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zebra Jul 2017
i come to you half mad
with desire
like slithers tongue
i wish
to have painfully stitched
to your silky ****
an act of desires supplication
my *** turned to poison
deprivations effulgent
obsidian flower salivating
your every smile
fleshy bells ringing
warping tintinnabulations
i am a starved incubus
drooling at your knees

behind me
a frothy junket of misdeeds
for loves sake
your feet the scent of lavender and salt
their shape evoking numberless poems
and begging adorations

your belly
a tender cauldron undulating
tummy ***** dancer
sacred *******
temple of worship
the site of your rounded bottom
naked red mouth calling
my sacred liturgy
your *****
velvet tulips for a tremulous kiss

I seed you a thousand times
a raging bludgeon
storming wounded gates Palisades
drenched and florid
fruit and milk ****
until jaws lock
and spire drops
turning me
to midnight cadaver
***** black hollows
a dark eyelid, blink-less
dead **** face down
a slumped snake

then soft dew
and cool ales
clear thickened muds saturation
lighten heat and peel
the warm palate
with agile caress
tender haunches wide and spiced
milk and butter thighs
her hair in mine
rushing river life
again i animate
an embryo id
dressed in fire
all vices and virtues
blood and sky
*** ADULT EXPLICIT
Yenson Sep 2018
So what's it they have, what's it all about
Work for the bossman.
Use your brawn Earn your pittance,
Then eat, Pub, drink, **** and pay the bills
Go footie, shout and scream, at one with your tribe
then  go sit in front of the telly, play at family
Week is done
Till the morrow when you do it all again

How about a soap opera, you direct and act
Gotta a Royal down the road ripe for the taking
Lets go invade, see how the other halves lives
Come, lets all join and become Kingmakers
Under our ***** thumbs he goes, we pull the strings
Entertainment for the masses, beats our mundane cages

For once, we are the bosses and can pull the strings
Knowledge is Power and its all here in Mao's Red Book
Lies, fabrication, distortions and misinformation
Disinformation, half-truths, slander it ain't no matter
Everything he says will be taken down and used against him
This is control at our finger tips, this is power to play with
He's going through the Red mill, drilled and ground into dust

Look we've got him as the puppet, we destroy all his trappings
So gather round and join the fun, this is us like God
Lights, action, now you do this and this and watch us play him
what do you mean puppet ain't moving or re-acting
OK let's do this, you go there and you do this and do this now
Still no action, OK let's try this, if you go there and say ah
You drive here, you stand there, you watch here, you stand
Nothing still, OK you come here, you put this here
Still nothing, This puppet is NUMB, this puppetting is no fun

They had drawn up the master plan, written their ****** script
The puppet looked and laughed, what a bunch of prime morons
No substance, no value system, no morality or basic sense
Infantile, one track minded sociopaths full of flaws and manure
Go back to your drinking and ******* and your mundanity
The united pack of crooks, ****, racists and the vacuous coerced

Go look after the Leading Lady stuck with rehearsals and scripts
The imagined romantic interest paying debts for UK residency
Waiting for the Prince to come running and tomfoolery begins
The bit part actors are still playing, too stupid to realize
The control is on them, their time energy and effort all a sham
Our Directors are directing making it up as they go along
The supporting actress are still hopping and hoping
The new characters are still buying false scripts and playing
Playing with themselves as Puppet stands and watches it all

They wheel out their demented scribes and brain dead peoters
To write dirges, glooms, ******* and negativities galore
Casting their dark fantasies and the rancid spittles of their dregs
Muds from the festered pools of their putrid minds dresses up
Ready to visit nightmares of their making from their darknesses
Areas thankfully unknown to a mind and soul untainted, unsoiled
As is their bitter lives, valueless breeding and hate and prejudices One ignorance and neurotic existence, the depravities of depraves..

Poor, poor imbeciles, they really don't have much in their lives
Illusions and delusions by the bucket loads, anything would do
To remove them from their sad, miserable sorry realities
Hey its Clockwork orange, we are all stars in our *****
Diversions to their mundane, unrewarding and depressing realities
Their frustrations and powerlessness, their insignificance
At last a vent for their frustrated lives, miseries loves company
A release valve for pains of centuries being underdogs and serfs
A safe playground for psychos, control and pain in abundance
Let's call it Revolution and add Republic to make it more palatable

Down at the palace of Attrition, a blameless man sits and muses
Crazed dogs of war at the gates, salivating insanely, bloodthirsty
Watching Controllers tieing chains to masses and jerking them
Into frenzied hysteria, nothing beats permitted wickedness shared
Dropping poisons and acids into hungry jaws, patting heads
Shouting rallying calls, we got the Bastille of the blinds going on
Scientists please take notes, this is Herd mentality and Groupthink
This is how to manipulate the masses and incite Hate unawares
Majority wins here, this is Democracy, this is people power

Do, you are ******, don't, you are ******, Hate abides all.
Puppet sees injustices but better to play dumb and numb
They can't abide a black do well, hate spews from fear
Hate festered by the unique decency of a successful blackman
Who had all they wished for but could never have or be
Riddled with lust and envy they merely went on to steal his
But that wasn't enough, the bullies and cowards had to ruin.
Under the pretext of them and us, blue versus Red they lied
Rabid racists takes another black man down, green bottle falls

Man proposes, God disposes, UK, KKK now play god
Thy will will be done O'Lord, I am but your servant
It's rather flattering being The Real Deal in this production
Confirmation of differences betwixt Gifted and the Depraves
A Travesty full of sound, false images and fury by the loonies
A Red Racist Production by Idiots and psychos for fools and sociopaths.

Lights, camera, action
Yawn.......................
"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."
“Neither a man nor a crowd nor a nation can be trusted to act humanely or to think sanely under the influence of a great fear.” .
A Mareship Sep 2013
Oh my God my heart is slamming

Off the walls in squishy thuds,

Oh my God my mouth is jamming

All my words are wordy muds -

Muds? Muddles!

I’m befuddled!

Watch my lips all slobberdrool!

My ******* lungs are outerspace!

THYROID STORM!

Sounds

So

*cool!
i hate road rage in canberra because



i hate road rage in canberra because

mostly the road rager is at fault

i hate road rage in canberra because

because my mum was just turning and some dim wit sticks his finger up, how rude

i hate road rage in canberra because

it ****** me off immensely

road rage road rage i hate road rage

cause the road rage person doesn’t know what they are talking about

it’s not just road rage, ya see ya see, it’s everywhere

you say something or do something

and someone sticks their finger up at you

like a good little **** would actually do

road ragw road rage road rage sux

the only rage i like is partying late at night

you see i am a middle aged rager

i rage all day long but when it comes to road rage, na, not for me

i party better than any of these road rage people

the road ragers are just a pack of old stick in the muds

they think they are cool, sticking their fingers up

but in hindsight, they no nothing

you see i hear the loud hey, but that is from people who like road rage

which i ain’t, what is wrong with hating road rage

that is why i don’t drive, i am a kid and the road ragers are old fogie men or women

i have road rage in canberra because, nobody wins, it’s all just a waste of time

i am glad i don’t drive, i am a cool kid mate
Ethan Kreman Apr 2013
An underlying sense of counting down –
A rhythm deep: enteric thuds –
Each another year to fret and frown
About, wading in the claggy muds
Of trial – to here, the blackened life.
A glint of blade had caught a baggy eye,
Sparking thoughts to jump the fence.
Could I grasp the handle – was I shy
Of what I had to do and hence remain
Enshrined in overwhelming strife?
  
The metal winked at me again
To beg the possibility
Of halting once and all the pain
To relish an eternity
Of rested shoulders,
Peace of mind;
So here, my wrist
For ‘quick and kind.’
A H J Oct 2017
The demons live with me –
They have their own blankets ready,
So later we would go visit the creeks
And they will push me to the water and let me suffocate,
They will drown me in muds
They will blind me so all I could see is dark.

The demons live with me –
They invite me to our special hideout,
Decaying building and magical asbestos
And they will prepare an empty room full of irons and knives,
They will slit me with them
They will kiss me with them 'till I become numb.

The demons, the demons live with me –
They will celebrate my birthday party,
Their presents are bouquet of blights
And they also give me flaming matches for me to light up an inferno,
They will burn with me, laugh
They will burn every sadness I felt.

The demons live with me.
They are inside, they are calling me.
The demons, demons, demons,
THESE DEMONS,
          Demons,         d e m o n s
                                 are me.
Oct 5 2017.
Jimmy Hegan Mar 2016
Cheating  Humanity is skill or disaster,
Cheating  in every field and department makes us proud  or shame,
Cheating in relations makes us Gentleman or  fraud person ,
Our Leader's are proud to Cheat  our Country , Nations and World with their Outstanding Cheating Political Skills,
Where does Cheating puts ourself  in Winning World  or Lost Humanity,
Cheating ourselves and others and saying we are clean personality,
We can Cheat Whole World ,Globe ,Universe but we cannot Cheat our Lord God.
We cannot built nations by Cheating  each others.
We cannot built nation by throwing muds on each other's characters.
Leader's of our country are playing magic tragic speeches for winning election's of  CM, PM .
Please Do not Cheat the Nation , Country And World.
Dave Robertson Oct 2021
Bullace
hedge haematoma
blue-black against the fading,
once young green,
bruising for sharp winter thoughts,
clean frost lines,
untouched snow-blank focus

but before, to swell and drop
in the last pale suns,
feed the field mouse, rabbit
and endure the muds
I would like to bury
all the hating eyes
under the sand somewhere off
the North Atlantic and suffocate
them with the awful sand
and put all their colors to sleep
in that soft smother.
Take the brown eyes of my father,
those gun shots, those mean muds.
Bury them.
Take the blue eyes of my mother,
naked as the sea,
waiting to pull you down
where there is no air, no God.
Bury them.
Take the black eyes of my love,
coal eyes like a cruel hog,
wanting to whip you and laugh.
Bury them.
Take the hating eyes of martyrs,
presidents, bus collectors,
bank managers, soldiers.
Bury them.
Take my eyes, half blind
and falling into the air.
Bury them.
Take your eyes.
I come to the center,
where a shark looks up at death
and thinks of my heart
and squeeze it like a doughnut.
They'd like to take my eyes
and poke a hatpin through
their pupils. Not just to bury
but to stab. As for your eyes,
I fold up in front of them
in a baby ball and you send
them to the State Asylum.
Look! Look! Both those
mice are watching you
from behind the kind bars.
When the yellow day coppers to dusk
I paint my weary eyes dreams.

They nudely wade the crabhole muds
for marks of the great marksman
climb up the chunks going into tides
tiptoe through the needle roots
sniff a wind that smells of stripes
thrilled
death if comes
would be a momentary stir
a dangling cloth
resting on the trail of blood, marking,
someone ventured.
Tiger trail, Sunderban, February 24-25, 2018
The Fire Burns Sep 2016
Wet and cold
driving dirt roads
rain pouring down
onto the ground

Water standing in the tracks
and running down every crack
begin to slip and to skid
turn into it in a bid

To regain some traction
it works but only for a fraction
of a second, so I turn the ****
the mud begins to spray in globs

Now in 4 wheel drive I proceed
should be enough to do the deed
of getting me on down the road
so the truck still I goad

Forward into the muck
hopefully and with some luck
we make it to the end
then my frayed nerves may mend

But then the bad news sinks in
we have to turn around and do it again
the cow tracks look like tiny lakes
now out of the truck each step I take

My foot sinks an inch or three
so I step to the side under a tree
try to walk on grass and roots
getting taller as mud sticks to my boots

Almost there I see the door
of the mud I want no more
into the deer stand I climb and sit
a reprieve from the mud for a bit

Three hours later constant rain
back out into the cold mud pain
tripping and sliding back to the truck
for the trip back in the mud and muck

The muds not deep it’s just real slick
depending on the route I pick
halfway back, spin sideways
not into cactus or a tree I praise

Slipping and sliding is great fun
but right now I long for the sun
you see the truck I drive is not my own
father in law’s out on loan

So get it stuck or bang it around
I will never live it down.
back to the gate no incident
onto the road no fender dents

This is day one of the hunt you see
so three days left of this for me
100% forecast of more rain
and those **** dirt tracks don’t drain
Three months old in my mother’s womb
Whispers I heard outside,
A man persuading mum
To destroy me
Because he doubted I was his.
I heard mum cried,
And felt her tears
Falling to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
A thunderous sound
That struck my universe
Almost tearing it apart.


The man talking to another man,
A professional killer of my kind,
I heard about the price of my life,
To destroy me
Worth only ‘$300’.
Mum’s heart beat faster,
Bringing blood like a mighty rushing wave
To my weak, gentle nerves and veins
Almost rapturing them apart.

Mum whispered
I heard while she cried,
“You are a gift and blessing to me,
My child, my beloved one.”
I will keep you,” She promised.
I tried to comfort mum but couldn't.
I conjured up ominous images
Of my shattered body,
My flesh, blood and bone;
It was too painful to bear.
So I stamped my feet
On my bed,
Her stomach bulged,
And I felt mum embraced me,
With her gentle hands.

From the smallest corner of her heart
Next to her bulging belly,
My bed room,
I heard mama interceded with God
For the forgiveness of the sins
And comfort of thousand women
Who aborted their pregnancies
Due to ****, pregnant while breast feeding,
Incestuous affairs, teenage pregnancies
Or on medical conditions
For the physical and emotional pains
They endured and guilt that may have lingered still.

In her bulging stomach,
My bed room, my home,
I waited for my eviction,
Every day.
Then one day, after a long wait,
It rained cats and dogs
With muds of blood
In my bedroom.
I tried to cling to the roof of my bed room,
But was swept away by the natural disaster
Through the channel of life
Into my mother's gentle arms.
If Foetus were able to have senses, they would have memories of their development and the day of birth.
From Wilfred Owen to his Mother, France 1918


Fastened frosted muds battle with my being but will these tears mean anything if my resolution has come too late?
Will England’s Green shores ever sigh for me; for those slain here?
The smell of the dew is still sweet on my senseless tongue.
Nothing in this septic land could shave the zest from my skin.

When the gasp of my final breath resounds in silence,
I only hope that I sleep and slip away from the impossibility of understanding what has occurred here.
To fade into my torment and leave the things I love.
Can this be my only contentment when
The canvas I envisioned was so white, the page so blank, so vast?
I only ever pleaded for a chance to fill even the tiniest part.  
I want for now only to be gone from here, Dear Mother…..
God, these tears burn my cheeks in this cold,
As if I have been moved into the sun, and I feel I am helpless.

If only my life were the sonnet form of this uncertainty,
My existence I could abolish with the half-rhyme of my Knowledge.
For it is law that a sonnet of fifteen lines is no longer a sonnet.
Its very existence has been prolonged beyond definition.
A life form sonnet of thirteen lines has been cut too short,
Gunned down by fate before the indulgence of its own conclusion. France is now a pathetic source of melodramatic monologue.
Trapped without the hidden ear of soliloquy,
Within this surreal Garden of Courtly Love, I am alone.
I can no longer feel the brush of your angel wings as they breeze Through No Mans Land,
Or anywhere on this lonely world-wide shore.
For they have been grabbed to the ground with an unassuming thud by the gravitational pull of bile and death.

And so it comes to this.
To never again hold a thing of beauty in my hand;
To press it gently against my anxious heart.
Is this what I’ve become?
Or to fight on and never speak a word of what has occurred here,
For Dante fell too short in revelation and I am no one to amend.
I have no place here or there and,
In limbo, I will probably die here Mother.
Here with nothing but the burning of my fragile heart to remind me. Earth’s sleep has broken.
Irrevocable, irreplaceable, irresponsible.
But nothing happens.

Barry Miller September 2007: Los Angeles, CA.
Pea Mar 2017
this is a cry
this is a cry
this is a cry
this is a

parking lot. that is how big this world is. a sad space between the trees, east to a canteen, west to a badminton field. head south, there's a toilet. the way out is in the north.

we are full of cold cars and stranger's sweat. we are full of leaves, branches, fruits that fall anonymously. of raindrops, of muds that stain our clean white shoes. we are full.

come, wind. come and break the trees. come so they can wreck us into scraps.

it is no harm to the living. roots keep them alive. what does that make a human? people are abandoned, fences are mistaken as a protection. the lonely bridge. the raging river. the subject. the unidentified. everything is now an object to the eye

and it wrenches our emotion until we give them all up, of course, until we've got nothing left, of course, until breathing is solved and the lungs unravel

listen
this has been a cry all along
To speak of my pains is my release from which.
It is not merely my drudgery within the muds of self-wallowing.
It is an awakening when I read my own words and learn who I am in that moment.
It is a point from which to move on, a stepping stone.
Budhaditya Bose Feb 2017
Untold stories, unheard,
Told stories not understood,
Love felt less, laws overrated,
Skies seen, touched ground more,
Made less roads, followed more,
Thought less, views outstanded.

In The lonely aimless road of mine,
A stranger, showed me another way,
Lovely as The Moon herself,
Eyes distant as the road itself,
Hair as the dancing corn fields,
Took my hands and strolled yet,
I was never a good walker I guess.
My unspoken words, or the
Un cried tears, She never heard.

Fingers distancing themselves,
A hand, starting to let go,
The Moon thats setting,
The corn fields losing colour,
The road cracking, huh!
A tear to fall and vaporize.
Head to be pulled straight,
to be Looked back never again,

Though at the end of my roads,
I will rest on a ***** muds,
Hoping the same stranger to
Kiss me a rebirth, The painter
of the cornfields, the craftsman
who would make more roads
for both of us to walk once more...
Waiting to reach to the end soon
foerno Feb 2010
the flow
the society's eternal goal
mindless show for senses
enslavement for soul.

splash is all the effort
I use it to crush waves
all becomes trash when there's no escape.
'sider them mundane
you're still on the shelf
breaking out a cliché is a cliché in itself.

we cannot all disperse
we cannot stay in place
reclusive - an evil curse
society's disgraced.

a shame,
the river flows.
I pledge to crash on banks
some will reach the muds and dry
most will stay inside

better die alone with vows
than splash - the river flows.
R Guildenstern Mar 2015
When it rains it pours
And when it pours it floods
And when it floods theirs death, sliding with the Muds
And after death is sadness
And after sadness sorrow
Light a lonely candle as to have some light tomorrow
Sadness is not followed ,nothing grows in such a soil
You may have a happy feeling but the promises are hollow
And all that's left the ****** as she lay the heroe rest
For his lips forever aching as the fire filled his chest
Toking at the dam around twelve
Listening for rod tip bells
Muds slapping topwater , the hollow ring
of paddle striking boat , a bowed rod , a midnight
fight on a starlit warm Rico night
Connecting the heavens with wondering eyes
Tobacco smoke rising high into the sky
A jigger of peach brandy warmth
A chicken sandwich from the One Stop* ..
The One Stop was the only store in Palmetto other than a supermarket when I was a teenager ..They had the best chicken sandwiches ..Spent many a night cat fishing Cedar Grove Lake as well as the Chattahoochee River ... Muds are slang for Flathead Catfish ..

Copyright February 10 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
clementine Jul 2020
i like me when i'm with you
when you hold me in your arms so tight
and my shoulders that you bite
oh baby, i would love to be with you for years
you whispering sweet words in my ears

one cozy afternoon,
while we're watching our favorite cartoon
hands clasped and forehead kisses
i closed my eyes and recall my wishes
this is what i wish for and i couldn't ask for more

a loud noise banged at the door
suddenly, a drunken man fell to the floor
then, his gang came in and punched you
metal clanking and bubblegums they chew
i shouted in terror when they hit you hard

white flowers and black outfits
what did we do for them to throw a fit?
i could still remember the bloods
and how they throw you on the muds
baby, i miss your touch on mine.
i miss you.
Letters from Lia Oct 2018
Your love for your man was like an ocean
Its getting deeper
Every time you sail to see his wonders
You thought you were safe
You thought you could swim
Until the storm came
The waves came running
Thunders rumbling
It destroyed your boat
You fell
And again you thought you were safe
You thought "I trust him, I will not drown"
But slowly, bit by bit
You didn't know
You were devoured by this love
You thought it was beautiful
You thought there were beautiful corals
You thought there were colorful fishes
But all you saw was thick muds
On the ocean floor
You reached the abyss
Dark crevices hovered around you
You got scared
You swam back
Trying to reach the surface
You swam back
Wishing to breathe again
But his gravity pushed you down
Your body became numb
You can't swim anymore
Your prescence disappeared
Your soul turned into words—"My love, I fought. I tried. But I'm weak and I drowned"
—dedicated to broken hearts
siin_li
Honeydrops Mar 2014
I thought this would get better with time
I thought times will refresh the page of odds
I thought moments will swing pass
But its hurts my pride
To confess this
That I miss you
Like everyday...
And that I need you ..
Always to breath...
Seems life is drown out of me...
Without us been around each other
And the sun had refuses to smile
Since distance made these bridge
I miss you
Like the air I breath
when my nostril seem stuck
With fluffy muds ...
Picking my pieces been so hard
I just ve to keep moving...
But I miss you ... like everyday....  

I know I'm going to survive these...
And this cup shall pass me by..
But in the mean time
I'll like to admit...
Cos denying brings more pain
than admitting does
That I miss you .
The Vampire rises from his sleeping chambers.
He's not after good red fluids
He fights to thirst on those "bad Bloods"
Battling the actual evil
outside of his After Life Traveled muds
In the towns that once feared him
Watching the vigilante rise and protect
those in which who feared his brothers and sisters
his Creature's Reputation
They were once to it blind
Taking down the pigs of society
The cheer drinks at the village bar with him
The Vampire warrior
Has become the King of Society's Sorority.
Vampire warrior,kevin michael kappler
Brother Jimmy Apr 2019
The first flurries’ magic has dissolved
As flakes fly yet again
Filling the view through the back windows

We long for the final triumph of spring
When muds and buds have broken through
And have been warmed by the sun

The ice crystals mount their final assault
To see if they can defeat
The coming onslaught of green
Drunk poet Jul 2016
The clouds were covered with darkness,
The thunder strikes hard with no kindness,
There comes a great lightning,
People said it was made so by God almighty,

It strikes hard like a renew sword,
I wish I could stop it with my with my words,
Fear encamped me on my bed made of muds,
I was a stick and couldn't move,

It sounds so awful like an empty drum,
It was horrible affecting my ear drum,
It rained like the the time of Noah,
We wish we won't hope for more.

I finally took my linen that is almost torn,
We became friends on the floor,
The I realize that is almost late,
That day was superb and great.
XIII Apr 2016
Who are you?
Are you the one inside rock sanctuaries?
Built from pennies without taxes?
Made by white-robe-wearing prisoners?

Who are you?
Are you the one preached by those on the streets?
Those who wear dresses and suits
By those who ask for money without receipts?

Who are you?
Are you the one described by those thick books?
The one who is mighty and all good?
Omniscient and wiped off all those who are rude?

Who are you?
Are you the one who's love is unconditional?
Yet the one who said there's only cold and warm?
The one who denies the existence of something lukewarm?

Who are you?
Are you the one who's perfect?
But you created what everyone called "mistakes"
The one who said those mistakes' feelings are fake?

Who are you?
Are you the ultimate judge?
The one who taught to point out faces with muds
Without first looking in the mirror which is a must?

Who are you?
Everyone is presenting their own clues
Who are you?
Even though they know no one is really a hundred percent true

I believe I know you
Not because of scripts
Or from others' beliefs
I just somehow feel I know you

Others might not believe the 'you' I know
Because they have their 'you' of their own
But I will not shove my 'you' down their throats
Just to reign their 'you' as the ultimate truth
Life as we know it;
A sugar coated bus ride to hell or high heaven;
It's all galaxies and fallacies
How can it be the Milky Way
when there's no road that can take me there?
What's the difference between Night and Day      
when the only thing that shines in my skies are these nuggets of solid grief in my eyes?

My facilities do not conform to my abilities,
My reality a bare result of hateful gravities,
I yearn to fly
My mother keeps pushing the sky
Out of my reach
She wants me drowned in the ponds of silence.
Blocking my shine in the brown of her dusts,
She forces me to wallow in the muds of mediocrity;

But I am not just another particle;
The carbon of my heart tells me I am an excellent gem,
Wiz the diadem;
Born to lead a life of jewel passions and crystal lusts!

I know that speech alone is not enough – I need to dig myself from under these sands.
Society your son is a pearl,
Though you keep concealing the flame of his sparkle
Keep in mind – a day shall come; an hour shall pass
When your stony grip on the feet of his mind shall be loosened;
Trust then, that he will diamond in this rough!

WordSmith Wiz
01/08/2019
I believe in Individualism - a philosophy which centers on believing in oneself and doing what one can to bring joy and satisfaction into one's own existence. I refuse to have society place limits on how i should be, what i can do and why i should live, my ambition and purpose will not be tampered with!
Ken Pepiton Mar 19
A moment's attention to an hour's raw worth.
This is the mind ****** experiment, last try...
back and forth until it breaks,
touch the edge, feel the heat.

On knowing, first taste, it is believed,
mankind's first mother made all mankind,
all from first mother
on to logically, eventually,
us;
You and me,
as we slipt the Matrix and uttered
the first breath wail that clicks the post womb life.

First thought that death ought be feared
has not yet been given the beguilement needed,
to make a slave to the mission revealed by truth's
spirit form, wind form, mind form, time formed point.

Knowledge, forbid my ignorance, but should one,
such as I, not die before my **** hair thins,
to lay bare the scalp that covers holy access
through the window in the top of the skull;

well, then, a certain respect is due me, a love, proof
that my reasonings were honed sharp enough,
early enough to form hooks to hang strands
of fullered fibers of gnosis from.

Prepared stitching thread, twirled intwining line
of reason, plumb weighted to hang straight,

perpindicular, swinging when to when, then
to now, to day from night, to ready after letters
are fitted to let us take thought, while attempting

contemplative temporary causal agency,
mediating meditation's worth versus daydreaming.

--------------
Standard transmission, clutched, loosed,
engaged to catch a spark and start the process

rolling presently from past instances of learning.

Motivational motors of minding one's busyness,
catch a spark mid sequence, in a valved chamber

whooshing to push to shove to pull, and push
to displace and **** and shove to push and roll,

extending any individual's reach, confining
one's attention to inner reasonings, efforting
to steer the convenience compelling consciousness,

paid attention to terminii in reality set by science,
acknowledged used to increase the mobility of our kind,
mind you, promotion demands hands and eyes,
coordinating coy and ardent wills worth observation,
as will to be useful as  arms and necks and nerves
and muscles and ligaments to tie bone frames,
to controls allowing fingers to steer,
as tongues do, as rudders do,

as my will being done may do,
we imagine as children watching adults work wishing.



---------
the efforting, effectual, fervent umph
applied to being useful on the whole,

the efforting made good by limitation
on liberty, free-state of matter, under
gravity and velocity, bound and determined,

to obey the binding force realized in thought,
leveraging aging winding springs force holds,
cogs to stop grinding gears, catchments,
mind hooks with torque converting aspiration

grasping reasons to resist inertial entropic
good enough reasons to sit still and wait.

------

guaged goodness, measured mind width
comprehended, held with thumb and fingers,
in our combined ready writer mind, manipulated

muscle memorial cause confirming, progress
toward our common, shared joy strength

winging lift up from least useful of creatures,
unselfsustainable --nidicolous, nest bound,
bald baby birds, or pre-birds, evolving
into functional forms for use in life
as we, the best form
of life we have conceived.
-----------

We have, behavioral autonomy, only
to the degree, the measured
parental investment, we need to have
and keep hold of having grasped, as
behavior becoming to beings of this kind.

Word smiths, mind adjustment experts,
fed from stacks in libraries so vast, that

now, we know, no mortal mind can hold
half of all we have experimentally proven
good for any word using cluster of us to have

to hold and use to make might be rights.

May might used right take thought, aye, may
be the will to have right use honed to one point,

new known pastless place, farthest edge
of ever after all we think or ask has proven,

patient stasis, waiting is, suffer it to be so now.

Some times and one times,
revisiting the process, producing me
and you, the processors of our realif-ications.

If as a condition,
in an ifery state, sticking to any matter realized;
we think as if one of us thought first, in time passing

now, from then, in your mind, my mind leaves reproof,
constructed to prevent the falling back into doubt,

two heads, four minds, one wind to share
in time passing as when one now meets a then,
when all attention ever once paid this now, turns

this time into a part of ever after all,
as words speak to heart felt conscience use proven
good, clean, pure state of first interest bearing lent
ears, hearing entertaining causing agents taunting troof.

Prove me now, herewith. Have I not filled your lungs,
have I not granted science right use of knowledge needed

to keep your nidicolous naked soul inspired to continue,
sowing kindness, same mindness, ag, agrimental agreement

we think, we thunk,
we thank our lucky stars, time and chance,

taut twang strangs of our hearts and minds, "chu-hoi",

big hugs, evahboty be nice like G.I., open arms
sự đầu hàng

bring before us the machine gunner called Whykill… begin
judgment near the incident, sự kiện, 29-02-01968,

There we was, me and Frenchy and Culpepper or something,
I forget, and now, I'm dead and all you all have are artificial
memorex versions of things I said I was a witness to, as a liar,
-nothin' but a houn'dawgnosis
picking old scents of sense we made in conversations,
so far past the point of no return, that none on the other side,
can contain innocense, livery of consci, where in our uniformity,

protrudes through old time religious linking thinking, wonders if
we might imagine living on in other words, after all's been
said and done… Whykill's dead. Hohlenstein's dead, and I am not.

Can you hear me now? Earth, earth, can you hear me now?
I hear your brother's blood crying out,
what now, this
now,
you know,
all those idle questions, you know? Did you
feel me lie and tell me no, no, man,
you can't do that.

And be not deceived. Single mind dominance, flat
left and correct, right, right, create an ifery wasery when,

then, let us form a means to use this ifery wasery when,
now, let us form
in time as realizable, vision, written plain,

set in new fangled fonts unicoded
common computable convertible
to bits in math-mental fundus corpus us,
beyond infinity through absurdity to us
becoming these thinkable thoughts,
living words all googly translated on demand,
rethinkable, as entertaining shapers of our kinds
of minds, keyed to constant news alerts, looking
for spots on the walls we pass along, hedged betting

this land is Nature's God's land, and this pasture,
green and lush, this leisure time, as advertised,
mine, my last wish
combination running streams of hot and cold water,
memory foam souls in my Adidas, as I did, assume
the role, Balaam's ***, or donkey,
if your public ***** word filter
hides ssscertain ifery essence
as sounds shuffled schitteringshits.
saint's accuser user rights assigned, runs
Phunky muse, ish bin, dasein, by das zeit, okeh
become alright already, done did done, done, indeed,
desired right to design, knowing already
the idea in the seed, was in
the virus first, and some say
long before long now,
in long then when nothing was a thought.
Knowledge was used to expose us all to living words.
Such as =
U can hold, as a mind let be formed
from mere wish it were
so easy
to fall in love, silly, blessedness
sensing mothering wombed men,
led astray with stories as wild as Theresa wannabes can conceive,
barren womb conceptions, dared define this penetralium,
esoteric guts of all sacred oxen processions, announcing
****** births reportedly
become motherless *******, and such
become outcasts, who often as not,
survive and thrive on wilderness.
Day and night, seedtime and harvest.
Learning from wind and sun and water and dirt and stone,
presoil granite, lime
from primordial sealife eons
on eons awaited, according to Devine wedoms
aspiring to some day become those cities of marble long ago
- replicate forming a marble pillar,
- from seaformed life forms turned to stone,
- in the kidneys of the world.

slow sea settle the white cliffs, pile
on pressure from megatons
of solid ice, firming fractious soft muds
at the bottom
of ancient land locked oceans,
frozen, squeezing solidified worths
weights of rainfall reacting first time
to climates constant changing
pulls from lucky stars and
guiding stars and
disintegrating
ancient's land marks, Casa Bonita,
those Bhuda reps
in the basalt, reminding
remember nothing is real,
blank slate, po' preserver of first impressions, lasting
lifetimes in words never given a reader's added weight, but

by a kind of more than once might wish
to ask, effectuality try
proofing insulation umph
opposing imposture syndrome,
with functional Dunning Krueger
inate cognative imbalence, valenced
within the pre pancreatic failure gut neurons bias…
burped bubble perception, whole self tuning
entire being concept, repenting ignorance begging
truth be known, make me unbelieve beloved lies,
other wise
make me
Art
Intuited, as a weform lifeform,
a we of three neuronal territories,
thinkers reading doer's reports from ports far afield, out there

where shapes of things that were some time ago,
can be translated into two dimensions fitting this window,
using these letters whose sense we all may use to think

translate me, the living word reminds the daydreaming monk,
consider really the stars, for number, now, and take that,
knowledge, a ledge on an oblique inleaning facet of us,

and walk along it not looking down
on or as, may be
the we form of one ready
to be reading ready we state,
in a punctuated equilibrium *** *** ***
Drums
Timpanis, Phrigian rhythms boom boom booming,
Zildjians , krashing and rolling into boingingnodes, domes
of dones, tells holding long forgotten legends for a time.

Nineveh, the repentant city, eh,
to the level
of its labor class things, fasted an acceptable fast,
miracle of miracles, the city did not fall, the miracle
of Jonah was that the city changed behavior
to such a degree that the God who had used Jonah,
made him a story in himself, used to glorify truth,
and someday make gourd growers
proud to be shapers if Meerschaum puff clouds,
made him a creature with no comprehension of mercy,
to use him in a great sorting out testing of spirits,
in the great game of the being edge overlapping gains
taken as granted grace, readers rule non readers,
see the images on the wall, hear the actors in the back,

break a leg, bad luck magic insiders hold true good,
encouragement to fret nothing, as a dancer does,
when listing with the breeze through new chance,

on the page, a pause,
a breather taking lax laze lize guessing others wise,

we suspect ourselves of hubris, as if the other wise
reason for the functional faith in goodness is done,

sneezing phase is past, if you've read this far, by now

you are infected, and as you know, knowing too much
can **** a mortal bent to believe an institutionalized PR
Q-code/ begging oppositional support,
for the dam whence the boy pulled his finger and stepped

back to be blown downstream in time to let the last salmon
spawn and bring worth back to the rain always falling,
mainly on the plain,

Habakkuk habit, artistic intuition patterns of stroke, for luck,
let role in lines intending to hold the slightest smile,
thinking I know, this is not the same vale,
this is not the same current, nor same opinion worth a look,
streaming, not rowing, life
at the moment
is a day taken
for daydreaming equivalent
to a koan ridden
to its vanishing point
on the horizontal insistence
of our mutual peculiar leanings off center,

in a phi mark pattern pearling things think through,
doing words a proper spin,
to hit the nail on the head,
pop.
Stop/ now. Taste the pudding,
is there proof now from then?
D'he, ahe he he - didja ever have the ware withal
to make up
your own mind?

-------------
Yes, walk away, daydreaming boy,
location and possession of means,
for deciphering Emperical runes,
put into my craft and trade in
Calabash pipes, seen, but unseen
gourds employed as smoked ****
and fine tobacco investigatory oral
fixations prominent during the nicotine
DNA adaptation,
{took five generations}
from popular pastime
of blowing smoke, after effects
took on global societal ruling lines
of taut strict reasons to keep smoking,
keep on, keepin' on, minding solo scriptura,

in smoke filled rooms whither whole new forms
for holding mental tyranny enough to wage war,
took shape to govern those who must fight for
the cost of power contained
in a concept with kings,
and us, or Gods and men…
opposed to, leaning against, acting
as scaffolding holding old dams destined
soon to break,
"and at that time thy people shall be delivered,
every one that shall be found written
in the book."

Johnstown flood, was a true historical news worthy event,
unlike the name of any person whose name is in a list
of souls departed from the frail shell of mortality,

ready or not.
Fret not, and naught, aye, no thing or thought
Christmas angel say aight, be not afraid of knowing,
good new things to know, whole old truths put to rest.

Here come Jubilee, one last time,
big time, big time revival of the truth conception

creator of the whole shebang.
Biggest to infinitile insignificance, in fancy other words.

But thou, O Daniel,
shut up the words, and seal the book,
to the time of the end:
many shall run to and fro,

Assisting intelligences shall seem as guides,
Michael models will seem like second comings.

in implodelusive spurts… as can be imagined
reviving old lies for new carnal mind tweaks.
Thanks for your patient investment, the cost of your attention ags me on.
b Apr 2019
i cannot write for **** anymore.
i have lost my ability to compel.
to even express.
anything and everything i feel is hiding from me
in some part of my body ive never reached
because it knows what i will do if i catch it.
rip out its inside like squishing a blueberry.
just a quick meal until i am off to **** its friends.
i am no tortured artist, just trying to shield.
i cant wait to read this in a year and applaud
for subtle progress, but me and i my friend
are stuck in different muds.
SarahTheFreeSoul Dec 2018
Our faves barely love us
The ones that we admire stay not
And those who genuinely crave our presence
Their heads get burried in the sands
Faces get soaked in the muds
Goodness, how saddening?
Love isn't a fair game
Affection comprehends no just at time
First attempt of becoming a poet
Laura May 2018
Quiet Easters awake the spirit
in a shiny April dusk.
Where you call him "Baby"
by Mum's purpled hydrangeas.

Crossing many desolate fields
in hopes of finding cheerful Forget-Me-Nots.
You have found sorrowful stories
of holy ghosts arising,
and then falling.

Spilling out
of passing spring dwellings,
with trees holding far too many rings.
Strong and sturdy,
yet knocked down for a pretty penny.

I wish we could be
milled, burnt, and wrote on.
Growing out of muds
like the words on this paper.

Like mother nature,
I've been fooled into thinking
I was more than I am.
But only until man makes me,
something I am not.

— The End —