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"omega" poems
Leg off the table you red face recruit! put on the offensive and break down the bolted door! you are the soul saver the peddle maker the calibrator with colored handbills and front line rhetoric join the masquerade in ivy league style! politicking with cunning guile invisalign smile blackened vile bleeding the funnel with gold plate omega and crocodile shoes get on stage and dance you fool! you are the headline maker the pantomime juggler the compromised closer pull out that 5 page review (bullet points only please) and polish those weathered lines! did you give it your all? the door tags and pleasantries the tidings and clippings the irrevocable claims and postured blames all those impressionable basics put to the test? you know the call (straight from those cold academics) the pie chart gurus and contract killers (complete with bone in finger) whipping their frenzied crew in an all night charade old yellar and the gatekeeper sure seem amused (sharpening their inquest behind closed doors) firing up the shiit storm with those hostile priicks and a slew of insatiable cures there’s laughter from the back room the dripping nose and wavering hand the cut white lines and checkpoint tales the pipeline romance and lacking form (of a basic essential character!) soundboard and narratives for logging time slouching on the steel case over moot points ready to play the 3 weight butter card (if need be) might I remind you it’s only an inquiry (with a slight hint of concern!) surely no malfeasance or deception intended so step back from the melt down and cut to the chase! headlines to breadlines penthouse to outhouse those immoral pursuits have taken their toll (haven’t they?) madman or rogue (you take your pick) for the scores and tabulations are final shame on you for the foul play the bold hypocrisy and order desk games the back stabbing blames and spurious names just sign on the dotted line ~ this banter is killing me
0
Jan 4, 2017
Jan 4, 2017 at 1:12 PM UTC
The Recruit
Leg off the table you red face recruit! put on the offensive and break down the bolted door! you are the soul saver the peddle maker the calibrator with colored handbills and front line rhetoric join the masquerade in ivy league style! politicking with cunning guile invisalign smile blackened vile bleeding the funnel with gold plate omega and crocodile shoes get on stage and dance you fool! you are the headline maker the pantomime juggler the compromised closer pull out that 5 page review (bullet points only please) and polish those weathered lines! did you give it your all? the door tags and pleasantries the tidings and clippings the irrevocable claims and postured blames all those impressionable basics put to the test? you know the call (straight from those cold academics) the pie chart gurus and contract killers (complete with bone in finger) whipping their frenzied crew in an all night charade old yellar and the gatekeeper sure seem amused (sharpening their inquest behind closed doors) firing up the shiit storm with those hostile priicks and a slew of insatiable cures there’s laughter from the back room the dripping nose and wavering hand the cut white lines and checkpoint tales the pipeline romance and lacking form (of a basic essential character!) soundboard and narratives for logging time slouching on the steel case over moot points ready to play the 3 weight butter card (if need be) might I remind you it’s only an inquiry (with a slight hint of concern!) surely no malfeasance or deception intended so step back from the melt down and cut to the chase! headlines to breadlines penthouse to outhouse those immoral pursuits have taken their toll (haven’t they?) madman or rogue (you take your pick) for the scores and tabulations are final shame on you for the foul play the bold hypocrisy and order desk games the back stabbing blames and spurious names just sign on the dotted line ~ this banter is killing me
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104
Tomorrows Exam is Mathematics loaded my head with unknown tricks Doodling with numbers Yes, teacher calls us dumbers Too much problems, yet very lil, solutions The long mountains of graphs The Greek symbols alpha, beta omega equations and formulas Find height, depth use trigonometry My answer a picture of a tree infinite zeros in red Sets, Relations, Geometry, variables and algebra and Lines, Its like stepping into a field of mines All time me wondering why reciprocal of zero undefined? much of the time In exam, I stay undefined!
0
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
Tomorrows Exam is Mathematics
The Alpha will call, the omega will join, Together as one, they sing a song, All now hunted, because of one fateful calling, Haunting, yet beautiful, they'll ravage, They'll break, they'll snap and growl, Stopping for yet no one, No one but the Alpha Wolf.
0
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
Alpha Wolf
son spreads knee blood into ******* &/or sidewalk chalk. mixes reds to pinks with head cracking asphalt. of god & country. of soggy bread in a lunch-bag; snackpack readied. he skates. the concussed ****** of booming youth. omega he: to the wolf pack outers. breathing love of summer, he is the son drunk on hi-c & burping. watching teenaged supersoakers yodel on a bridge. florida. son sneaks out late to rationalize the city’s features under strange light & love of nightly people. boy sculpts body out of beast, turned dark corners. arrives swollen. his father erects a roofed flattop in the backyard slab with flood light electronics taught to worship the shred. mother rattles the blender on the kitchen outskirts, ***** breathed & nearing with hugs. blister-itched. glossed folds of scar tissue. those days on summer-beyond when the neighborhood pulsates. with satellite dishes tuneforking high-frequency vibrations from outerspace & pigeons explode. son’s ears bleed, & the television goes unwatched. he snaps plank & ankle protein, refurbishing his legs into iron-rods or wands of summer anthem. cold war. he empties sugar-sweat & toxins into the storm-drain. essence of wet heat, skin pinched, & friend of ghosts. a three legged dog lay in the shade leisurely watching the boy skate on endless.
0
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
skateboard gothic
split the atom an we get fission mass becomes energy but can we split a second enter the essence of the present what would it mean to us to be that mindful ask your self doesn't your mind only occupy past future abjectly incapable of living in the present in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought theres no time to think can we enter an incalculable split second and totally take in that instant with a forgotten organic technology is it the big bang in perpetuity yet quiet as a mute a raging ever expanding sea in a connected but distinct dimension if you entered it would it not utterly erases all of history the thinkers and doers along with it the step beyond the alpha and omega the great underlining reality imagine the penetrated moment an all consuming unimaginable trans-mutational merge omnipotent yet forever imperceptible to those among us time locked an irreducible limitation like an ant in a closed paper bag a fixated reflexive machine wandering aimlessly with an unknowable mission and a relentless survival mechanism with no chance of survival time as a cosmic metabolism its medium space a vast cauldron an infinite vessel containing endless points of light everywhere myriad phenomena its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it both exquisite and hideous an incalculable zoo histories victors and victims one and all vanquished by the curse consciousness of dis-juncture a merciless countenance of limitation yet could time be an illusion rooted in a narrow awareness bereft of an eternal inexhaustible self effulgent now the rapture an eternal ****** if we could only penetrate into it would it swallow us and blot out the drama of creations theater is the now conscious illimitable ecstatic a perfect meta moment ? we hear from sacred texts like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah that we may enter beyond the veil passed time and its ravages passed mind and its distortions not to the heaven of religion in its endless closed system precepts anthropomorphic metaphors theistic gobbledygook and sophomoric social engineering a kind of cliffs notes god for dummies we can enter the eternal abode of the divine a point between the splitting of seconds revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing pierced by the effort of a focused mind
0
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:09 AM UTC
Splitting the Second
split the atom an we get fission mass becomes energy but can we split a second enter the essence of the present what would it mean to us to be that mindful ask your self doesn't your mind only occupy past future abjectly incapable of living in the present in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought theres no time to think can we enter an incalculable split second and totally take in that instant with a forgotten organic technology is it the big bang in perpetuity yet quiet as a mute a raging ever expanding sea in a connected but distinct dimension if you entered it would it not utterly erases all of history the thinkers and doers along with it the step beyond the alpha and omega the great underlining reality imagine the penetrated moment an all consuming unimaginable trans-mutational merge omnipotent yet forever imperceptible to those among us time locked an irreducible limitation like an ant in a closed paper bag a fixated reflexive machine wandering aimlessly with an unknowable mission and a relentless survival mechanism with no chance of survival time as a cosmic metabolism its medium space a vast cauldron an infinite vessel containing endless points of light everywhere myriad phenomena its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it both exquisite and hideous an incalculable zoo histories victors and victims one and all vanquished by the curse consciousness of dis-juncture a merciless countenance of limitation yet could time be an illusion rooted in a narrow awareness bereft of an eternal inexhaustible self effulgent now the rapture an eternal ****** if we could only penetrate into it would it swallow us and blot out the drama of creations theater is the now conscious illimitable ecstatic a perfect meta moment ? we hear from sacred texts like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah that we may enter beyond the veil passed time and its ravages passed mind and its distortions not to the heaven of religion in its endless closed system precepts anthropomorphic metaphors theistic gobbledygook and sophomoric social engineering a kind of cliffs notes god for dummies we can enter the eternal abode of the divine a point between the splitting of seconds revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing pierced by the effort of a focused mind
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87
*Tybee , the Masters sonata of wind , crashing wave , sand and tide , Alpha and Omega of rippling current , mighty Savannah River completes her southern journey here .. As Sailor , ****** and maritime entrepreneur , embark , having left the security of her shore into the mighty , unforgiving Atlantic , her Lighthouse , a living testament to sacrifice , safe return to port as well as those forever lost at sea*
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Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
Tybee Lighthouse
The power of contentment is a strong force, composed of the sense of inward sufficiency; for we’ve been promised the strength to succeed when we open spiritual eyes and dare to see… His divine plan of grace and abundance for us. Christ, the Alpha and Omega, beginning and end, demonstrated His Love with actions at Calvary, giving us the privilege to be called His friend. We should not be worried about personal needs, for we’ve been equipped to address all of them; study The Word, apply His principles to your life and you’ll enjoy Life, without feeling condemned. For contentment has nothing to do with your wants; it’s being satisfied on the way to where you’re going. Boldly ask God for wisdom; trust Him and His timing; continue to be blessed by the seeds you are sowing. Don’t be affected by Life-stealing, negative emotions; find your identity of being one of His girls and boys; real contentment is the underlying power to be happy- learn to lean on Biblical promises and the Lord’s joy! . . . Author Notes: Loosely based on: Rom 11:36; 1 Tim 6:6; Eph 3:20; Jam 4:2; Phil 4:11-13; John 3:16-17 Learn more about me and my poetry at: http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
0
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Poem: Power of Contentment
in action , inaction in inaction, action precarious balance YOU AND I ARE HERE higgs boson......pulsation yinning and yanging the bed keeps bouncing UP AND DOWN creation.....unceasing apparent sensation of repetition apparent sensation of difference other than YIN and YANG aleph (alpha) and tov (omega) centers of centaurs and of course the dragons ( and unicorns) YOU AND I ARE HERE in the cornicoupia in the fertile valley on the frieght train headin west huddled gainst the lover's breast try live awhile then try death the bed keeps bouncing UP AND DOWN YOU AND I ARE HERE
0
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 1:29 PM UTC
communication
/                        innocent until prōven guilty, contra guilty until                              prōven innocent...   ah!          so the minority report? guilty, while innocent,     based upon a premonition? hindsight with a zodiac type of interpretation...    innocent until prōven guilty has no superiority in practice over the continental guilty until prōven innocent... no... because the principle invokes presuppositions,                   of suppositions... treating the two as propositions - or rather... "verbs" inacted... innocent until prōven guilty - then no understanding of freedom, at least guilty until prōven innocent allows understanding restraint, however unfair,    with 18 years lost...    and then the tears of relief!                      Tomasz Komenda...          an "espionage" case of staging empathy...                en masse...    an innocent man walks away from falsely imposed justice measures... a redemption...        a count de monte cristo allowance...                  but in reverse? the evil man walks free...      succumbing to old age,     and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon... there is no redemption aspect of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence... the... innocent, until prōven guilty, contra: guilty until prōven innocent    schizophrenia?                 the latter overshadows the former...                          because we're not babies... at least with the latter: there's a redemption exegesis -      but with the former?                 bitter-sweet tears within the confines, of an example akin                              to jimmy savile... guilty until prōven innocent    has much more authentic emotional content, with a redemption narrative... innocent until prōven guilty    has?    not much,                                   just a grave, and the stunted emotional expression, what ought to be flowers within the heart,    instead: fungus, growing in the dark... and thus... translating to other hearts:         let's allow this chemo-phobia chemo-philia experiment      be left intact in its the momentum... honestly... the study of law -    is probably the ********* game in the allowance of games of adulthood... one tier above gambling. p.s. because you know there's proof: and that the past-participle thrown into a future, does require an omega rather than an omicron... not an oh, but an ooh... hence? reign from above, on the omicron, with a macron (ō).
0
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
contra-evolution of saxon jurisprudence
/                        innocent until prōven guilty, contra guilty until                              prōven innocent...   ah!          so the minority report? guilty, while innocent,     based upon a premonition? hindsight with a zodiac type of interpretation...    innocent until prōven guilty has no superiority in practice over the continental guilty until prōven innocent... no... because the principle invokes presuppositions,                   of suppositions... treating the two as propositions - or rather... "verbs" inacted... innocent until prōven guilty - then no understanding of freedom, at least guilty until prōven innocent allows understanding restraint, however unfair,    with 18 years lost...    and then the tears of relief!                      Tomasz Komenda...          an "espionage" case of staging empathy...                en masse...    an innocent man walks away from falsely imposed justice measures... a redemption...        a count de monte cristo allowance...                  but in reverse? the evil man walks free...      succumbing to old age,     and dementia, a pontius pilate pardon... there is no redemption aspect of the saxon course of applying jurisprudence... the... innocent, until prōven guilty, contra: guilty until prōven innocent    schizophrenia?                 the latter overshadows the former...                          because we're not babies... at least with the latter: there's a redemption exegesis -      but with the former?                 bitter-sweet tears within the confines, of an example akin                              to jimmy savile... guilty until prōven innocent    has much more authentic emotional content, with a redemption narrative... innocent until prōven guilty    has?    not much,                                   just a grave, and the stunted emotional expression, what ought to be flowers within the heart,    instead: fungus, growing in the dark... and thus... translating to other hearts:         let's allow this chemo-phobia chemo-philia experiment      be left intact in its the momentum... honestly... the study of law -    is probably the ********* game in the allowance of games of adulthood... one tier above gambling. p.s. because you know there's proof: and that the past-participle thrown into a future, does require an omega rather than an omicron... not an oh, but an ooh... hence? reign from above, on the omicron, with a macron (ō).
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79
I work for the machine that bashes bastardized beauty into the face of the masses The status quo of oppressing the Goddess to some golden ratio of ***** perfection "We set the standards, baby" An arrogance of man, A battle born in blood objectifying some sacred symbol, The cosmic **** we all crawled out of as star dust The holy hole to heaven on Earth Gaia taken advantage of Rejecting the gift of consciousness We'll de-evolve like past-life regressions like we're so self-entitled to  come back around Among the cosmos cradled in the crescent  Deny yourself the mystique of the feminine The clashing of the anima and animus The syzergy of  the sun  the moon  and us Call on your angels And submit to the psychosis My brothers, These are our  sisters and mothers They don't want to castrate The ******* symbol Destroy the alpha male And the omega oppression The beginning and the end of **** shaming  I worked for the  misogyny machinery of Moloch My heart no longer beats here It just bleeds for her.
0
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
This Is What A Feminist Looks Like
Mother superior had dropped the gun, Seeing the victim was her very own son. There a saint was made to run Drowned before the rising sun. Messiah born on the first day of June, Posing as a religious boon. Preaching that the end is soon, All in a tone resembling Sinatra’s croon. Superiority held in the form of prayer, Faith maintained at the behest of a dare. Professor Lodz has lost his bear. The Omega deemed this loss as fair. Tammuz is smoking all the vegetation Asherah has stopped all gestation, Coming from a fit of ************ Working on a new form of taxation. Jesus just took one huge dumb, In the sink after snorting a quick bump. The man had reached quite the slump. Catching HPV from Fergies’s **** Mohammad is eating all the pork. Using hands, forgetting the fork. ******* chicks, with all kinds of torque, Misinterpreting the path of a wayward stork. Dinning on delicious swine. And the finest forms of delicate wine. Prophets of the world align. And drink from the deceased Christopher Reeve’s spine.
0
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
Impeded By The Reasonable
I have killed them all Not a hero to be seen I have drained the hope Made this world unclean I am the alpha, the omega The god they never knew I am the reason for which The sun shines through I have locked her up In a cage of ice I will have her When the time is right. I will have peace now No more free will No more wars No more ill No one will be lost All will live No need for a chance For none I will give The dawn is coming Let me get my cape For they will see me in the morning And they will gape At my form so glorious At my will so strong For I have finally won This war after long Bear with me oh reader For I will have you too For I am good now And I will see it through What is that light How dare it cross my way How does it not know The new masters face. Wait what is this There is still hope.
0
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
A villains dream
Artificial means and memes the fingers perusing naturally formed hide and go seek Chic creatures wrought from nanoparticles based on modeled consciousness neural networks A handsome hivemind of bee;s building trees from cds ...intersynth polygons attracted to stack platonic forms emanation waves alpha beta delta gamma omega 1 , 2 ,3 this multiversal layering from micro to macro of matter animated by its intoned hertz pulsations and the interferrence pattern of the changing relationship due to the amount, frequency, force, temperature , texture , text messages, timing , geometry , subharmonics and overtones, a jewel net . syncronistic synergetic, synaptical sparkles.
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Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
Sparkles
To the Master, glory! To the Buckler, glory! To the Sovereign, glory! Oh, how grateful to be alive! The hell shelling like atomic bomb But lose not sight of the rainbow Off the curve of hell is the heaven Oh, how grateful to be alive! The night’ll not endure No matter the hell fiend Heaven‘ll outpace its space Oh, how grateful to be alive! To the Almighty God, glory To the Miracle Connoisseur, glory To the Alpha and Omega, glory Oh, how grateful to be alive! The sun coming to delete the night Conquer the brute dark by faith And see the stars in blooming petals Oh, how grateful to be alive! The moon is coming this ogre night This ambushing danger‘ll break To the sunrise of glory Oh, how grateful to be alive! Turn not your back On the forward march to glory Shoot hope infinite to the dim horizon Oh, how grateful to be alive! To the King, glory! To the Love, glory! To the Glory, glory! Oh, how grateful to be alive!
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Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 5:17 AM UTC
GRATEFUL TO BE ALIVE
God is all of us collectively collectively we are all of God Engaged in a dance of inhaling and exhaling curling and stretching imploding and exploding Occasionally He and we... collide in the middle blurring the lines between universe and atom The pressing of atoms against other atoms in a desire to feel something other than themselves To still their loneliness they seek *********** they crash into one another abandoning duality and embracing oneness You cannot tell where one ends and one begins They become alpha and omega horizon and sky the ****** Love’s confusing joy Where it all end Everything! And where it all begins That explosive ecstasy that moment and eternity that *********** gives focus to an energy and new life is born Movement happens creating waves of sound Their patterns and rhythms being the song that you hear right now Shadow, light, line, texture, color, shape, space, and form create the ballroom dance of the image before your eyes And then there is breath The caress of memory on your Inhale the crashing release of the Exhale and the undulating attempt to fill the Void in between The hunger... the longing… the suffering... for a turkey sandwich in your mouth right now… Yearning for a human touch is what creates a new world a new Universe and the cycles repeats An element is born and somewhere a star explodes scattering its seed across the universe Saying “I AM…”
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May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 10:56 PM UTC
Meet Me In the Middle
SATOR AREPO TENET OPERA ROTAS Cropsman, Alpha-Omega is with you, and bids you go forward with a patient but steady momentum. Keep yourself to the Old Truth. Your work Is that of the seasons which are cyclical as the wheels of your sowing and reaping contraptions.
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May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
Charmed, I'm Sure
***The mistress of my hereafter stole me away, As she so oft does, To a few minutes of quiet conversation. In her silenced voice I could read my own Long since Christianed anguish, So near it is - but so ****** far away. If only in Faraway we had us a private cottage, Maybe then we could retire to our dreams. The dressing room there Would always be yours. For I make everything yours And call it so beforehand. Thus making you the mistress Of my entire hereafter. My alpha - my omega. This “Hereafter” is but a melancholy term ‘lest We find ourselves stole away whilst Communicating through our spirits. For in spirit we have already met and Shall surely meet again. Let the certainty of it Brighten us with its forth coming. Thou surely must be the author Of the utmost of our faith. Faith in that day of heaven’s thought where In Faraway the cottage nestles between Twin peaks in the sweetest valley Ever laid at your feet while eyes See every days' blue azure sky. There we dine together by candlelight In the middle of the day while we Cater the meal toward happiness. In Faraway, all around us lives In a rapturous praise along with all that ever was. And if you should ever find my wit oppressing to Your kindness, then show your disdain and I will surely take my leave. As we look together through the candlelight Let us see only the highest values in each other. Let my eyes put your name on notice That if I were so employed as to be a slave In this land called Faraway, then my heart Would be no less than the prophet accommodated Somewhere within your walls. There with a stool and a candlestick I would sit patiently waiting for your unmaking. There my soul could be at peace from this world. I’d lean against your wall with the candle in my hand, I’d look into your eyes as I blew out the light. The cottage would then come to life As would the hearth within us. We’d breathe in each other fueling the fire. For love is the fuel that burns here in Faraway, Our sweet vapors rising high into the sky. They are bless'ed fires that never end. Come - blow out the candle once more and Let's lose our disguises– Later I'll relight the candle so we can Blow it out and do it all over again.***
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Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 8:38 AM UTC
Faraway
***The mistress of my hereafter stole me away, As she so oft does, To a few minutes of quiet conversation. In her silenced voice I could read my own Long since Christianed anguish, So near it is - but so ****** far away. If only in Faraway we had us a private cottage, Maybe then we could retire to our dreams. The dressing room there Would always be yours. For I make everything yours And call it so beforehand. Thus making you the mistress Of my entire hereafter. My alpha - my omega. This “Hereafter” is but a melancholy term ‘lest We find ourselves stole away whilst Communicating through our spirits. For in spirit we have already met and Shall surely meet again. Let the certainty of it Brighten us with its forth coming. Thou surely must be the author Of the utmost of our faith. Faith in that day of heaven’s thought where In Faraway the cottage nestles between Twin peaks in the sweetest valley Ever laid at your feet while eyes See every days' blue azure sky. There we dine together by candlelight In the middle of the day while we Cater the meal toward happiness. In Faraway, all around us lives In a rapturous praise along with all that ever was. And if you should ever find my wit oppressing to Your kindness, then show your disdain and I will surely take my leave. As we look together through the candlelight Let us see only the highest values in each other. Let my eyes put your name on notice That if I were so employed as to be a slave In this land called Faraway, then my heart Would be no less than the prophet accommodated Somewhere within your walls. There with a stool and a candlestick I would sit patiently waiting for your unmaking. There my soul could be at peace from this world. I’d lean against your wall with the candle in my hand, I’d look into your eyes as I blew out the light. The cottage would then come to life As would the hearth within us. We’d breathe in each other fueling the fire. For love is the fuel that burns here in Faraway, Our sweet vapors rising high into the sky. They are bless'ed fires that never end. Come - blow out the candle once more and Let's lose our disguises– Later I'll relight the candle so we can Blow it out and do it all over again.***
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59
My Lucifer, unwitting Muse, dog-eared Vonnegut, afrobeatnik third eye, howls escaping from your headphones, wailing about secrets, about infidelity, about analyzing life until there ain’t nothin’ left. Then you shuffle by in your black and white Adidas, hair in twists, wearing the striped sweater of nihilistic intent, quoting the rants of Holden Caulfield in your blog like you never didn’t know him. I never asked to know you, to want who I can’t have when I can’t even love myself. And every fiber Of my being yearns for reciprocation. What is there to return? What is there to feel, you meditate on truth, fallen angel in the parlor of rebellion, blasphemous goodbye, bright and morning star simpering like crickets in the palms of daybreak. Your musicality radiates from subway chatter and overheard profanity down El Camino Real. I take in your ballad at my post office mailbox, in the abandoned echoes of daydream monologues. You’re a philosopher, exploring theory of mind, a cartographer, mapping the labyrinth of your deepest desires. Tell me again about desires, demonstrations of divine sadism. Tell me about human empathy, the animated faces of wordless expression, the metaphysics of free will, my beginning and my end, alpha and omega, my fortress in the land of chic. Blasphemous hustler, let your idealism simmer, your wit, your mojo, I come to you an amateur, a neophyte, a lowly scab in the strike against ignorance. Give me my melody, my song, my one-hit-wonder of all that is cliché and unknown. But I can’t be the other woman, your girlfriend, your aspiring Playboy bunny only 10-bucks-a-throw. Your highness-who-yells- his-ideas-into-the-ears-of-echoes, your every quirk spellbinds me. Each day I wake to your entourage vibrato. I am held captive by your brooding stare, empress of liberal doves. You visit in my dreams when the sky is a force of darkness viewing light through peepholes, your flaws an aphrodisiac, a love drug, a fast hit in the basement from the ecstasy of words.
0
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
Fixation
My Lucifer, unwitting Muse, dog-eared Vonnegut, afrobeatnik third eye, howls escaping from your headphones, wailing about secrets, about infidelity, about analyzing life until there ain’t nothin’ left. Then you shuffle by in your black and white Adidas, hair in twists, wearing the striped sweater of nihilistic intent, quoting the rants of Holden Caulfield in your blog like you never didn’t know him. I never asked to know you, to want who I can’t have when I can’t even love myself. And every fiber Of my being yearns for reciprocation. What is there to return? What is there to feel, you meditate on truth, fallen angel in the parlor of rebellion, blasphemous goodbye, bright and morning star simpering like crickets in the palms of daybreak. Your musicality radiates from subway chatter and overheard profanity down El Camino Real. I take in your ballad at my post office mailbox, in the abandoned echoes of daydream monologues. You’re a philosopher, exploring theory of mind, a cartographer, mapping the labyrinth of your deepest desires. Tell me again about desires, demonstrations of divine sadism. Tell me about human empathy, the animated faces of wordless expression, the metaphysics of free will, my beginning and my end, alpha and omega, my fortress in the land of chic. Blasphemous hustler, let your idealism simmer, your wit, your mojo, I come to you an amateur, a neophyte, a lowly scab in the strike against ignorance. Give me my melody, my song, my one-hit-wonder of all that is cliché and unknown. But I can’t be the other woman, your girlfriend, your aspiring Playboy bunny only 10-bucks-a-throw. Your highness-who-yells- his-ideas-into-the-ears-of-echoes, your every quirk spellbinds me. Each day I wake to your entourage vibrato. I am held captive by your brooding stare, empress of liberal doves. You visit in my dreams when the sky is a force of darkness viewing light through peepholes, your flaws an aphrodisiac, a love drug, a fast hit in the basement from the ecstasy of words.
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36
Guys and gals, Ladies and gents I love to see the couples in love Couples newly in love Couples well into love Couples who never thought they'd ever find it Young couples Old couples Middle-of-the-road couples Eye catching couples Plain couples Color blind in-love couples Taller couples Shorter couples From alpha to omega couples Couples who lost the love, but found it again Couples who struggled on through Couples who defied the odds Maybe I'm peering through rose-colored pupils Maybe my vision has gone radioactive But I love to see such couples in love
0
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Couples in Love
Struggling for a gift again, Every year a new idea needed. What can I get an agnostic who has everything? Another Tiffany charm Won't do any harm. A clay pigeon shooting experience couldn't possibly miss How about Afternoon Tea... With me? Wait, an idea that's viable, A personalised Bible Where, rather than 'God', Her name instead: "In the beginning Doris-Ann created the Heavens and the Earth" Right through to: "I am the Alpha and the Omega, says the Lord Doris-Ann" What a revelation, A new gift to sweep the nation! A personalised Bible Whose sales will rival The good book itself. Such a gift might be great, Until, at St Peter's gate, Doris-Ann might have to explain That she was once God on Earth And that should be good enough For an agnostic not to be rebuffed.
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Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 8:11 PM UTC
Not On The High Street
' GOD THE FATHER JESUS THE SON HOLY SPIRIT AMEN <> AMEN HOLY SPIRIT JESUS THE SON GOD THE FATHER
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May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 11:52 AM UTC
GOD the alpha & the omega GOD
She is as lines to Bauhaus, oblique In category yet commanding in form; Her mind a pool of wealth and Grace, Allusions to illusions, omega to Alpha’s strongest gaze. I stand Failed, distraught, lacking the Dexterity of voice to call her name, The temerity of will to regain her fair Charms and affirmed charisma. Lost I am within a cascade of Superlatives and tribulation. Were only she to have conquered My mind, I would be of sound spirit to Elicit some tempered comprehension; Yet alas, I have been taken in soul And I can do naught but wait To see if she will one day return.
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Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 3:39 AM UTC
Hair, Perfume, Etc.
Dear Emma Watson - Shall we make love The object of Our spiritual quest Together? Surely an altogether Better option Than pairing you off In a commentary box With one John Motson Discussing twenty two Pairs of socks Chasing a piece of leather? If spiritual questing Is not for you I will make do With tightly tied pairs of shoes Existential emus, Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. Whilst hoping you find Your Sherlock Holmes, Miss Watson I will content myself with Cataloguing my collection of Black and white combs. I also have plots on Which I need to work - Wednesday Addams's love of Moon dried tomatoes Or Erica Roe Somewhere in Portugal Growing sweet potatoes For sale. Don't let anyone tell you There ain't no perks To being an Omega Male.
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Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
Emma Watson Receives A Proposition From An Omega Male