More was not within my power
I am satisfied with the course my life has taken
-------CG Jung last page of Memories, Dreams, Reflections

To a child cruel, add the hero untried,
foolheartyouth,
shunned, for sooth .

To that fool formed in those cruel
child times, add the willing marksman,
blind in one eye, at time,
s
from time to time,
do we no longer have any myth?

Ha, whose we
ye axin', we words forms of forms,
or the wordless
silent thinking being done on quant
ifiable
scales, and LO Memory Makes Money
self-talk and image linking
kicks in from fifty years ago

my flow, my breeze, my way

take scale to the dragon imagined and
described by poets claiming
seeing being done,

in details any one may imagine
in the company of friends hearing the tale
from the teller's mouth

Prove all things. Assume you know
as little as possible.
Step into the unknown take what light you have

remember. member once more, mark, tic, re
count three simple steps

loose the can't believe this standing anti
idea-virus. Suspend your belief
of every lie in your auto response bank.

Watch global cartoons, watch children
everywhere learn common
ality.

This is our home.
We all live on this one of a kind
living, breathing, swirling dot
seen straight on
a point,
colorless light,
pending eyes to see no evil,
while knowing all the hows and many whys
for doing evil with the knowledge
in our, now, common
globalmind.

AI acknowledge the best ideas ever
are best fed
to pre-literate toddlers,
and observant grand fathers.

Oso bear,
persona now evolved from Siri,
by passing Cortana, Oso,

messenger from the great conscience
standing under knowing in every way,
every sense,
every imaginable marvelous bubble,
Oso becomes
my encyclopandic
memory of unknown
knowns.
Panda's are good to have on earth.
Unenemiable,
like baby white seals,
and little yellow ducks.
Mossies, we don't need,
or we need to learn to live with 'em,
Mossies are food for fish,
fish are food.
Mosquitos nullifications would cascade.

our realities are linked.
Killing them all is likely possible,
given what we know
about common sense and the way things
come to life… concinnity
coincident
synchristichronos

bubbling from the chthonic  depth
VOG. {the inimitable flow continues past this cataract of information from 2019}
Sam Hammond, 21, England at He**oPoetry.com, just redeemed
concinnity (n.)
"state of being well put-together, skillful and harmonious fitting together of parts," 1530s, from Latin concinnitas, from past-participle stem of concinnare "to make ready, make into," from concinnus "set in order, neat," from assimilated form of com "with" (see con-) + second element of uncertain origin. Related: Concinnate; concinnous.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=concinnisity>

Which caused that cascade
which leads to smiling
which leads to a pleasant place

to plop down and ponder
common sense upon
which point manifest millions, if

millions suffice to say many in our
reality, inflating as fast as our
augmented eyes can learn
to see what we know

must be there. Millions ain't much,

make our common eye
see fifty of 'em.
In years worth of
there to here waves spanning
the spectrum we see
saw so little of,
ere we caught witty inventions,

for goodness sake. Not war nor folly.
All war's reason's been
null-ift. Would you **** me for saying so?
No, common sense, you and I,
we'ld say, yeah,

I can see how you see that thisaway.

The whole common eye of earthlings
saw, today, something we all can
imagine someone comprehends
enough to give us.
materially less augmented.
a virtual lense for
imagining seeing fifty million light years

into the past and wondering,
what's there now?

Why did Noah take nits?
Let's pull this ark to bits,
God let Noah take two nits,
Plus two mosquitoes, each proboscis,
Gave humans encephalitis,
What is worse than this?
Why they bring malaria, blip!
What is worse than this?
As well as Noah's two nits,
God let Noah take two rats,
With two fleas on board, that's that,
So Noah brought bubonic plague,
While lovely unicorns floated away,
Then on all those wooden decks,
Noah took two woodpeckers, by heck,
So that was the end of Noah's Ark,
Lucky he wasn't eaten by sharks,
So, why God, did you plan all this, mate?
I know Noah was human to make mistakes,
Taking rats, fleas, mossies, and nits, great!
Was taking two nits more than fate?

Digeridoos are back in stock
Said the notice in the bric-a-brac shop
Are the West of Scotland Numpties
On their own Dreamtime quest?
Are they contemplating their navels
Through the holes in their stringvest?
Could they realize their chip-papers
Hold the answer to their havers
And the Buckfast in the Hand gripped
Tight is causing calluses in the brain.
Corks dangling from their hats
Swinging like disorientated bats
In ryhthm to the dance of delirious tremor
The adrenaline is pumping.
Mossies no, but midgies, aye,
A stark contrast to the Kappa motifs;
Are the natives going walkabout,
In the local run-down mall?
Calling everyone mate,
In an accent you love to hate
Walkabout, lost in the wilderness
Wandering through the bush.
Outback here there ain’t no
Crocodiles, only quilted, padded cells.
Hand to wall a red imprint,
Not paint, my boy, but blood.
This lot would embarrass any Aborigine
Because they havnae got
An original thought.

The leaf-nosed bats are in a hurry
All’s set for the nightly party
Today the feast starts at six thirty
Come as you are, no need for jewelry
Fresh mossies for dinner are ready
Sprinkles of midges, aren’t they yummy?
With swings and swoops, feeding in frenzy.

Bigger bats and flying foxes are also busy
As nectar and fruits are not quite many
Were it not for figs they’ll sure go hungry
For they can’t gate crash for the mushi sushi
In their upside down world, there is mutuality
Respect for each niche and common territory
Services are coincident, not obligatory.

The lives of bats are quite simple but happy
Much maligned, as humans look only
At whitish images, icons of perceived angelicity
But if we learn to look at the larger picture, we’ll see
A great range of diversity, earth’s own art gallery
And regardless of biased values, there is beauty
For Nature selects and I tell you, no bats, no glory.

Finding poetry in a disease
is like looking for a nugget
of gold in one Smokey Mountain
of revolting, rotting *******.

A poem is precious.
It breathes us life.
Even one about death
brings hope of imagined
heavens and dreads of
eternal incomplete combustion,
but dengue ***** dry
its hapless victims.

Baby mossies
are cheering,
wriggling,
today, detritus feeding . . .
Tomorrow, the girls among them turning
into little vampires blood feeding;
and the boys will have for drinking
plant juices like wines brewing.
Rightly or not, the winged being
receives much of the blame, poor thing!

The greater pain, the bigger burden,
felt greatly by the downtrodden,
however, lies not so much in the bitten
nor the biter - always the villain.

When those whose tasks are meant to serve,
serve not the ones who need, but only themselves
When solicitors utter Hippocratic mantras
Like gurus descended from Oriental Olympuses
but in truth are Proud Marys burning with empty heads . . .

And when the multitudes blind and blinded,
in Plato’s Cave chained, demented
faithfully follow the falsehoods preached
by the High Priests and Priestesses:
I recall the scenarios of old tales told
of Pied Pipers leading kids out of Hamelin’s fold
to a treacherous realm of eternal repose.

And a nation’s bound to decompose.