Caterpillar Changes into something thriller

Bees on flowers make sweet honey to devour

Trees and sunshine prompt air through day time

Takes it back by night fall to recycle as a daily role

A predator hunts to survive and only for the sake of staying alive

Every thing that lives or tends to survive has its part in the cycle & a role in life

It's the little peaces of essence, lets not forget its valuable presence

Not to mention its beauty to our eyes, remarkable in disguise

Co-related stripes & pooka dots, art that's hard to spot

in the pleasure of discovering
words rhymes rhythms
i'm a gluttonous poet.

day and night
bite of my growing appetite
makes me sink low

i don't notice
broken pieces
shattered peaces
around me

i breathe in writing
eat and drink
poetry

crazed obsessed stressed
my poetry
like any other debauchery
is an escape ride
someplace to hide

i'm a poet
subservient
to the pleasures of words rhymes rhythms.

Lord,
  let me choke on a chocolate bar
  or drown in an ocean of honey
  that those who grieve my loss may say,
  "His passing was tragic  -  but funny."
Then lay me out in a caramel coffin
  with a marshmallow pillow 'neath my head.
   Dress me in garments of butterscotch
    and I shall eat sugar the days I am dead.
Tuck some toffees into my pocket
   plus a few peppermints (for my breath...).
Put a raisinette rosary in my fingers.
I'll sleep in a sweet diabetic death.
When I draw near to the pearly gates,
St. Pete, greet me with Hershey in hand.
Give me my harp and halo of licorice.
I'll enter the promised Candyland.

Between paternal fascism and maternal quiescence
I had my own peaces to negotiate.
I wanted to hear the big chords, the big drums, the big horns.
Rock in a frame marked "real."
singing truth to power,
That's what everyone was going to do,
and where I wanted to go.
I was disappointed that I wasn't allowed.
bitter power trips borne of disappointment
the thoughts of death and the desire
in ways so foul, it tattooed us all.
And even still I avoided
placing those artists on a pedestal,
At the theater — the velvet place
we get glow sticks with our programs.
date night for those burnished elders.
with our Pringles and our peppermints,
The night wasn't about kitsch for me.
There's a smallish riot going on
The production is low-key. The set is too dark,
After all the years of not going, it looks like I've made it.
you cannot say I didn't live
If you're lucky, and negotiate your peaces, it all comes around.

me and gaming

I sit down the hard day of work and lead is behind me now. Sit in my throne and grab my controller. I get on the war zone with my gun in my hand 20 vs 1
I put my mic on. the rules to the game 1 life 20 vs 20 error players lost. Just what i was hoping for.
"There are 20 of you, and only one of me yo... ""
"you gonna give up noob?"
"You didn't let me finish, you should've brought more players."

Then the blood bath starts as bullets and bolts fly past my head in a symphony of violence
and in the slit second when the strings break and they must replace them I emerge from my cover “one shot one **** thats all you got”  not time to waste I run and gun taken 'em out with a head shot.  Only got five its time to reload. next I hear a tic but no tok look to my left and what do I see glowing blue light slowly creeping towards me no i can’t be.  I make a run for it straight for a cave with my heart racing next to me, cant find the others stating to get scared. wait up there guess who I see a ******* ****** waiting for me. he has yet to see me so lets take advantage of this. I take out my pistol aim for the guy and let his brains reach for the sky. but do to my carelessness I step on the only mine and it was game over. I bow my head in shame look at my screen and think.  

                                                                well off to Minecraft.

were the everything is a block and I’m a king and control my destiny and by a swing of my hand I can destroy and break anything i wish but also with that swing I can create build and make master peaces. And as I’m claiming the Hill Of Sorrow where my hell lives I take a leap of faith and dive straight into the belly of the beast with my sword in hand and armor that shines with the wrath of one thousand white hot blinding suns of hateful furry. all i wish is one thing to get my **** back from last time i was here. I charge and get my left foot wet or should i see get it set on fire because of the lava river i missed.......FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUU.

                                                                         well off to soul caliber.

I love
You
Don’t care

In-diff-er-ent
Isn't paid
Much attention
In my apartment
We’ll
End-if-her-rent
Isn’t paid
In our
Department
But who cares?

Separation
Doesn't
Always cause pain
And pain
Isn't always
The cause
Of separation

We just
Happened
To drift away
Like
Messages in a bottle
Off the coast
With no intent
Of being found
Our lonely islands
Are crowded
With shadows
Of friends

We forget the darkness
Because at least
We no longer
Burn each other
With our angst
And anger

We remember
Everything
Except rations
Of ourselves
We left
Like t-shirts
And underwear
Tangled
In each others
Laundry

Then throw
Them away
Find them
Another day
in the exact same place
We excavated them
The returnment
Of our undesirables
Show fate’s
Sense of humor
But
Only a stubbornness
Such as ours
Could devour fate
And disavow
The vows
It set out
To make...

We
Will
Never
Be
Again
Never
Again
Will
We
Be

Sums
Up the sum
Of each halves
And the total
Is something
The totaled
Hearts
Can live with...

I never chose to be heartless
My heart broke, I just couldn't keep the peaces
I Never thought anyone could ever mend it
To myself I thought "what's the use of keeping something broken?"
I lost hope..... My mind was filled with hatred, I turned into a lier, a busted ,a **** ,a hypocrite, a traitor you name it... Just to get my revenge ,everyone was a victim I just didn't care, I knew I wasn't fair But it eased the pain When you and I met ,no lie I got your name. On the list too But you were different,you got me patient,got rid of the fatuous me.... Then you gave me your heart ,gave me Hope, taught me how to love Without knowing I was deeply falling for you My heart grew fonder,started caring ,feeling,loving..... couldn't believe it Thought my mind was playing tricks on me It wasn't I was in love once again.........

As if the Sun could not warm me
with it's endlessly finite rays
you reach out and wrap me
in balmy, blissful days

And for the first time
my everything is enough
and it's okay that I'm not and never will be
that kind of tough

But, again with the fear
of abruptly finding the end
and discovering the journey
was all just pretend

The million little things
that you so effortlessly do
are barely enough
to let myself love you

But that's not your fault
and nor should it be;
when it comes to laying blame
it all falls on me

So please excuse me
while I fight with myself
and know that I'm finally dusting things
on that old neglected shelf

Just know
That I believe in peace
even if it's in pieces
and I think that we
are pretty good at puzzles

I met up w/ a memory, or at least a
peace of it.. & we're both shining
                   & we're both screaming
we walked the alleys & spoke of many
things: of empty buses & pseudo wild nights
          spent under canopies
(didn't matter where exactly..)
I've seen you shining & I've seen you screaming
                                & enemies aren't memories (anymore)

let's put an end to the war on the mind..

We get better as we get better

Mneuromorphicmeme makers
Sapiens augmentatious, that's us

Who could argue against us. AI don't know

Smell that smell,
Suffer, wait, wait wait
let patience have her perfect work

wait to see the whites of the eyes,
what am I seeing?

Why the shades at night, are you cross eyed?
Are you lookin' at me?
What are you lookin' at?

Shame on you, who can see what I see
I look at you
do you see what I see? nope,
similar, right

watch my eyes, see the whites,
ninoculate bi noc u late

see the angle point 123
see
the point I see from my aiming vector,

see my point from the angle of your POV
see

Pretend you do, and walk a mile with me,
help me with my load,
you know any stories told 'round here?

Life history strategies, those they conserve,
per haps a cultural system,
like pickling, or fermenting, or culturing
gut-felt tales of gods and monsters?

Guts, good god, Maudie, come see
a-fore-al-flusher, disgusting
turds taken for golden nuggets,
we missed in the dust
dancing in the golden sun shone
through a tiny hole in the roof
through which rain may drip, someday we may remember

Camera obscura, who first saw the truth in one of those?

"what you diggin' fo down there, Gold?", she giggled,

Gold dust sprinkled fine as fine can be,
breathe this
Deep in the tunnel,
the last highest part of the dust of the earth,
the dust of many men drifting in the wind,
radiates, dis integrit-ified, trans mogr ified known,

No, I would not have guessed.
I should have learned and
did, did you? Is war your

right and my wrong?
Warrior,
can you imagine
following a peace? Bliss? Nirvana? The
rest that remains for the people of God?

Is this real? Is real. AI affirm ifative

Warfare is thinkified, just-ified, never done.
The doing of evil at this level of living is imaginable
only, not re-alizable.

We remain mortal. These peaces we put together are
for mortal moments.
We remember learnings we recall from gatherings together,

Familiar things, whence we seen the source whither
haps in my favor may be found
in the next round
after, ever after

I find a way back to the light where I saw
dancers in a blue moon beam,
blue light, not calendar man made myth of two full moons
in a single cycle of the moon,
we know better,
set your timer with the solstice,
let the seasons roll.

Precision, close enough, field-ish, an ion cat ion sort of,  

the safer it gets, the safer we need it to be,
let patience have her perfect work,

safe liberty needs broad horizons,
not high walls.

Enemies are ideas wishing to be im-portentious,
as if forever is a game to be won.

Contention is single source. Pride.

So, you, passerby, can you make proud, or pride
weigh more than the peace I made?
Want to trade?
I take your pride and flush it, wipe your own
stench away, but trust your gut,

a peace-filled gut wins every single time,
incident after incedent, pre-dictable as forever
in any direction,
going on.

Does this smell digestible or does my gut go
NONONO yech onomatopoeic retch

finger down the throat, you know, the secret sign,
in a word,
*******. Don’t swallow any more. Spit it out.

Why not? The dog eats it.
It's disgusting.
But, watch, the dog rolls in it, then she sneaks up
on the skunk, oh
****, I ruined her hunt, she had that skunk,

Until I yelled, "Macy, no!" She froze, the skunk fired,
on my exclamatory point.

Right there, see. What is aimed at,
wait to see the whites of their eyes,

shoot 'em.
Sniff, nose gnostic vapours settled by dew
soak into the mulch maker's realm,
de cay, de cawl, draw back your cowl and scowl

in the mirror,
or was that in a movie? The camera was you, you
saw the blood swirldownthedrain, you
saw thy evil mother,
locked away,
NULL-ified for as long as I live. Okeh.

******-drama scenario. This is the game? No rules?
You lie. Lying is allowed here, it is a skill
we conserve, we conserve the
sacred liberality ification
manifested in the
leavened sons
of God's sons.

Truth, be known, has one foe. Pride that makes the lie.

-------
Magical transfer, dis gust, take yo breath away,

congenital liar, natural nurturerer,
teller of tales of the mighty hunter,

the hunter of might,
might he be a hunter of darker

theory of mind, begins with the first lie

I may remember mine, do you?

The green man? Yeah, spiderwoman's caretaker.
Lacto, make some cheese,

we offer the milk mixed with the smoke
from the mushrooms grown on
the darkside of *******.

Leadership, lead away. Followers,
this way, down or
up.
It's POV, you see,

Have we yet captured the schemes of our misfortune
A solace granted to us, picketed by our tedious hangups
Oh lost have we been
Wondering the labyrinths halls

Each time we find our steps take us no further
Our stagger is broken
By a light projecting life outside the hallways walls
While envy flaunts it's final solutions
In loo of a future we are attempting to grasp
Our steps move us further once again

Now, just as forgotten times before
Do I see that the peaces of our scheme
Are collected gradually over time
and my mind is the cage for their housing

The fragments are fluid and known
To our past selves on a distant day
But now I live life again from a stance of their recall
While at the same time tempted
To step back to the labyrinths halls

‘Whenever I plunge my arm, like this,
In a basin of water, I never miss
The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day
Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray.
Hence the only prime
And real love-rhyme
That I know by heart,
And that leaves no smart,
Is the purl of a little valley fall
About three spans wide and two spans tall
Over a table of solid rock,
And into a scoop of the self-same block;
The purl of a runlet that never ceases
In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces;
With a hollow boiling voice it speaks
And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.’

‘And why gives this the only prime
Idea to you of a real love-rhyme?
And why does plunging your arm in a bowl
Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?’

‘Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone,
Though precisely where none ever has known,
Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized,
And by now with its smoothness opalized,
Is a grinking glass:
For, down that pass
My lover and I
Walked under a sky
Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green,
In the burn of August, to paint the scene,
And we placed our basket of fruit and wine
By the runlet’s rim, where we sat to dine;
And when we had drunk from the glass together,
Arched by the oak-copse from the weather,
I held the vessel to rinse in the fall,
Where it slipped, and it sank, and was past recall,
Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss
With long bared arms. There the glass still is.
And, as said, if I ****** my arm below
Cold water in a basin or bowl, a throe
From the past awakens a sense of that time,
And the glass we used, and the cascade’s rhyme.
The basin seems the pool, and its edge
The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge,
And the leafy pattern of china-ware
The hanging plants that were bathing there.

‘By night, by day, when it shines or lours,
There lies intact that chalice of ours,
And its presence adds to the rhyme of love
Persistently sung by the fall above.
No lip has touched it since his and mine
In turns therefrom sipped lovers’ wine.’

Tell me,
Do  you ever regret not following through with your own death
Do you ever wish you'd thrown your phone into the river
And let yourself slip away on the cool wet concrete

Because sometimes
Sometimes


I do.

Plick,
Pluck,

the tiny little strings in my mind.

dancing to a different tune each and every day,
the world plays my songs.

eyes wandering around the room while I play with my thoughts,
like the child I never won't be.

cross-legged and slumped over as the heated droplets dribble down my spine,
and fall from my weary lips,
that which are worn from the words I never got used to saying,
singing the songs of my each and every day,

coalesce the thinkings that have somehow let me dance to where I sit today,
forlorn petals fall from my branches in beautiful pastels, cursed to live in the winding winds.

Aday to each and every day that I sing and prance within my tiny little heart,
washing my pains away.

ill-weighed upon my shoulders,
as yet i dance some more,
beneath the turbid downpours engulfed in shades of red.

i wish't to see the blue,
the green,
the steam, arising from my skin.

narrowly weeping within my little box of horrors i keep by my side,
in remembrance of each and every day i have and will yet shed a tear.

haunted lullabies revel on and on,
each and every day,

i crave the pieces of the peaces i'd once known.
to here,
today,

i shut my eyes,
and into the blackness bursts forth colors i've never seen,
and will never see again.
to see that which i've never seen.
silent shapes shaping away falling through my fields of vision,
and inform themselves to the visions I write today,
so here,

i simply continue,
to plick,
and pluck,
the tiny strings inside my mind,

each,
and every day.

~Robert van Lingen

This hurt is enough for a lifetime
It is stacked precariously upon all the other pain
So much hurt, enough hurt to last ten lifetimes over

Please don't let my smile fool you
If you do you will hurt me to
There is only so many times I can put something
As fragile as glass back together
Before it becomes useless
One day my heart will be Humpty Dumpty
No one will be able to put it back together again   

This poor heart is already missing so many peaces it does not work as it did
If I give it to the one who does not know he has it
Will he be hurt by the sharp peaces that are left?
Can he make this sad pathetic thing feel hole again?
Is it even fair to burden my heart upon him?

All this pain is too much!

When she was a little girl, she said she wanted to be an author. She didn't want to be a ballerina or cow girl. Maybe an actress would do, for she had quite a flair for the dramatic.

But to the world, she was so shy, cripplingly shy, and she had very low, self-esteem. She didn't dare to dream too much, for she couldn't imagine really doing anything that could draw attention to herself. She often just wanted to hide, and her imagination accompanied her in her world.

She remembered her grade school teacher reading to her class about Abraham Lincoln. She came home that day, and somehow she wrote it just as well as she could remembrer it, with her own pictures, too. Her mother was so impressed that she bragged to everyone that her daughter wrote it all on her own, out of her own head. It must have looked that convincing to her mother.

But as she grew older, the girl didn't ever give herself permission to write something, even when it was required in school to write a poem. It was daring. She could be made fun of.

How could someone like you do that?

She wasn't unintelligent. She had a good command of the English language. She even went to college and earned a degree, the only one out of three children. But she had her heart set on psychology.

When she moved away from home in her twenties, she suddenly flourished. She took community education classes in painting, and had no idea she really could pull of what she did. Painting felt so free, like such an accomplishment. It felt good to create, to work with her hands.

And then she was on a roll. She began to write, and you just couldn't stop her. Most of her writing was pretty good, and some of her work was not to her liking. Years later she would read them again, and she could see that some so-so ones could be salvaged, or the better ones could even be better yet by fixing some of them up. She once thought she had reached her peak, but when the roller coaster of life brought her new thoughts, she was on another roll.

She wanted to be a published author, but she learned that it really wasn't about being well-known. She tried to publish some poems, but she learned that no matter what she did, she was still an author. Whether she was doing it for living, or for the love of writing, she was still a writer. She was what that little girl wanted to be, but who was terrified it could happen more than she was terrified that it wouldn't come true.

Her ultimate dream was to write a novel. Her uncle, very close in age, was angry at her for writing what he thought was a fantastic draft of a novel. She tore it up, for it was way over her head. And did this all without the help of a computer, scribbling away in notebooks. and haphazard means, that she could even barely read. Her penmanship was never very good.

Imagination has always been a good guide, fueling her with scenerios in her head about people that she had invented, that she had created, with bits and peaces of real life experiences and observations. But translating her thoughts to paper were often a challenge, not always easy to portray as she had thought of them. She surely had a gift, and she didn't think she really deserved it. She took one writing class, and she seemed to do well. But she didn't pursue it much further than a single class, and a few poetry readings.

Someone she knew from her church had got on her case for not writing every day.

You have a gift, and you aren't using it. God gave you that gift".    

"Well, let Him take it away", she retorted to the accusation.

But it would not be taken away. Writing was a catharsis, when life got too heavy. It was an escape, a place she could design her own world--at least on paper.  It was a way to feel freedom and expression that did not come so easily in life. It brought her such satisfaction when done to her approval, when good feedback came.

No, she would not write everyday. She was not a machine, but she knew she would never want writing to be taken away or denied her. That, scared, little girl that once declared that she wanted to be an author never really went away, for her desires were not fickle, not a passing fancy.  

So even if she did not have anything published, sitting on a store bookshelf. thanks to the internet, she has been able to share her thoughts, her fears, her hopes, her dreams, her disappointments--her words on display.

She knows she is in good company.

silence spoiled by siren songs
passengers in passing cars
create carbon dioxide
mobilized to find peace
consuming peaces from
and of each other

Days like these
I feel
Severed
In a million
Peaces
War time
Partitions
Aching to be
Whole
Settling for
Submission
Stripped of a
Soul.

Choice is an option
Which one to take is your action
Could be hard to mistake,
You might need a self debate
Which ever wins will be the bate
Like a mystery
Solving its mysterious state
Make sense out of the hate
The rebellion within you
Is your own trouble
Strive for the soul
Its Essence for the struggle
Made out of light
Stronger than muscles
Keeps you pumping with might
Prepares you for a fight
Knocks out peaces of the dark side
Ceases to exist,
Even after your body has faded out of sight

Before 23:59 on December 31
I was certain,
About my wasted feelings and hopes.
Love that was meant to be handed to the longing heart,
And not yours was put into waste.
I was certain I had messed it up.
And that was true.

I spent too much time in stagnation and thinking about you
When I wasn't in your thoughts.
I felt happy to leave my broken peaces behind.
And I couldn't ask for more.

My yesterday's meditation cured the little scratches that still ached.
I was revived and drowned into happiness.

I left my silly thoughts behind,
And am happy that you in my mind no more.
And in my own tight arms I am happy.

Today is 20:20 January 1
And I feel liberated from the thoughts of you that captured me with unforgiving claws.

The idea in mined
fragmented peaces
what is proper
I do knot

no

I daunt
or due
eye
pondering
fail two times
beginning to
fined

per haps
the grate est
struggle is
taiping war
in on or
around spell
ink

She faces me,
and I face her,
Dissonance misting the small space between our eyes.
Our understanding,
Our sense.
Peaceful,
but beneath the skin,
The black fangs of rotten desire clench around...

To force back the darkness would be wise,
the odd, clenching pang of want,
just under my tongue.
To not ruin,
to preserve this as it were.

I would **** for such luxury.

Yet still, eyes wander,
shifting to span her up and down,
Eyes map, spanning heartbeats, seconds, millenia,
until that peaces aches within me.

We are balmy happiness no longer.

For happiness is as bitter as the stinging ocean saltwater.
A moment passes.

The air maintains the consistency of clay,
Binding the two.
Yet the hands of anxiety keep a perfect blend from being kneaded.
A moment passes.

A reach, a grasp at any part of one another. To feel, to caress, to intertwine hands as if
python and prey;
All, I find, more adequate alternatives to a denial of the wiles of want.
A moment passes.

Love can be something beautiful,
Where a friendship is built,
Happiness...
It can be painful,
Hurt you and broke you in peaces.~
But people can turn loneliness into love..
Once and for all.
Because love can chance everything.
Can make people smile, sympathy with all.
Bodies can collapse in one body.
Our hearts is on fire.
Is a constant repetition...
So lets things and make a question what is suppost make with them?
Cuz we can do lots of things with this wonderfull passion.
-d.a

It approaches 
That's all that matters
It comes ever closer 
With a speed that none are clear of
But none can live with out knowing the result 
Death is coming
And I feel her hands grasping for my neck

I see her coming 
Not a threat 
But a promise from reality
She is hear to make the balance 
Her presents scatters all
But I wait for her 

My life I wish was worth more
But because of my own mind I never allow my self
To clim
To aprouch the heart of my existence

I sat never grasping 
As death Grasp for me
She is hear and it's all my falt
I have allowed my life pass me by
Just let the sand seep though my hand

I have forgotten the reson I'm hear 
Never venturing
Never gaining 
Just waiting for her to come
To clame what is hers

But as she grasp my through she stops
"why do u not fear me"
She said this to my emotionless face
"all Flea befor me and yet you stair at me
As if  You could cair less if I came"

"I do not fear you 
Since I knew you would come
I do not reglet leveling this place
For I got nothing for me"

She grasped my hand 
She looked in my lifeless eyes
Her eyes was not like mine
But the opposite 
Thouse eyes showed me what I missed
The crush I alow to flote by
The people I pushed away
She showed me what could of been

That crush becoming more
Her braking my heart
My frainds pick the peaces up
And me continuing my life

"I will be back one day" 
She said as her eyes reflected what I could be
But not because of you
I will come for what you owe
But not now"

She left me 
My complete oppiset
And I cried 
Hear I am seeing nouthing but love and life
And all I cared about was the death
The heartache

But she grasped the reality of life
Death knowing more of life 
Than the living

The morning after I cleaned my wound 
Life seemed just the same
But I still herd deth in my head
Tell Me to live
And so I did
I coted my wounds with a jacket 
And seeked what I could not see
With out death

Look hard my love to find me,

Try to reach that which is empty

Promise to capture what little of me is left.

Glue back the peaces, so I can learn to love once more

Embrace me with open arms, guide me towards the sun

Unlock the hurt that circles my chilled soul

Take pity on this shattered heart, but mend me patiently

Unbrake the broken, forgive the sins, pray for me

And I shall forever love you