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"peculiarities" poems
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog, in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled get done with weather, the crops, the neighbors, the weird, and the truly neighborly, grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling, bs’ing and tall tale telling,  breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live, open another Bud for the buds, did I forget to mention farm equipment? skirt politics cause nobody wants any nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation, leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the absent women no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed, but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer as now nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last, a very manly-way of ordering things, big silent pauses in the converso conversation, guy-sighs many, as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored, denotating the generalized listings of how they drive us crazy, listing the repetition of ever changing instructions, which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms,  non-differentiating just  humanism-isms and the peculiarities of each (a list kept) in a compare and contrast, an end of the day summation, and the boasting-outbesting, of each of their specialisms which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed other than it’s now ten and all that’s left is to sleep, perchance, to dream, of private things and bigger and better John Deere tractors
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Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
Songs of Oregon: No. 4 when men talk about their women, when they are not around
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog, in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled get done with weather, the crops, the neighbors, the weird, and the truly neighborly, grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling, bs’ing and tall tale telling,  breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live, open another Bud for the buds, did I forget to mention farm equipment? skirt politics cause nobody wants any nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation, leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the absent women no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed, but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer as now nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last, a very manly-way of ordering things, big silent pauses in the converso conversation, guy-sighs many, as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored, denotating the generalized listings of how they drive us crazy, listing the repetition of ever changing instructions, which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms,  non-differentiating just  humanism-isms and the peculiarities of each (a list kept) in a compare and contrast, an end of the day summation, and the boasting-outbesting, of each of their specialisms which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed other than it’s now ten and all that’s left is to sleep, perchance, to dream, of private things and bigger and better John Deere tractors
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44
is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue, the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's scrubs as they usher in unity,  with no imp-unity, the risks, while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued original of what has been painted an uncountable times before, and before… tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful, he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities of this summered simmering, human warming and baking and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers, un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish- ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark, the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm, the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks, nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated, goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance  on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place… 7:00am Silver Beach Shelter Island Aug 19 2025
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Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 8:00 AM UTC
this particular day...
is like no other early morning, man reborn, in the delivery room of sky blue, the offsetting water deeper bluish hue, the trim-all-around of the mixed salad greens of the staff's scrubs as they usher in unity,  with no imp-unity, the risks, while the supervisory sky, disperses cumulus clouds in peppercorn patterns of white chains, or big wide solitary brushstrokes on a a ****** canvas, gettin' the feel in the palm of the heft of brush, the viscosity of the paint, the day's palette reflecting available colors in order to create a uni~cued original of what has been painted an uncountable times before, and before… tho short weighted, was the sleep of the prior night's restful, he awakes to the early morning light, the sounds of early island rouse him, even, arouse him, for the August chill foretells of the early onset of memory loss of the peculiarities of this summered simmering, human warming and baking and natural braking of the slowing of the heart rate, to better accommodate, nature's hints and hidden reminiscences of the true purpose of the summer's intervention upon our collective and unique bottling, our individualized containers, un~lidded, uncovered, eager for the fuel of sunrays replenish- ing the length of our lives by the elixir of the summer it is a chill 63 Fahrenheit at this time of day as we crossover to the nigh day, from the cooling air conditions of dark, the occasional helicopter intrudes upon the morning's calm, the water placid, the geese honking regarding my watchful rewarding presence, a slew, a bevy, of female vocalists, to ease this transitory performance unfolding, and though one feels the existential of his solitary singularity, as he thinks, nay believes, he is the only one in attendance at this ritualized emergence, he takes in the cool of, the heat of, the admixture of both, the clashing integers of each, and he, fully invigorated, goes silent, for once more, he has uncovered new combinations of old words to accept and describe a new day's creation, miracle of miraculous, defying the odds of this ventures's success, his own continuance  on this sheltered but open all around island implanted tween two tines of land, as if all the surroundings were created just to protect this, wholly holy place… 7:00am Silver Beach Shelter Island Aug 19 2025
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38
We are forward open thinkers we dream of a new without forgetting what was With peculiarities spawned eccentricity to keep us ourselves as one, like no one Without urge to be separate we are oneself together, we stand alone Side stepped and vertically diagonal with grace, not trials in stride From the waking moment routine each day changes course with similarities while optional barriers are welcome to overcome with effort And using that effort to affect wisdoms spread and elongate strength We work for our capacity, at home we also work, to make a better day To create, To expand to not keep motionless our minds our hands our brains in bloom. And think and hold this knowledge tight at one point it will open the mind of our young, to lose self and to give. To always give. Minimize me, I, or mine. Talk through with question, regardless of proof, or wrongfulness. And wonder about laws and why? We think. We know. To traverse with love In between and the seconds linking, we desire The ones we are near, can feel without doubt and never wonder if love was emitted. We will communicate frequently how they make us whole and have affected us to completion and reraise when obstacles come towards With complex strength and wage forward, insist the double down Using knowledge, work, perseverance, and to bring it all home To positively conquer ...using love.
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Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
Growth in Radiance
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. Poem # 031. Philip : 20/10/20 Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. Of the pure unadulterated unconditional love We men and women that inhabit the earth In the constant search for a secure foothold And wishing to be all things to all men around Men and Women and genders betwixt the two Being now away that we have a brotherhood Loved by a community of lifelong friends Earth Angels and guides which hold the skills Skills which are perfected and so peculiar Standing alone in their particular peculiarities Excellent and everlasting good friends of mine Diligently looking after their own fellowship. Boys and girls coming out to play in the world Young and old rich and poor sick and healthy Together in a loving unconditional relationship Having no blood ties save for holding the spirit Especially the wondrous God spirit of passion From whatever theological following you hold. Every good turn you do unto others is returned Loving your neighbor as thyself is a starter. Loving your father and mother well deserved Or your brother or sister , cousin or kin. With blood relatives it’s seen as a given. So be it for the population of the World. Having established that relationship you’re OK In that there is nobody to hate anymore People outside the fellowship may gossip Or continually sandbagged a reputation From now on let us develop this “Fellowship “ Making time to consider the other fellow. Accounting for a balanced life of compassion Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 3:52 AM UTC
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man .
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. Poem # 031. Philip : 20/10/20 Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. Of the pure unadulterated unconditional love We men and women that inhabit the earth In the constant search for a secure foothold And wishing to be all things to all men around Men and Women and genders betwixt the two Being now away that we have a brotherhood Loved by a community of lifelong friends Earth Angels and guides which hold the skills Skills which are perfected and so peculiar Standing alone in their particular peculiarities Excellent and everlasting good friends of mine Diligently looking after their own fellowship. Boys and girls coming out to play in the world Young and old rich and poor sick and healthy Together in a loving unconditional relationship Having no blood ties save for holding the spirit Especially the wondrous God spirit of passion From whatever theological following you hold. Every good turn you do unto others is returned Loving your neighbor as thyself is a starter. Loving your father and mother well deserved Or your brother or sister , cousin or kin. With blood relatives it’s seen as a given. So be it for the population of the World. Having established that relationship you’re OK In that there is nobody to hate anymore People outside the fellowship may gossip Or continually sandbagged a reputation From now on let us develop this “Fellowship “ Making time to consider the other fellow. Accounting for a balanced life of compassion Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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37
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. Poem # 031. Philip : 20/10/20 Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. Of the pure unadulterated unconditional love We men and women that inhabit the earth In the constant search for a secure foothold And wishing to be all things to all men around Men and Women and genders betwixt the two Being now away that we have a brotherhood Loved by a community of lifelong friends Earth Angels and guides which hold the skills Skills which are perfected and so peculiar Standing alone in their particular peculiarities Excellent and everlasting good friends of mine Diligently looking after their own fellowship. Boys and girls coming out to play in the world Young and old rich and poor sick and healthy Together in a loving unconditional relationship Having no blood ties save for holding the spirit Especially the wondrous God spirit of passion From whatever theological following you hold. Every good turn you do unto others is returned Loving your neighbor as thyself is a starter. Loving your father and mother well deserved Or your brother or sister , cousin or kin. With blood relatives it’s seen as a given. So be it for the population of the World. Having established that relationship you’re OK In that there is nobody to hate anymore People outside the fellowship may gossip Or continually sandbagged a reputation From now on let us develop this “Fellowship “ Making time to consider the other fellow. Accounting for a balanced life of compassion Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 5:35 AM UTC
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man
Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. Poem # 031. Philip : 20/10/20 Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. Of the pure unadulterated unconditional love We men and women that inhabit the earth In the constant search for a secure foothold And wishing to be all things to all men around Men and Women and genders betwixt the two Being now away that we have a brotherhood Loved by a community of lifelong friends Earth Angels and guides which hold the skills Skills which are perfected and so peculiar Standing alone in their particular peculiarities Excellent and everlasting good friends of mine Diligently looking after their own fellowship. Boys and girls coming out to play in the world Young and old rich and poor sick and healthy Together in a loving unconditional relationship Having no blood ties save for holding the spirit Especially the wondrous God spirit of passion From whatever theological following you hold. Every good turn you do unto others is returned Loving your neighbor as thyself is a starter. Loving your father and mother well deserved Or your brother or sister , cousin or kin. With blood relatives it’s seen as a given. So be it for the population of the World. Having established that relationship you’re OK In that there is nobody to hate anymore People outside the fellowship may gossip Or continually sandbagged a reputation From now on let us develop this “Fellowship “ Making time to consider the other fellow. Accounting for a balanced life of compassion Now I am blessed by the fellowship of man. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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37
It is almost five a.m. With each thump of the echoing bass, of the synthetic revenge and heartbreak, angry percussion wraps me closer than your arms ever could-- tremulous and heavy, more absolute than the sunset fictions you contentedly let me cling to. A venomous chorus drips from my lips, once-swollen eyes now itchy and dry. This is the still serenity of the predawn slumber, the yearning of the yetsummer, the quiet before the birds begin scavenging through grass, trash, and recycling. I protest-- tongue, fingers heels teeth and lungs restless in spite of themselves. You have chased me out of bed, across dew-dampened grass, over uneven pavement as treacherous as your voice. You follow me. Sleep is merely a forlorn memory peering sadly from a forgotten heap of warm cotton thread, whimpering futilely against the anxious pulsing of overworked headphones and overthought peculiarities. You introduced me to this time of day. You summoned it once with impatient chords and a staccato keystroke melody, casually ignoring the plaintive honesty I willingly accompanied you with. But the sunrise casts a strange glow, I guess-- rosy and well-intentioned, fickle and fleeting, like your grin or the capricious depth of the summer sky. No one remembers that wandering blue the same color as her eyes; but it seeps through your pores, curls into the caverns of your chest, an aching in azure only because you let it. You have bathed too long in the sun. As the scarlet sunrise erupts across your shoulders the sky settles into your lungs. But don’t trust that sky, that constant companion. That sky is a cannibal and it will eat you alive.
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Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 1:35 AM UTC
Lucy, this sky ain't got no diamonds.
It is almost five a.m. With each thump of the echoing bass, of the synthetic revenge and heartbreak, angry percussion wraps me closer than your arms ever could-- tremulous and heavy, more absolute than the sunset fictions you contentedly let me cling to. A venomous chorus drips from my lips, once-swollen eyes now itchy and dry. This is the still serenity of the predawn slumber, the yearning of the yetsummer, the quiet before the birds begin scavenging through grass, trash, and recycling. I protest-- tongue, fingers heels teeth and lungs restless in spite of themselves. You have chased me out of bed, across dew-dampened grass, over uneven pavement as treacherous as your voice. You follow me. Sleep is merely a forlorn memory peering sadly from a forgotten heap of warm cotton thread, whimpering futilely against the anxious pulsing of overworked headphones and overthought peculiarities. You introduced me to this time of day. You summoned it once with impatient chords and a staccato keystroke melody, casually ignoring the plaintive honesty I willingly accompanied you with. But the sunrise casts a strange glow, I guess-- rosy and well-intentioned, fickle and fleeting, like your grin or the capricious depth of the summer sky. No one remembers that wandering blue the same color as her eyes; but it seeps through your pores, curls into the caverns of your chest, an aching in azure only because you let it. You have bathed too long in the sun. As the scarlet sunrise erupts across your shoulders the sky settles into your lungs. But don’t trust that sky, that constant companion. That sky is a cannibal and it will eat you alive.
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46
The spirit of the age projects a myriad of peculiarities which are diametrically opposed to the wisdom of our ancestral manoeuvres of foreboding contemplations. It is sufficient for me to say, that I have rolled up my trouser-legs in metaphysical resignation. Lest you forget, that the history of our posterity is shrouded in post-Edwardian etiquette, as she balances on the brink of relinquished community.
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Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
The Industrialisation of Being
I sat to write to better your countenance to uplift your spirit for you were moody However I found myself professing my impulses confessing my feelings Your flame is for the lucky bulky ones yet I'm blessed with your burning fire To feel your well tanned beautiful, so soft looking skin in silky slide would be volcanic Your lips are for purple satin love that only flows from royal ******* Your tan is as Angels in the Sun Even Angels woo you Your hidden priceless treasure deep beneath rouses upon the blouse undone by macho and sapphic innate peculiarities, best known over a length of time Your awesomeness leaves many a dummies pondering on your wonders of nature that glows beyond this world Your sexiness sweetens the aura around you creating the hot halo feeling that envelopes you Your attraction is spell bound i couldn't help but be addicted to you Words from your lips hypnotize my feet and thinking giving me a better feeling just like seeing an Angel in the Sun that you are.
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Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 9:02 AM UTC
"Angels in the Sun"
1/20/2015 every man i have taken is dead to me. They're dead in the back of the room and no smoking sidealleys, handing a bag of ****** like 'here,' cigarette-in-mouth induced lisp They're dead in my best friend's bed or at least used to be lying spent and of course not thinking of me to only say how they dislike. Peculiarities like: I wish he'd grasped my hand as he pushed in and effort face and all had hurriedly torridly muttered "i hate you, babygirl" because I love to get my fortune told. What is the future? Peculiar because the other one didn't talk  while high and especially not then, I would love to inherit his estate of drugs and kissing my held hand walking home at 9pm. I only cried for one of course and barely at that. In this life,i am beginning to realize certainties.
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Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
i have committed fornication but that was in another country and besides, the ***** is dead
A dancer’s world is brimming with mirrors So that you can identify the flaws And meticulously correct them. I saw that I was too fat, repulsive, My leotard stretched too tight Across rounded plains of skin, I tried to correct it. Thinner, thinner, I said. Better Better. One day A collection of voices Paid me a holiday visit. They liked it so much They never went home. I don’t know why they liked it All they ever did was shout at me And tell me I wasn’t good enough And make an insecure monster out of me. They chewed me word by word and swallowed. I asked to be left but they never repacked their suitcases. I never meant to be a murderer, death’s employee Not even when I was killing did I intend it It was all accidental, I swear, honestly. But even that won’t convince me To stop washing off the blood - Maroon aura blooming And blooming until Washing, washing, I thought the Stain got Smaller. Not. 'wait a minute shall we not dissect further and twist the scalpel and tease apart sinews until they're all just science and shall we not draw diagrams and observe the peculiarities of their ways and shall we not uncover their biology and their phycology and investigate a hypothesis without coming to a conclusion shall we not forget their humanity write them down as chemicals and failed reactions and have done with it shall we not turn impersonal and... sorry, I forgot they were people.'
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Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:46 PM UTC
Cross-Section of the Adolescent Mental Health Unit
Endlessly... we fall... connecting through cognetive strenght as we endeavor the practice of never looking back... trembling hands reaching out for intricate parts of reality... concerned... we fall... Positive emotions dance happily as morning mist turns into droplets that run down the side of your face like tears and I rejoice while we climb as high as can be, up into the sky, over the clouds - over the sea time slows down... stops... endlessly... we fly! Freefalling ... waiting for the wacky 'chute to open Falling further and further away from the ground silently ... without a sound ... we rise
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Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
the peculiarities of life
I am cog in the wheel do not dismount me I am cog in the wheel of a not dreary chariot, A marginal chariot chasing the uppings of me. I am a cog in the wheel never detach me I am cog in the wheel of an ecstatic chariot, A fancy chariot with horses smiling at me. I am cog in the wheel dare not disentangle me I am a cog in the wheel of a suprising chariot, A royal chariot hopping to peculiarities of me. I am cog in the wheel suppose not disaffiliate me I am cog in the wheel of a heavenly chariot, A pearly chariot scampering towards hallucinations of me. I am cog in the wheel absurd not disassemble me I am a cog in the wheel of a spacious chariot, A majestic chariot skipping beyond incubus of me. I am a cog in the wheel please do not disassociate me I am a cog in the wheel of a cordial chariot, A regal chariot escorting development strands. I am a cog in the wheel...
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Jun 28, 2016
Jun 28, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
I am a cog in the wheel.
I live on a small (25 sq. mile) island, accessible only by ferry.                                                   <> “For we are dear to the immortal gods, Living here, in the sea that rolls forever, Distant from other lands and other men” —Homer, the Odyssey (translated by Robert Fitzgerald)                                                       <> *sea air inoculates the slowing breath-taking ferried voyager, our landed cares felled, fall into a wake, trailing, sunk & submerged, a ferry’s ramp contact-clangs, belling a “Here, Here!” alters our mien, the softening airy enveloping, fragrantly, a greeting of immortal gods* *no matter that we can vision-easy the neighboring isles, with their trafficked-light busyness, the to and fro of mainland life, bustle necessity of hustle, our riveted river moat cancels out imposing surround sounds, our untucked flavor, floating free* *wafting perfume of quiet inlet, creek and harbour, touch us safely, alternating currents of gentle breeze, stiffer sailing winds, gusts, bending us, these reminders, we humans too, creatures of elementals, water, sun, forest, sand, animals, singular upon co-hosted menagerie* *the brackish water, where fresh + marine waters mix, live + die, reflecting our pooling diversity, so few of us born here, yet so many, adopt and adapt the isle’s peculiarities, endearing all without any distinction, we blessed together by Immortal Gods to shelter together, by, from, the seas that roll us into one peaceful island, nearly, dearly, and now departed*                                                        <> Shell Beach, Shelter Island August 2021
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Aug 7, 2021
Aug 7, 2021 at 1:28 PM UTC
To the Immortal Gods:
I live on a small (25 sq. mile) island, accessible only by ferry.                                                   <> “For we are dear to the immortal gods, Living here, in the sea that rolls forever, Distant from other lands and other men” —Homer, the Odyssey (translated by Robert Fitzgerald)                                                       <> *sea air inoculates the slowing breath-taking ferried voyager, our landed cares felled, fall into a wake, trailing, sunk & submerged, a ferry’s ramp contact-clangs, belling a “Here, Here!” alters our mien, the softening airy enveloping, fragrantly, a greeting of immortal gods* *no matter that we can vision-easy the neighboring isles, with their trafficked-light busyness, the to and fro of mainland life, bustle necessity of hustle, our riveted river moat cancels out imposing surround sounds, our untucked flavor, floating free* *wafting perfume of quiet inlet, creek and harbour, touch us safely, alternating currents of gentle breeze, stiffer sailing winds, gusts, bending us, these reminders, we humans too, creatures of elementals, water, sun, forest, sand, animals, singular upon co-hosted menagerie* *the brackish water, where fresh + marine waters mix, live + die, reflecting our pooling diversity, so few of us born here, yet so many, adopt and adapt the isle’s peculiarities, endearing all without any distinction, we blessed together by Immortal Gods to shelter together, by, from, the seas that roll us into one peaceful island, nearly, dearly, and now departed*                                                        <> Shell Beach, Shelter Island August 2021
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29
windowsill views: this smile has gotten the best of me.. peculiarities particularly interest me during these (almost) spring days because I know I’m free hometown nights not so silent anymore streetcorner w/ a reputation: but it’s always the people I see..
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Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
125Kirby
Mighty, she thinks, sizing up the sheer rock face gazing back at her all the world falls away dismembered reality sorting itself into its peculiarities scaling heights with undue levity she ascends at no light price peaking into secrets, locking eyes with eternity
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Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
Steph Davis
Ha ha on me.   eye still have a full head, of laughing hair... eye am vain like you, and though advancing steadily with daily doses of aging, and since I am titanicaly nearer my God than thee, i.e. the finish line...end of days...whatever...having a nice head of hair is a happy happenstance for nothing "ages" an immature person faster than a lack or absence of hair.... some say it is all genetic....could be...but my theory is different...I laugh at myself all the time...my foolish words, my creasing vices, my dastardly prejudices, are absurd in extremis...and am in possession of a willingness to be the **** of my own humor to bring creased smiles in others's to the fore... though serious, I don't  take myself seriously...and this self disrespect means I laugh at my own pomposity, posterior and peculiarly peculiar peculiarities. So I laugh a lot as I am one of those idiots who reflects on the state of himself and goes, eye eye eye! the laughing releases a dosed vial of special testosterone which makes my hair grow and since I fully expect much sorrow and to be living homeless, on the streets, in my end of days, the fact that I will have a full head of hair as I go down into my grave makes me laugh which releases.... ha ha on me
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Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC
Ha ha on me
Language! The omnipotent shambles of language. Provoked a full debate. On one odd afternoon of T.V. This question most odd was laid open to the floor. So, Is a score twenty. Or how do we score. All rather weird made me hunt out some more. Queens English goes to battle with lingo of slang. Insists interpretation of many different words. Almost a spoken thesaurus. Is brilliant bright and shiny,gleaming in the sun... Or is one extremely bright, a human with ability. Mild calm and easy going. Perhaps tasteless... How about misuse...waste and squander. ********** desecration. Mighty strange. English. A collection peculiarities! By ladylivvi1 © 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
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Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 12:11 PM UTC
Language!
I sat there mediocrity Was my middle name Funny built had a skinny frame Peculiarities a topic For gossip at the way I dressed Always overlooked for the popular Wasn't really a nerd But I sure got the association Trying to fit in was tough It was always the Becky's the Archie's And Veronica's I'm happy now got a great marriage   Successful kids I even have the job I alway's dreamt of Needless to say the popular Pluses attended the High school reunion.... lesser But that's OK too It's not a thing with me
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Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
High school it is ok to be lesser
Rehabilitating through escalating rhetoric emanating; animating fascinating literary representations of the subtle decorations encircling this imagination Magniloquent passages full of enigmatic contaminants; imparting the multiplex peculiarities of an introspective, retrospective detective Indulging in perplexing idiosyncrasies and infusing ethereal rhapsody into the universal tapestry.
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Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
Magniloquence
She had this quite a way of refusal for the things I needed for consanguinity . Yet I now understand why all the downs and downs she's been through All she can do is die inside a little bit more for a while Well don't worry my little girl Am here to lift your soul a little high Will never bid you A Goodbye ♥nidhiifogaat
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Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 7:37 AM UTC
¤~Understanding her peculiarities~¤
"It ain't easy being green." It ain't easy being the wrong Type of guy to be. But I laugh in the face of the People who strive to take the love Of self away from me. I am multifaceted, A harpist, poet, artist, a Christian. An engineer, dancer, dreamer of fantastic, Writer, fiction nerd, a fighting man. A Black man, mixed with Irish and Cuban. And I refuse to give up my beliefs, I'm different, odd and flamboyant. Peculiarities I protect with tenacity. No it ain't easy being green. But better to strive being me.
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Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 9:00 AM UTC
It ain't easy
I realized it while I was high and my mind was wandering around. It completely blew my mind, how I always want you in my life. I am crazy in love with you because I realized how much you love me because you accept me the way I am with my craziness and peculiarities with my impulses and eccentricities. I realized how I had never been in love because nothing felt the way it now feels with you. How I yearn your touch and long your kiss. Because I find so hard to say the way I love you. How I can't write how you make me feel (all) the love I feel within. I realized how much I love you wishing you would feel the same finding that you feel the same deeply in love, quenched by love.
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Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
while I was high...
this semi-seemingly sad refrain~reflection, more truth than one can even understand, for my physical self slowly disappearing, diminishing though no visible pieces as of yet, gone missing few of you have come to visit me in NYC, so you cannot be sure of anything you’ve been told, for the great liar claims, the internet bleeds disinformation believe this if nothing else for I’ve been a dream from my very naissance, a vision imaginable by those who contemplate my whereabouts, my visages, we bemused, while you imbibe, tongue |taste mrs written bouche amusante well, if you want them pieces & parts, poems in the fleshes, seek outa one eyed guy patched by a rivered walk path, see a troubadour on his soap box amusing the real peoples who pause to reflect cause them give respect to his peculiarities, listen to his truths bout himself and them selves too if you can’t camp this far, then believe in your dreams cause my come and go, fly out the window and have reached as far as the Phillipines, New Zealand & the Land of Oz I’m their break from the news, indeed call me ‘the new news,’ which so cool, makes us laugh, cause there ain’t no much new by this foolish OG, ‘cept for the rhythm of and blues, I spin, the rhymes that they fet/met/net me with dollar bills, loose change and half used joints in lieu of cash-is-trash So I dream, they dream, together we scheme, each of us composing, in separate and equal prepositions preposterous and share all who to be heard, especially those who wish to also have their dreams be seen
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Nov 17, 2024
Nov 17, 2024 at 7:54 AM UTC
“I ain’t nothing but a dream”
this semi-seemingly sad refrain~reflection, more truth than one can even understand, for my physical self slowly disappearing, diminishing though no visible pieces as of yet, gone missing few of you have come to visit me in NYC, so you cannot be sure of anything you’ve been told, for the great liar claims, the internet bleeds disinformation believe this if nothing else for I’ve been a dream from my very naissance, a vision imaginable by those who contemplate my whereabouts, my visages, we bemused, while you imbibe, tongue |taste mrs written bouche amusante well, if you want them pieces & parts, poems in the fleshes, seek outa one eyed guy patched by a rivered walk path, see a troubadour on his soap box amusing the real peoples who pause to reflect cause them give respect to his peculiarities, listen to his truths bout himself and them selves too if you can’t camp this far, then believe in your dreams cause my come and go, fly out the window and have reached as far as the Phillipines, New Zealand & the Land of Oz I’m their break from the news, indeed call me ‘the new news,’ which so cool, makes us laugh, cause there ain’t no much new by this foolish OG, ‘cept for the rhythm of and blues, I spin, the rhymes that they fet/met/net me with dollar bills, loose change and half used joints in lieu of cash-is-trash So I dream, they dream, together we scheme, each of us composing, in separate and equal prepositions preposterous and share all who to be heard, especially those who wish to also have their dreams be seen
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Attraction Eyes lock, souls intertwine, worship like a shrine. Bubbling, effervescent youth - flirtation to finality. Eagerness to cultivate, move to the next occasion. Repulsion Slow demise, one could only surmise - it's time to let go. But peculiarities, they become extraordinary. Take you as you are. Endurance Long-lasting, soul enhancing. Moments like these, quintessence of eternal. Utterances of love are immortal. Acceptance Unwavering faith and trust, passionate conviction. Any cacophony of doubt, silenced. Take me in, fully. Synergy Two brilliant bright lights intertwine. Illumination. Status is divine.
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Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
A Wedding & A Funeral
For Al *your limbs, a finger, a toe, an arm, a leg, cannot be amputated, without your presence...* when the men drive in the car together, the women, best friends, absent, temporarily away, their men, time release the the secret shavings of truthful conversations, the unconstrained sharings, spoke, untold, free from the raised eyebrow, the serious shushing of censoring partners, Lionesses-in-Absentia who else where else can you tell the complaints unspoken, the peculiarities, the ironies, that make you smile/wince laughingly grimace and now the men are friends so when he asks, come to the movies with us, tho you are neat beat, dead on the feet, you now know, too late, too late, always and evermore say sure, cause, now that he is gone in a single swoop felling, his oak trembling, fallen oh my friend, now on his side, lifeless you say sure, always sure, cause you have to be there, just in case, it is time they declare to severe sever one of your very own limbs
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Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Friendship: Truthful Conversations, A Limb Severed