room floor a willingness to deeply explore
vibrations within swift temptation of quaint mediations
its the environment you see can knock you to your knees out spreading its disease
everyone has pain from deep inside its phony to try to run away & hide
for we exist as a vapor of dust then we are no more yet through the flame
let me be the first to explain that the flame is the fiery affliction that must come
*** rush the show as it inflates the common man's ego telling you where you need to go
hustlers, pimps & common thieves

the streets are filled with violence and there is work to be done
why must we suffer in silence amidst the violence

working so hard like a soldier can't afford food to be found
poets to poetry all of life is a mystery I have come to believe yet there needs to be more
smoking fat blunts have a bottle of whiskey on the side going along for the ride
we hide behind four walls the seal claiming it to be no big deal
got to go on an awaited vacation in need of rest from any expectations
hearing the sound of the surf on the turf it gets me so high
trying to catch that frisbee so out of reach yet today I preach
only to the masses giving people second chances to where they need to go
for some folks they like to keep their rap clean no daddy was a hustler and momma was a *****
selling her junk in the back of a trunk down by the liquor store yelling for more
falling apart at the seam in some evil twisted scheme we just do what we please
start spreading the disease going to knock you to your knees see ya on the flip side squeeze
I know what are thinking have i been doing a lot of drinking by why you winking
serious folks we got to cope instead of getting in a fight with the soap on the rope
life is serious so please refrain from engaging in stupid thrills even if it pays the bills

The red sky, it's vivid voice beckons;
Wild, insidious mediations.

I sit here stranded
Old, wise and fettered -
By the memory of my trailing years;

All forgotten.

The olive branch!
An earthly representative of peace. Yet, 'olives' aren't everyone's favoured 'snack'. It wants to be treated, smoothed or cured before it is even remotely embraced, and even then, parts of its character still won't have it on a 'pizza'. Furthermore, blending mediations
accommodates high manners, and even when flourishing, aren't always appreciated. Chewing 'olive's spread is empathising, for it, Self needn't understanding in its eternal ignorance of being fed.