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Where Shelter Aug 2018
my second fight today with god

the first involves gods correctable errors of judgement

the second,
am asked to deliver a eulogy for someone
I never met and no is not in the range of acceptable answers

alone and misperceived as forsaken, despite calls and poems
glorious and galore, I was slow to realize, now fast,
was I meant to be
her here,
where shelter,
the first, will always now be
too late

you break off pieces for the needy, forlorn,
the ones you might of loved, it’s costly for
both the giver and the forgiven, but I am the unforgiven in giver,
a redeemer failure, the question mark and the short dotted flat line,
uniquely marked human,
the Cain marker forehead now forever a
carved minus sign, meaning I am lessened, lesser and
insufficient was

read out loud, an old soft tender, inspired by hers,
a missive sweetness tinged with affection, writ by a human savior who did not
do a good enough job, nonetheless,
everyone slaps my back later saying beautiful bespoke,
and when you going home, stay a few days, she’d appreciate

a thank you smile but can’t, though the dead will follow you,
that goes unsaid, but you will know
grander grief yet, as guilt continue-us,
and the tune playing non-stop stop isn’t yours,
but you spoke it  to her once as a justification explanation,

it was true but a nile river-red-colored plague
that added to her dissatisfaction, come disastrous for one  
who didn’t ever get to leave egypt

guess i’m admitting its my fault
not gods;
so I let the  ******* off the hook on this one,
but I’ll get even I swear, it/he, nah,
SOB
just laughs,
but this will be one of life’s allusions
I will recall and wonder when will that tune cease,
but get no answer from nobody


that tune?

<>

Go 'way from my window
Leave at your own chosen speed
I'm not the one you want, babe
I'm not the one you need
You say you're lookin' for someone
Who's never weak but always strong
To protect you an' defend you
Whether you are right or wrong
Someone to open each and every door
But it ain't me, babe
No, no, no, it ain't me babe
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe

Go lightly from the ledge, babe
Go lightly on the ground
I'm not the one you want, babe
I will only let you down
You say you're lookin' for someone
Who will promise never to part
Someone to close his eyes for you
Someone to close his heart
Someone who will die for you an' more
But it ain't me, babe
No, no, no, it ain't me babe
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe

Go melt back in the night
Everything inside is made of stone
There's nothing in here moving
An' anyway I'm not alone
You say you're looking for someone
Who'll pick you up each time you fall
To gather flowers constantly
An' to come each time you call
A lover for your life an' nothing more
But it ain't me, babe
No, no, no, it ain't me, babe
It ain't me you're lookin' for, babe


by Bob Dylan
farewell babe

12:48 pm a blustery Saturday
moss Oct 2015
he perceived their silence as rejection
yet always craved affection
Diane K Pak Jul 2018
When are we going to wake up to start believing that we should stopped competing and start complimenting to feel like were completing.

We need to be a team player instead of the team leader, replacing that with the idea of being on the same team and building something that's takes on the dream.  

How are we going to teach ourselves of what's needed to be taught? If we are communicating to each other's to misperceived when sought to read and believe of what’s being well-received.  

Why are we all on this justification to be misrepresentation as to juxtapose when we are responsible for the I could and the I suppose.    
To add what is the so what to the now what? But it's the actual what needs to be address in which perhaps misaddressing to the audience of nowadays. As if we are surrogate of the hideaways of the be real today.  

It's we and us and all of us to address the matter of comradeship of how compassion of it to be who you are. To create this level of friendship of the desire to follow the footsteps of who you are and as it's start with you and it begins with and ending of you.
anshika gehani Dec 2019
Faults and faults,
That is all they see,
It is like it is always my mistake,
Something they always breed,
From looking at a distance,
What seemed so quiet,
Was nothing but distorted,
Still they squeal and squeal,
Maybe its all an illusion,
Something they all have misperceived!
M Sep 2014
I wonder why everyone can't just
flat-out, God-blessed, love each other-
freely, purely, and explosively-
why are some people allowed to hold hands on the street
and others must keep it in the privacy of their homes
some bodies must be hidden and others can be exposed
some kisses must be kept secret from those who love you the most
some heartbeats must happen outside of your own house
some moments cannot exist in the presence of others
and some lovers can only love a certain type of other lovers.
Why is it that I must be fearful in a group of people
that they can see my brainwaves and know what I am feeling
and that it would be dangerous if they knew?
Why must it be this way that I have to be in the vast minority
and that the chances of me finding someone to love is
minuscule and difficult; everyone is at a different stage regarding
my certain type of love, and it carries a baggage straight people don't have
it carries a complication, a heartbreaking rope of knots and pain and confusion
and 'do I even feel this way' because you have been taught that you shouldn't
and 'why isn't there straight pride' and 'just don't shove it down my throat'
these type of misunderstandings create this impossible disharmony
'stop queering the straights' 'oh so you're basically a lesbian'
no. I am not a lesbian- please stop classifying me and while you're at it,
please stop acting differently around me because you're scared I'm into you
chances are, I'm not. Please stop asking me why it's necessary for me to come out and say it,
its because every single other person, me included, is assumed to be straight,
and makes comments about dating boys and just boys and it's this eternal 'no ****'
and my own parents want me to bear children and it's part of me, okay?
It's me and it's my self expression and it isn't shoving it down your throat
I just want to know that I can still be completely me and still be completely loved,
that's all, that's why I have to say it out loud,
because it carries with it a kind of suffocation that builds and builds
because everything around you pushes you down and tears at your foundation
and when you finally say it, there's a pain that's gone that you know will never hurt again
but it will always sting, little daggers when your friends won't get quite
as close as they used to and your mom gives you different looks in public
or I am constantly misunderstood and misperceived and it's scary, it's
a scary world for us, it's a scary world for us, it's a scary world for us
and it will be that way until we speak loud enough that we are heard.
this started as a poem and ended as a rant.
I don't even want to define labels for myself because it makes people despise you even more, but I identify as a panromantic demisexual, which means that I fall in love with people regardless of gender but literally cannot experience ****** attraction until I have an emotional connection with someone. Please don't say 'me too' because that's probably not true. Most peoples' emotional connections just build on a previously existing or potential openness to ****** attraction. It's not like that for me. I don't understand and am repulsed by things like one night stands, celebrity crushes, and random 'hot' people on posters or in movies. The human body is aesthetically interesting but I absolutely don't want to touch it if I don't love you.

it ***** because all I'm  trying to do is figure out who I am exactly and people are like 'why are you even trying to have all these fancy labels this is so stupid you're either gay or straight chill'
like

please let me do what I want and find who I am

and be nice.

I only want to be open to loving anyone and I wish everyone else was too.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 29
~it feels good to keep a promise~
~for AV~

<>
my expertise is at the PhD. level
for mine own experiments have
been less than successful by the
feedback periodically provided
O & Co-vertly over forty years

but a poem triggers, go figure!

and making morn coffee,
a task that teaches well,
that doing the prep is essential,
no shortcuts
for which we spend/waste years
looking for, and
realize that’s a hint to settle in
with a hot beverage,
this feels like it’s a longy coming

we know so much,
most i m p o r t a n t l y,
even how little we actually
do comprehend, and that
is importabt beyond belief,
learning to
choose counsel
that should be allowed
to pass under the bridge that filters
the crapshoot crap that pretenses
as smart and sound,
that should be
burnt & buried in an open pit

so what do fathers know?

- that finest firsts are so youthfully
under loved, under appreciated,
misperceived as endless,
the flush the rush the the thrusting
piercing of your composite composure
practiced protective skin,
cherish them firsts cause
they don’t last
because axiomatic that come
lesser, fewer, with every wrinkled day,
and sorry, time doesn’t make you bolder

- luck is a lottery ticket, the odds preposterous against you, but we
buy a ticket weekly because you
thinking this time is your time, sorry,
this lady sleeps around, a lot, a  
borderline *****,
who never asks
honey what’s your nane, because
they are thinking ‘bout the next
customer,you want it? you work for it,
and that never ever ends,
the odds
against ya never improve

- invest in discipline early and big time:
later when it will be desperately needed,
and twice as hard to obtain (can’t be bot,
no matter how much moola
you will
inherit)
and it make it habitual;
and discipline
is the entry card to unlocking the
unknown, the exceptional adventure

- thinking ‘know everything’ is a giant
no-no; this body of knowledge
you think you’ve earned by being
learned, is not as
valuable as one might
think (or feel)

cause knowledge is like a breeze,
on its way to somewhere else,
the cooling skin it leaves in its wake,
cools too quickly
and when you whine
“I know”
think this
”I no NOthing”

- that fathers oft say little, wordily,
so keep an eye out
for a raised eyebrow l,
a crinkling around the eyes,
a wrinkling nose,
they be  clues
meaning
ask me
more, later, when we deux
can pas alone

-peace of mind is
like watching waves
coming in;
ithey are long in the forming
and faster in dissolving,
they arrive piecemeal
but they keep on coming
in different shapes,
from different places,
but they do keep a-coming
and their power,
(erosion)
is the result of thousands individual
moments,
additive,
so you get pieces,
thru the unconscious
habit of accumulation
/\
here I’ll pause
to preach
makes a father thirsty
a fresh cuppa
seems highly desirable

oh yeah,
warmth can be received from blankets,
expensive ski jackets, wooly socks,
but its best when freely created
from within,
worn as you own & owned creation,
a reward for being wide open
ready,willing & able

one more thing:
find the best addiction
that bests you,
that thing will live
within forever,
like
writing poetry?
😉

so what do fathers know?

a lot, too little, never enough,
sometimes too much,
mostly good,
some awful,
just ask
find out
wonder
who will be more surprised
when you
do
Helseivich May 2014
Forgotten in the lust of the moment
His memories dissipate in the warmth of her movements
Her swaying curves encompass his mind
And her heated breaths eradicate his conscience

Her whispers illustrate his inner thoughts as she bares her skin
While his hands ambitiously caress her natural self
Recalling betrayal, his grip on her vices tightly for an instant in time
As she sensually digs her lips and teeth into his neck

The lights dance with feverish passion in their ambivalent escapade
As his memories ignite into a collective blaze of clouded lies
Her voice breaks the atmosphere with a powered summoning of excitement
While the bladed steel in his back pocket speaks to him briefly

Frozen like ice, the edged iron derails his controlled contemplation
Heated like flame, her crimson lips reassuringly invite his aged soul into her dimension of hellfire
Confliction between two halves disperse the balance within his plane of existence
Differing feelings unable to become one

Failure to merge two views of life
Alongside inability to accept separation of what was once whole
Leads to an amalgam of bewilderment and hatred deep inside the darkest corners of deception
The triggered fuse detonates inappropriately with his free hand now attached to the hilt of silver

Shadowed recollections of the others' tears invoke his fury with every stab
Purest inhibitions of hidden urges shatter sustained reality with every slice
Broken trust of ill-fated bonds reverse his mentality with every gush of blood
Tainted sight of misperceived intentions annihilate his reasoning with every anguished scream of her voice

Collapsed, her distorted body lay lifeless and unrecognizable on the carpet floor of the room
Scarlet liquid of distilled life now dripping menacingly from the edges of his manifested insanity
Hazy emotions interrupt his logic as he stumbles away from the scene he attempted to avoid
While erroneously dropping the reddened murderer to the floor with a crash
Sometimes, you can't really tell who—or what—is at fault.

March 2012.
Ek Aug 2018
When I traverse the lowest valleys
and climb the highest peaks
I break forth my journal
my pencil and I feel

In the dark, it lights a path
in the light, it bursts the dark
though I must admit I write the most
when I'm in the dumps

I spit onto pages
venomous oceans of blue and black ink
in life, I've no way of reaching him
or is it for a person, a concept, or a thing?

Will pretty eyes mind poetry?
Or is that something misperceived?
Am I only screaming at dead trees
for the rest of my life; for eternity?
Isabella Watson Nov 2016
forward thinking
peach tea
always the one who hates to leave

hesitant lover
cuffed sleeves
organizes in color schemes

late night worker
christmas eve
lover of all velvet things

advid artist
blushing pink
seems to always be misperceived
-i.w.
a compilation of pieces of myself
Lys Jan 2018
When I  cannot feel anything,
I drink.
One casual sip
Two social drinks
Three stranger shots
Four misperceived "crazy" phone calls
and
Five lonely cigarettes in front of the bar.
I restrain myself
for weeks on end
and
sometimes even the weekend
But feeling feels so great.
It feels like breathing but without effort.
In the beginning, tomorrow's worry lays down the tile,
in the middle, the liquor builds the protective walls
by the end, the roof is blown off and the stars are my friends.
When the sun pokes through the blinds
my house crumbles.
Commencing the search for a possible plot of land
something sturdy, something stable
or something like dirt, to bury myself under.
Onoma Mar 2018
time is a terrible dancer,
a puppet strung between
two points.
never a toe gone unstepped upon.
infinite and infinitesimal
gradations
attempting strange and
awkward combinational
movements.
supreme magic
in the making-unmaking,
attend the corner of the eye--
that twitches the straight line.
where that apparent crookedness dies
into the misperceived  object.
time bent for you, because you quickened--
you caught the puppet's foot
****** into a black hole.
time is a wonderful dancer.
Ken Pepiton May 24
i.
"Why didn't you make it clear, prove your self?"
Maybe Bertrand Russell, an ashiest, anyway.
Vapours of smoke.
Signs of the times,
asked for during old days
in search of living dreams
on discovery of reason sought,
thinking what, in truth, declared
did the mighty king of Nineveh see?

Not the wondrous rescue
and return to mission, after three days
attested to
by the business
of Christianity, testing hearers
of words, logical words, if this, then that,

hold, hold this thought, think imperative
faith in unseeable thinkable things,
only holds true the evidenced hope.
No if,
no sign but the Sign given Nineveh, the preaching
of Jonah, whose fish story was not mentioned ---

And what remedy remains for the sign seeker,
not the rising from the dead, or the monstors
from the depths of hope deferred…?

ISIS actually hammered the Assyrian Lion to dust,
yet we have video and can see the symbol's self
evinced in illiterate prisoners of holy interpretations,

in the spirit of the destroyer, hater of hateful things,
holy ordo of bulls over lions, elephants over ***'s assets.
Where no peace is, I say,
Isaiah says Peace, Peace is ai ah, aight

---------- channel enough water of life, chi
in essence, mistaken for brute force mastery,
spirit in a child, or a colt or a pup, or most carnivores,
tamable by reinforcement learning, habituation holdover
appetites control the will, as we all must learn, control
or be controlled, such are life's lessons, learned
time after time, as seasonal patterns reflect
cosmic realities, in terms of carnivorous
reasons for wars against Caine's kind,
tillers of trees and weeds and grasses,
beaters and rhetters of fibres,
twisters of threads and cords and ropes,

platers of hairs,
weavers of warm soft things…
fabricating knacks aquired taught,
re
fabricating first after all was lost, now
once more, we begin when nothing is known

true enough to **** for.

--------------------

ii.
Simple conversation,
making knowable a mystery hid,

between the lines, truly hiding hoped for
signs like unto those witnessed
in Nineveh, at the doing
of the logical, logos presented as fact,

repent or perish, no fish story needed,
the miracle is that the whole    
population did turn from sin,
- as it is writ it was done, indeed…
apparently… reconnecting to the way
and the truth and the life, by choice,
turning back to the global cosmic reality.
Awe.
As we agree touching anything…
seeing seems believed hormonally.
Apparition, as a reified image of a scene,
let us imagine using words alone, asking,

in hope of clarity, focus, point of preaching
single point attention pre paid, point made
look away from the legerdemain stream
of stories told to children, seriously since
ever there was a wizard learned in ritual
lost when the walls of the temple fell,

as witnessed by a professional watcher
seeing as from an NPC,
all the setting of this scene…

Here we be,
you and me,
I am thinking you exist, as yet
you may not, you know, my then,

when I choose to use my worth,
my treasure in this life, my ready
made mind making - up, up know,

you know? We declare, I do, so go

find the next lie you continue to hold
self-evidently true, by virtue of you

thinking it, filtered through all you
hold true by rule of laws, nature
and nature's god, empowering
time to carry our burdens,

letting go the unclean spirit,
the devouring demonstratives,

chicanery for entertainment, magic,
imagine that we all know what magic

is, or was in olden times, when men
called prophets and soothsayers
foretold according to the signs,

auspices, gut symbolic evidence, woe
or weal, go forth, and conquer,
take all that belongs to mind,

leave all that lingers in the brain
to run the works while we seek

true demonstratives, imperative
upon us, indeed, not word alone.

Seeing the whole accumulated known
universe infested as Josephus's
translator saw Jerusalem,

as the last temple fell… ask

is this that, or was that all command
decision from the power that denies
free will, as if you have no choice
to know, or remain unknowing,

innocently ignorant, never having
certainly set the angle's azimuth

at the level of the reader's witness
plain, across time and chance
through now in no time to then,

when the first scribe, wrote
the first rule, from memory.

Fear God and keep his imperatives.

Oh? Exoterica, meanings of things,
Thoth thoughts sought and found,
given Solomon by Sheba, we may say,

and you might agree, thinking we know.

We may believe we do, but believing
does not make what we believe true.

----------- The art in thinking I know
imagining, bringing to mind another's

reason for, cause of declaration, you know?

Seven ideas more twisted and tangled
than was the first fear of falling away
from present tense, now and then,

true, as seen
from an innocent by-stander,
POV witnessed
in the storied way, read, you see.
Ready, now, this is ever after that.



iii.
Thoughts on stores of knowns
to be remembered, as knowns shown,
on stone as images graven 3-d as seen
projected vision reflected in or on or from,
we, a we of you and me, at minimum,
we know a reason for the ag-agag

hesitation to keep breathing, in and out,
in time's long line of stored reasons for
by the agreement grouping pattern,
we
see, instances, occurences, accumulate
interruptedly, we have witnessed intial loss

of significance in ISIS, as a sound said since
ancient of days, only the redhat entities,
can be imagined to hold as appearing
clearly evincing any lie disputing true
declaratives, ala Aimee, This is that,

the mystical money making leading
into twistedness too tight to loose,
chosen wholeness, usnonothern,
select elect
we, the participants in this epic effort
to take away a veil, an artifice,
effectual ignorance imposed
supposed to focus the chi
cognate in any warring li-e
see, we coknow so many
mysterious reasons
for faith we hold true, in word,
indeed, in wisdom tested, twice,

nice and fine, infinite instances
of yes,
that exact thing, exactly re-enacting

iv.
- dingalingading

So, Mickey, how does it feel,
to be free, in the public domain,

whistle for a while,
think in tinkling musing, using
musical wills given patterns, remind

remember, becoming a knower of un-
known knowns one may know now, free,

BHATTACHARJEE , calls me, no lie,
at yon line end, I am called by my
Psychiatrist, attending to my
mental health, interrupting
my fantasy with tinkling chimes,
actually reminding me, my calendar
is written on wrong, BHATTACHARJEE
points out, to me,
I see, I said, yet
now… that can never matter, save
I use it poetically licentiously.

Mickey Mouse excuse, per use, in spirit,
in mind, exercise in more than one may
think, or ask, yet,
asking while accepting good enough
is enough to use,

making do, getting by on minimums,
most winters, remembering when we
were poor and made permanent refugees

For Jesus sake, then Allah's, the science
of the mind warring reasons for all wars,

money loved for money's sake, interesting
times, seasons measured, emperically,
as once was the writing only spoken,

dreamers dreamed, interpreters told,
children listened and imagined knowing

knowing growing beyond our fears,
through oral obligations required
for acceptability, remember
require order normalize
actualize eventuation

right now, we used
use to say, indeed, we think…

we know what group pledges,
oral recitations of golden rules,
and repetitionings for deliverance
do
due to oaths long made self evident,
We all swore, on our own life's pledge
of aliegiance to a Socratic republic form
of mental norm tyranny socially entertained,

aggregational wedomains accrue as we imagine,
herds of ruminants,
packs of canines,
prides of felines,
hordes of rodents,
flocks of flying scavengers

spirits, characters, powers that seem

and oceans and wind
and hard and soft
and flex and snap bo'
realization, at an insistent, knot, loosed
thread of all my reasoning remaining, why
should I imagine your reasoning drawing wrong
excuses for the uses words are put to, in real life.

Enchanted evenings,
entrancing commands taken to this point
imperitive
we've made up a mind, an awesome form
informative up to a point, instantiated from
as crossing over or under or through a rough
time
to come alive.



v.
-------------
The engined pens imaginable now,
since Mickey was animated and empowered
demonstrate the weapons of war in imagination,
are not invincible to pens as powered mind makers
we use to take an objective
position, while beguiled by the politics. used
to represent the glorified reification function
children used to make Velveteen Rabbits real,
as ways are made where no ways were,
rabbit trails through Jungleland,
fringes
on a red-haired Judaic kid,
at Disneyland, when it was imagined
by many
to be
at that moment
of American greatness, again

The Happiest Place in the World, which is small,
after all, who am I
to be heard
by the likes of you, first world tech users
of the freest reusable theories
of worth,
in the opensource public domain,
aggie testing 'tractor attention
pull of mindshare in the moment
measured priceless
in mental connection tension,
held for a thousand line test, hook

!Þorny issue, misperceived precept, clearly shown
evincing convincingly old monstorous enormities…
now, knowing where this is all going, those
are powerless meaningless metadata
in free will mindspacetimes
fabricated using ready readers ready to bet the worth

of the push to the pull, ag ag agree aggressively

loose dis-belief, use the kid inside, the pain, sorry,
there, there, that kid, you did call a ***, sorry,
I did not know your grandma had the tat.

Thank you for writing, but your reason for war
is still invalid in the Peaceful Kingdom, on Earth

as expected,
any day now, right, any day  

vi.
---------------
Recalcitrant inculcations,
kicking back at prideful goads,

go up, thou bald head, go up,
yes, there were such sayings,

seeing the smoke of evil deeds,
world witnessed, as all wars are now,
we need only wish to see, and see we do,
and when the algorithms insist testing we do
persists to show some interest, agging on,
test me more,

how much is the attention paid a thousand books,
were one to pay for it with social interaction,
participation in the great debates,

do old lies live, or do old patterns follow
seasonal guidelines in cosmic time.

Today, I watched a pine tree grow,
where I had stairs built between stones,
and I wondered how few folks have such scales.

Today, I watched a gopher clearing a hole,
where the old swing set holds a hammock,
and I wondered how many folks have such scales.

Relatively complex life goes on
whether many notice, or only you.


vii.
Reasons used by or
imagined, in story, Cortez,
came from Cuba, Night of Sorrows,

Spanish Reconquista Minds for War,
Jesuitical ferver birthed already,
whither came the terror of wars reason

cannibalists, ritual abnormal geomancy

take the captives for sacred making,

meet the explosive force of knowing
how magic really functions in life,

explosive possibilities, any shred
of evidence, any knowledge lost,

comes to mind once more under
upright standing armies of guardians
called by justice to know the truth,
and defend against the hatred
sown and grown to righteous
use of hate, to spite the peace made.

Each season. From total war to total war,
as our mindspacetime presents itself,

as the end in urban centers draws near,
hear the prophets of doom, doubt not,

but believe the idea that believes
Donald's team is GOD's good side.

But peace passing the weight of destruction,
remains taken for free… peace of mind,
during games of holy terror, with nukes.

viii.
If we were to cease warring,
stop where we are, empty our prisons,
and distribute the national debt to the planet
as credit due to generational over payment,
-- when warriors learn the terms, winning
having
being done, indeed, first, merest gentle
touch of the individuating brush,
by which bards bid characters
appear as seen in vision,
here, where evidence emerges
feel *** heros are being called to arms,
for truth, or old reasons holy folk use for war,

Oy, the Reacher, Tom Cruise sized, on TV,
warning my god mocking spirit by assuring me
truth is not mocked, as we agree, God must be
truth or nothing ever is, and we know,
something happened,
e-motives hate
for peacemakers acting where no peace
was imaginable, while
in an orderly state of ego, epluralized.

The End of Everything happens every day,
each one bit of our whole wedom, has
one chance to wake, and be, doing your
bit in the skit, until tomorrow,
accepting no anxious thought
no sense of seriousness, no sense
of war being a functioning solution
to certainty that madness must be hated,
and gentleness despised…
hush the focal point in courage,
become the peace past next
hush a negative imperative,
magic, settled, taken
chance to smother
force of hatred
fanned, in frontal mirrors,
encrusted darkly using alchemy
of uses fruited knowings held close.

The game is played for money.
Life wins, when money becomes
significant of nothing, one way
or another,

breathe, or

call all peace gone,
and find a global mind, kind of like,

this one, deterrence spending reflective terror,
revenge, righteous vengeance, now is ours,
say the defenders
of the faith that war works.

Peace in one mind is just like peace in mine,
thinking breathe

ix.

Nay, stay thy will.
Warring creature pushing me,
making me grit my teeth and imagine,

at the core of all a man stands for, imagining
heros from prophecy and umph from many trials,
all to win the part, where the head of the snake,
is spoken of as did the messenger from perfection,

when resetting the whole idea we agree to be leaving
possible with the laws of physics and common sense,

full spectrum, standard bell curves among wordform
information entities used with muses to expand
bubbles of innocense and pockets of ignorance.

As the will of our wedom is done, on earth,
in the air we breathe and have our behavior in.
As wise as all serpentine forms.
Harmless as doves, in our right minds.
A companion prequel used as we yoost to imagine, using absinths

influence by Aldous Huxley The Perrenial Philosophy
she doesn’t read my poetry anymore;

sent every script, faithfully, always honored & acknowledged with a pithy comment, then came the occasional emojis,  then too often silences, longer and longer, made me realize
it was an imposition, created excuses,
finally ceased sending…

so now there is no doubt,
my muse is
disused, and I feel,
forlornly bitter and
use-less lessened

look for excuses to provide her a dance,
no poem
too similar, overly familiar,
not reflective
of our true reality, still,7&

she doesn’t read my poetry anymore;*

cannot muster up the bitter mustard I feel,
and see the little, minor, signals all is not
perfect, select edit, make disappear, tiny
grimaces, misperceived caustics asides,
and the reality is such, that wince internally,
but the love poetry has been put aside…
and
may 26
Unsolicited, revered, and praised
potential literary fete,
(yes a bit hyperbolic),
sans mine posted poems that perambulate
such feedback, whither donning *******
("FAKE") facade, Oriel sincere

twittering, nonetheless tis great
for an ego striving to maintain
hum bull modesty, yet I hate
to be misperceived as
arrogant, boastful, pretentious,...wait
et cetera, cuz honestly,

these conglomerations create,
themselves, via some inexplicable
literary process which generate
prestidigitation soon after
affixing wired thinking cap,
whereby positioned electrodes exfoliate

on scalp yup thence, off miniature oblate
spheroid (suddenly barren) of golden locks
most soup Priam wantonly depilate
(envision candidate
undergoing biofeedback,
or...captured as bait)

by...yea (of course) alien invaders curious
to experiment, and subject a random pate
with out of this world tests that agitate
most precious anatomical accouterment
'bout size of average poe tate
toe (actually...almost same consistency)

okay...sorry, this chap doth relate
such comparison to
his own cerebral aggregate,
where he starkly realizes
neurological concentrate
takes a permanent vacation

to distant Palatinate
essentially leaving a void, ah...just
perfect for cosmic outliers to allocate
(no...no...no noninvasive, i.e.)
their laser like gizmos scrutinize how

(albeit unwittingly) to ameliorate
writer's block, thus
glad tubby ("Guinea Pig"),
and let abductors amputate
my killed expense ******* ("FAKE")
noggin pulp struggling to articulate,

(hence quite a relief,
you cannot imagine), dear mate
when fiber optic threads of light
essentially painlessly
(rather ticklishly aspirate)
clump of useless gray matter,
yours truly does implicate

as complicit to cause unnecessary
difficulty to associate
with **** sapiens, an extremely
strenuous task, thence joyful to dedicate
(without being headstrong),
an ***** minimally missed at any rate
long last free to babble poppycock
oblivious as ambitious readers berate!
kiera Mar 2021
in my dream
you told me you love me
But the words came out
of another mouth
I haven’t seen your face
in two years
but in my mind’s eye it shone out
like a sand dollar brushed with sun
your eyes were always slips of blue water
not shallow
but a misperceived depth
I fell in long ago
Sipped as I swam
thought I found my way
but I’m back
at the edge
not willingly
but I’ll dip my toe in
Alaa Jun 2021
I read somewhere that life is just like a movie.
Funny. My life so far has been similar to the ads before a film.
Can I wait any longer to live truly?
I'm getting older, but this movie refuses to start...The ads are becoming dim.

I'm scared. My flame is burning out. Slowly but surely I'm losing sight of my trait.
Isn't 17 so early to feel so old? So suffocated by fate?
Wait...wait...wait.
Wait till you get older, I tell myself. Wait 5 more years, get a job, and travel. Travel? Travel and your soul will become remote.
How naive?!
How can the way this world works be any worse misperceived?!

Ignoring that, I say: Just concentrate on working on yourself.
Just work out more, learn more, add more books to your bookshelf...
For in 5 years you will be out there all alone. Struggling to figure out what you want to do with your life.
What do I want? I don't want to be alone. I just want to be free, a hero. Someone who stops strife.

Stops strife? What a laugh.

I think I should just wait forever.
As time puts my pieces all together.

Slowly and a little awkwardly.
ConnectHook Apr 30
From streetcorner pulpits near and far.
We’re watering wisdom’s seed with fear.
If your melanin’s under par,
Slave-trader heathen, listen here:
God’s own holy unpronounceable name
Now translated for you: Whites Are To Blame.

King JAMES was black. You heard it first
From me—before those Israelites
Began to preach to the accursed
Of Edom (meaning heathen whites).
So, his authorized text is meant
Only for those of true Hebrew descent.

No flaming redhead Scottish king
Was he who bore Azania’s crown
Upon his brow. It’s time to bring
The truth. James Stuart? Dusky brown.
No bagpipes here, nor usquebaugh, nor oats.
Just afro-polyrhythm’s gladsome notes.

Mansa Musa filled his coffers;
Sub-Saharan James grew wealthy;
More than Solomonic offers
Kept King James both wise and healthy.
No puppet monarch for Britannic schemes
But African sage, of vision and dreams.

ELIZABETH, of Albion’s fame,
Was also misperceived for hue.
A white rose, yes. But only in name.
Pure African was she—it’s true!
You’ve been lied to about these royal folks;
High time we rewrite such ethnic jokes.

Don’t believe the Edomite hype.
They want to keep our tribes suppressed--
And Moses is our prototype;
His law we follow, and we’re blessed.
REAL understanding: it’s something you earn.
Once gained, ain’t no trick you cannot discern.

No context needed. History
Is mainly Edomite propaganda.
King JAMES was black. No mystery.
And Edinburgh’s in Uganda.
The first king of Scotland will not be last…
Our exegesis is unsurpassed.
usquebaugh: noun
A compound distilled spirit made in Ireland and Scotland; whisky.

— The End —