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Mean while the heinous and despiteful act
Of Satan, done in Paradise; and how
He, in the serpent, had perverted Eve,
Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit,
Was known in Heaven; for what can ’scape the eye
Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart
Omniscient? who, in all things wise and just,
Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind
Of Man, with strength entire and free will armed,
Complete to have discovered and repulsed
Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.
For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered,
The high injunction, not to taste that fruit,
Whoever tempted; which they not obeying,
(Incurred what could they less?) the penalty;
And, manifold in sin, deserved to fall.
Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste
The angelick guards ascended, mute, and sad,
For Man; for of his state by this they knew,
Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolen
Entrance unseen.  Soon as the unwelcome news
From Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeased
All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare
That time celestial visages, yet, mixed
With pity, violated not their bliss.
About the new-arrived, in multitudes
The ethereal people ran, to hear and know
How all befel:  They towards the throne supreme,
Accountable, made haste, to make appear,
With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance
And easily approved; when the Most High
Eternal Father, from his secret cloud,
Amidst in thunder uttered thus his voice.
Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returned
From unsuccessful charge; be not dismayed,
Nor troubled at these tidings from the earth,
Which your sincerest care could not prevent;
Foretold so lately what would come to pass,
When first this tempter crossed the gulf from Hell.
I told ye then he should prevail, and speed
On his bad errand; Man should be seduced,
And flattered out of all, believing lies
Against his Maker; no decree of mine
Concurring to necessitate his fall,
Or touch with lightest moment of impulse
His free will, to her own inclining left
In even scale.  But fallen he is; and now
What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass
On his transgression,—death denounced that day?
Which he presumes already vain and void,
Because not yet inflicted, as he feared,
By some immediate stroke; but soon shall find
Forbearance no acquittance, ere day end.
Justice shall not return as bounty scorned.
But whom send I to judge them? whom but thee,
Vicegerent Son?  To thee I have transferred
All judgement, whether in Heaven, or Earth, or Hell.
Easy it may be seen that I intend
Mercy colleague with justice, sending thee
Man’s friend, his Mediator, his designed
Both ransom and Redeemer voluntary,
And destined Man himself to judge Man fallen.
So spake the Father; and, unfolding bright
Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son
Blazed forth unclouded Deity: He full
Resplendent all his Father manifest
Expressed, and thus divinely answered mild.
Father Eternal, thine is to decree;
Mine, both in Heaven and Earth, to do thy will
Supreme; that thou in me, thy Son beloved,
Mayest ever rest well pleased.  I go to judge
On earth these thy transgressours; but thou knowest,
Whoever judged, the worst on me must light,
When time shall be; for so I undertook
Before thee; and, not repenting, this obtain
Of right, that I may mitigate their doom
On me derived; yet I shall temper so
Justice with mercy, as may illustrate most
Them fully satisfied, and thee appease.
Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none
Are to behold the judgement, but the judged,
Those two; the third best absent is condemned,
Convict by flight, and rebel to all law:
Conviction to the serpent none belongs.
Thus saying, from his radiant seat he rose
Of high collateral glory: Him Thrones, and Powers,
Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant,
Accompanied to Heaven-gate; from whence
Eden, and all the coast, in prospect lay.
Down he descended straight; the speed of Gods
Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes winged.
Now was the sun in western cadence low
From noon, and gentle airs, due at their hour,
To fan the earth now waked, and usher in
The evening cool; when he, from wrath more cool,
Came the mild Judge, and Intercessour both,
To sentence Man:  The voice of God they heard
Now walking in the garden, by soft winds
Brought to their ears, while day declined; they heard,
And from his presence hid themselves among
The thickest trees, both man and wife; till God,
Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud.
Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meet
My coming seen far off?  I miss thee here,
Not pleased, thus entertained with solitude,
Where obvious duty ere while appeared unsought:
Or come I less conspicuous, or what change
Absents thee, or what chance detains?—Come forth!
He came; and with him Eve, more loth, though first
To offend; discountenanced both, and discomposed;
Love was not in their looks, either to God,
Or to each other; but apparent guilt,
And shame, and perturbation, and despair,
Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile.
Whence Adam, faltering long, thus answered brief.
I heard thee in the garden, and of thy voice
Afraid, being naked, hid myself.  To whom
The gracious Judge without revile replied.
My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not feared,
But still rejoiced; how is it now become
So dreadful to thee?  That thou art naked, who
Hath told thee?  Hast thou eaten of the tree,
Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?
To whom thus Adam sore beset replied.
O Heaven! in evil strait this day I stand
Before my Judge; either to undergo
Myself the total crime, or to accuse
My other self, the partner of my life;
Whose failing, while her faith to me remains,
I should conceal, and not expose to blame
By my complaint: but strict necessity
Subdues me, and calamitous constraint;
Lest on my head both sin and punishment,
However insupportable, be all
Devolved; though should I hold my peace, yet thou
Wouldst easily detect what I conceal.—
This Woman, whom thou madest to be my help,
And gavest me as thy perfect gift, so good,
So fit, so acceptable, so divine,
That from her hand I could suspect no ill,
And what she did, whatever in itself,
Her doing seemed to justify the deed;
She gave me of the tree, and I did eat.
To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied.
Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey
Before his voice? or was she made thy guide,
Superiour, or but equal, that to her
Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place
Wherein God set thee above her made of thee,
And for thee, whose perfection far excelled
Hers in all real dignity?  Adorned
She was indeed, and lovely, to attract
Thy love, not thy subjection; and her gifts
Were such, as under government well seemed;
Unseemly to bear rule; which was thy part
And person, hadst thou known thyself aright.
So having said, he thus to Eve in few.
Say, Woman, what is this which thou hast done?
To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelmed,
Confessing soon, yet not before her Judge
Bold or loquacious, thus abashed replied.
The Serpent me beguiled, and I did eat.
Which when the Lord God heard, without delay
To judgement he proceeded on the accused
Serpent, though brute; unable to transfer
The guilt on him, who made him instrument
Of mischief, and polluted from the end
Of his creation; justly then accursed,
As vitiated in nature:  More to know
Concerned not Man, (since he no further knew)
Nor altered his offence; yet God at last
To Satan first in sin his doom applied,
Though in mysterious terms, judged as then best:
And on the Serpent thus his curse let fall.
Because thou hast done this, thou art accursed
Above all cattle, each beast of the field;
Upon thy belly groveling thou shalt go,
And dust shalt eat all the days of thy life.
Between thee and the woman I will put
Enmity, and between thine and her seed;
Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel.
So spake this oracle, then verified
When Jesus, Son of Mary, second Eve,
Saw Satan fall, like lightning, down from Heaven,
Prince of the air; then, rising from his grave
Spoiled Principalities and Powers, triumphed
In open show; and, with ascension bright,
Captivity led captive through the air,
The realm itself of Satan, long usurped;
Whom he shall tread at last under our feet;
Even he, who now foretold his fatal bruise;
And to the Woman thus his sentence turned.
Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply
By thy conception; children thou shalt bring
In sorrow forth; and to thy husband’s will
Thine shall submit; he over thee shall rule.
On Adam last thus judgement he pronounced.
Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of thy wife,
And eaten of the tree, concerning which
I charged thee, saying, Thou shalt not eat thereof:
Cursed is the ground for thy sake; thou in sorrow
Shalt eat thereof, all the days of thy life;
Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth
Unbid; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field;
In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread,
Till thou return unto the ground; for thou
Out of the ground wast taken, know thy birth,
For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return.
So judged he Man, both Judge and Saviour sent;
And the instant stroke of death, denounced that day,
Removed far off; then, pitying how they stood
Before him naked to the air, that now
Must suffer change, disdained not to begin
Thenceforth the form of servant to assume;
As when he washed his servants feet; so now,
As father of his family, he clad
Their nakedness with skins of beasts, or slain,
Or as the snake with youthful coat repaid;
And thought not much to clothe his enemies;
Nor he their outward only with the skins
Of beasts, but inward nakedness, much more.
Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness,
Arraying, covered from his Father’s sight.
To him with swift ascent he up returned,
Into his blissful ***** reassumed
In glory, as of old; to him appeased
All, though all-knowing, what had passed with Man
Recounted, mixing intercession sweet.
Mean while, ere thus was sinned and judged on Earth,
Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death,
In counterview within the gates, that now
Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame
Far into Chaos, since the Fiend passed through,
Sin opening; who thus now to Death began.
O Son, why sit we here each other viewing
Idly, while Satan, our great author, thrives
In other worlds, and happier seat provides
For us, his offspring dear?  It cannot be
But that success attends him; if mishap,
Ere this he had returned, with fury driven
By his avengers; since no place like this
Can fit his punishment, or their revenge.
Methinks I feel new strength within me rise,
Wings growing, and dominion given me large
Beyond this deep; whatever draws me on,
Or sympathy, or some connatural force,
Powerful at greatest distance to unite,
With secret amity, things of like kind,
By secretest conveyance.  Thou, my shade
Inseparable, must with me along;
For Death from Sin no power can separate.
But, lest the difficulty of passing back
Stay his return perhaps over this gulf
Impassable, impervious; let us try
Adventurous work, yet to thy power and mine
Not unagreeable, to found a path
Over this main from Hell to that new world,
Where Satan now prevails; a monument
Of merit high to all the infernal host,
Easing their passage hence, for *******,
Or transmigration, as their lot shall lead.
Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn
By this new-felt attraction and instinct.
Whom thus the meager Shadow answered soon.
Go, whither Fate, and inclination strong,
Leads thee; I shall not lag behind, nor err
The way, thou leading; such a scent I draw
Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste
The savour of death from all things there that live:
Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest
Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid.
So saying, with delight he snuffed the smell
Of mortal change on earth.  As when a flock
Of ravenous fowl, though many a league remote,
Against the day of battle, to a field,
Where armies lie encamped, come flying, lured
With scent of living carcasses designed
For death, the following day, in ****** fight:
So scented the grim Feature, and upturned
His nostril wide into the murky air;
Sagacious of his quarry from so far.
Then both from out Hell-gates, into the waste
Wide anarchy of Chaos, damp and dark,
Flew diverse; and with power (their power was great)
Hovering upon the waters, what they met
Solid or slimy, as in raging sea
Tost up and down, together crouded drove,
From each side shoaling towards the mouth of Hell;
As when two polar winds, blowing adverse
Upon the Cronian sea, together drive
Mountains of ice, that stop the imagined way
Beyond Petsora eastward, to the rich
Cathaian coast.  The aggregated soil
Death with his mace petrifick, cold and dry,
As with a trident, smote; and fixed as firm
As Delos, floating once; the rest his look
Bound with Gorgonian rigour not to move;
And with Asphaltick slime, broad as the gate,
Deep to the roots of Hell the gathered beach
They fastened, and the mole immense wrought on
Over the foaming deep high-arched, a bridge
Of length prodigious, joining to the wall
Immoveable of this now fenceless world,
Forfeit to Death; from hence a passage broad,
Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to Hell.
So, if great things to small may be compared,
Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke,
From Susa, his Memnonian palace high,
Came to the sea: and, over Hellespont
Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joined,
And scourged with many a stroke the indignant waves.
Now had they brought the work by wonderous art
Pontifical, a ridge of pendant rock,
Over the vexed abyss, following the track
Of Satan to the self-same place where he
First lighted from his wing, and landed safe
From out of Chaos, to the outside bare
Of this round world:  With pins of adamant
And chains they made all fast, too fast they made
And durable!  And now in little space
The confines met of empyrean Heaven,
And of this World; and, on the left hand, Hell
With long reach interposed; three several ways
In sight, to each of these three places led.
And now their way to Earth they had descried,
To Paradise first tending; when, behold!
Satan, in likeness of an Angel bright,
Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steering
His zenith, while the sun in Aries rose:
Disguised he came; but those his children dear
Their parent soon discerned, though in disguise.
He, after Eve seduced, unminded slunk
Into the wood fast by; and, changing shape,
To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act
By Eve, though all unweeting, seconded
Upon her husband; saw their shame that sought
Vain covertures; but when he saw descend
The Son of God to judge them, terrified
He fled; not hoping to escape, but shun
The present; fearing, guilty, what his wrath
Might suddenly inflict; that past, returned
By night, and listening where the hapless pair
Sat in their sad discourse, and various plaint,
Thence gathered his own doom; which understood
Not instant, but of future time, with joy
And tidings fraught, to Hell he now returned;
And at the brink of Chaos, near the foot
Of this new wonderous pontifice, unhoped
Met, who to meet him came, his offspring dear.
Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight
Of that stupendious bridge his joy encreased.
Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair
Enchanting daughter, thus the silence broke.
O Parent, these are thy magnifick deeds,
Thy trophies! which thou viewest as not thine own;
Thou art their author, and prime architect:
For I no sooner in my heart divined,
My heart, which by a secret harmony
Still moves with thine, joined in connexion sweet,
That thou on earth hadst prospered, which thy looks
Now also evidence, but straight I felt,
Though distant from thee worlds between, yet felt,
That I must after thee, with this thy son;
Such fatal consequence unites us three!
Hell could no longer hold us in our bounds,
Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure
Detain from following thy illustrious track.
Thou hast achieved our liberty, confined
Withi
120

If this is “fading”
Oh let me immediately “fade”!
If this is “dying”
Bury me, in such a shroud of red!
If this is “sleep,”
On such a night
How proud to shut the eye!
Good Evening, gentle Fellow men!
Peacock presumes to die!
Down through the tomb's inward arch
He has shouldered out into Limbo
to gather them, dazed, from dreamless slumber:
the merciful dead, the prophets,
the innocents just His own age and those
unnumbered others waiting here
unaware, in an endless void He is ending
now, stooping to tug at their hands,
to pull them from their sarcophagi,
dazzled, almost unwilling. Didmas,
neighbor in death, Golgotha dust
still streaked on the dried sweat of his body
no one had washed and anointed, is here,
for sequence is not known in Limbo;
the promise, given from cross to cross
at noon, arches beyond sunset and dawn.
All these He will swiftly lead
to the Paradise road: they are safe.
That done, there must take place that struggle
no human presumes to picture:
living, dying, descending to rescue the just
from shadow, were lesser travails
than this: to break
through earth and stone of the faithless world
back to the cold sepulchre, tearstained
stifling shroud; to break from them
back into breath and heartbeat, and walk
the world again, closed into days and weeks again,
wounds of His anguish open, and Spirit
streaming through every cell of flesh
so that if mortal sight could bear
to perceive it, it would be seen
His mortal flesh was lit from within, now,
and aching for home. He must return,
first, in Divine patience, and know
hunger again, and give
to humble friends the joy
of giving Him food--fish and a honeycomb.
Doug Potter Oct 2016
Morning Sunlight keens like a mother
cries for her dying child & leaves
abandon their trees

while fall presumes winter
will glower like black
ice

hard from
preceding
months,

where the promise
of spring seems
unattainable.
john walker Feb 2013
Total departure to our needs is the reckless stupidity of how we are becoming our own executioners.When looking down on mother earth from father sky they wonder as to what their siblings are dreaming of as they hurt and maim their own mother.
When will people who justify their greed ,instead of need realise that their greed will not even give them their very  basic requirements for being here!
Humanity,through some strange concept,has set itself up,knowingly,as the controller and destroyer of all that gives them their basic needs,"their mother and father".
Man in his greed has even tainted the rays of light which give us our birthright,LIFE,for without it we would not exist.
By an infinite membrame,or so greed presumes,lying between good and bad,we live or die,but greed has stretched and widened that belief to horrific depths in the name of need.How long before it SNAPS?!
The coolerof our mother and bearer of us is poisened and wasted every moment. The ever overexploiting ****-sapiens will not letgreed stop them,even in their mothers death cries.A huge propergater of everything,mother gries in pain as she starves and with her ,her siblings.
The sun now burns her soft skin and moisture does not stay to cool her as she sweats.How long must or can she endure this torture?
Would we do it to our human mothers?
A family tree of pain is her reward for nurturing us.Her womb dries as the moisture is ****** from her veins and poured on to her belly as she screams.The sun rips it from her no longer cool and loving but hard and fierce like a furnace.
Onwards greed trespasses into herpumping heart,her skin is poisened and erupting like puberty,but still man is unmoving in his attitude to himself.
She speaks to them everyday but they do not hear or sense in any way her agony.Oblivious to everthing greed rumbles on deaf to its very basic needs and requirements.
As she criesfor help,her breath encompases all as she resusitates all with her sibilation.Can you smell you mothers breath?Will this last vain hope of hers go unoticed as greed races against its now foul wind?
"YES" because greed has stunned even your basic senses.Yo do not see,you do not hear,you do not feel,you do not taste ,you do not smell,even your most common sense of all is wasted "SURVIVAL!"

Between the three elements lies another.Without any one of the three the other is non-existant.
Running headlong,greed does not even notice its own reflection,blinded by its own need!Our mother is wek,her milk is drying,her skin is wrinkling,her touch is burning,her sight is blined,her taste is foul,her breath is stifling and her hearing is fading,she is DYING.
Her umbilical cord is strangled as it dries up with the assassination of her soul.  Will her soul be heard after we have  vanished or will we awke from our sleep of arrogance and greed and realise that EVERYTHING is not worth NOTHING.

For when she dies her death throughs will mame and slaughter us even as we count-?

                                                                        

                                                                                  "OUR MONEY"
Ian Cairns Dec 2013
Your story
presumes
cobalt casualties
while my rendition
paints
silver linings.

Even storm clouds
resist temptation
when sunshine
invades
the horizon.
Cedric McClester Apr 2016
By: Cedric McClester

Variety they say
Is the spice of life
Society presumes
To know what you like
But rarely do I find
That they get it right
They don’t know the difference
Between day and night

Haven’t you heard
Opposites attract
The issue never is
About white or black
And while I’m at it
Here’s another fact
Everything depends
On how they act

I’m just telling you
Where it’s at
What I eat
Won’t get you fat
So don’t be concerned
About what I do
Or who I do it with
As long as it’s not you

Haven’t you heard
Opposites attract
The issue never was
About white or black
And while I’m at it
Here’s another fact
Everything depends
On how they act

Listen carefully
Here’s the lesson
It’s no concern of yours
As long as it’s my preference
I’m not looking for your approval
Or your reference
And this is being said
With all due deference

Live and let live
Is the way I see it
And I don’t need a soap box
To decree it
I just need to be left alone
Free of all judgment
Cuz I’m in a zone
And I don’t want to detect
A contentious bone

Haven’t you heard
Opposites attract
The issue never was
About white or black
And while I’m at it
Here’s another fact
Everything depends
On how they act

























Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2015
for the missed and the missing
~~~
lea - a tract of open ground, especially grassland; meadow; land used for a few years for pasture or for growing hay, then plowed over and replaced by another crop; untilled; fallow
~~~

In the Lea Field*

And again that man
in the fallow fallen field,
grasps his own tiller,
looking ahead, downwind, leeward to plow,
impatient to cut rows of upturned earth
to grow markers,
plant seeded rows of words

and again that man
presumes time,
planting a yearly crop of
hoped for just enough time

but it does not suffice -
enough and sufficient time
will not grow in the lea field
this year

Now a man comes to mind,
living and dying
in a lea field

the man too,
field fallen fallow like the grassy meadow
that once fed his overcast gaze

yet the man believes still,
word seeds of lea poems prior planted
fullsome in their dormancy,
potent with patience,
shall not always remain so...

they are
bridges-in-waiting,
un-til,
ready once more
for the missed to
till
anew
Fish in the Sky
by Peter Fallon


Roadside railings
on raised ground —
and you presume a river
but find no stream.
So you picture the bed
of a railway track.
Nor sign of that.
Nor padded path.
Nor passageway.

The heart of another
is a dark wood.
Now a woman comes to mind
who didn’t care for me.
I loved her anyway.
And again that man
*in a lea field
who says one thing
and means another ...

As the main road gestures
anywhere —
a bridge over nothing,
a straddle of air.
Call Me Satan Dec 2014
I'm sick of the fall
when I try to fly
I'm sick of the let-downs
and regular goodbyes

I'm sick of the lying
scheming and deceiving
sick of depression
illness and under-eating

I'm tired of living
in a misshapen society
I'm tired of myself
and my constant anxiety

I can't help but think
if I just slipped away
would anyone care
or ask me to stay?

For he says I'm his love
then leaves the next day
meets another dreadful hook-up
and presumes I'm okay

Well, I'm done with the deluding
I'm done with the cheating
I'm done with my heart
and I'm done with its beating.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.you do know that the light emanating from the moon, at night, absorbs the clarity of relevance when you're squinting your eye... of a camel absorbing the light of the sun, in a desert storm of gushing winds... the moonlight become shrapnel... but a distinct ray of light, passes the eye, and penetrates your forehead... as if... the travel of light... bends much more than time... squint your eye when looking at the moon, the uttermost tier of moonlight shrapnel... it misses the eyes... and heads straight to the forehead; funny, eh?

dude... i heard that before, white dude?
that's new...
only Lebowski is a, "dude" aged
over 40...
         me? readied for the wrinkly old
man...
        and it's not Lay-bouw-skee...
               *******...
                               Le-bov-skí -
tightening longbow men's tugs of war,
strings, ****...
  a job for a semi-glad tailor...
playing the violin or shooting
a bow?
                     ah... ah! that's what was
the problem!
          the modern man is just as afraid
as the ancient Greek with
regards to expressing a dialectics...
mind you...
um...
            modern technology?
****... sorry... but this is actually
accurate...
       a "public" debate...
no bench, no park, what the ****
is public about it?
             i couldn't give a **** about
free speech,
i'm a tier above the argument for
free speech,
  me? i care much more for dialectics...
which counter rhetoric...
which counters speaking freely,
or as freely as freedom "demands"...
see...what i find...
free speech that exists in an
echo chamber,
a free speech without
a dialectical engagement...
no... the comment sections
do not count:
i never left any, or if i left any
they're complimentary...
because?
   now... why would i find it necessary
to troll someone,
when i have no reason to do so?
just for the per se?!
just for the per se reasons?!
**** that...
                 it has become a ****-show
of pseudo-solipsistic "dialectics"...
oh... look    a hyphenated word
and "air" quotes...
                        -    "      "
kinda looks like Braille...

                   free speech is one thing,
but engaging in dialectics, another...
right now i'm spewing opinions
that are not defended by dialectics:
i.e. counters...
     but rather...  solipsism...

              there is no modern "dialectics"...
there is simply a pulverizing overt-presence
of sophistry,
again the rhetoric,
  again the rhetoric,
again the rhetoric...

       me? i don't require myself to
the avowal of speaking in public...
         i'm not the one for constitution market
of ideas to become dogma...
but let's face it...
freedom of speech is one thing,
but what counter a freedom
of speech is...
isn't freedom of speech simply
a monologue?
    can't that be wholly internalized?

the critique comes with the concerns
for dialogue...
a dialectic...
           hell, speak whatever the hell
you want...
            but that isn't the point,
the point is, the ability to entertain
a dialogue, a dialectic,
an intellectual boxing match...
it's no good exploring being offensive
by being offensive
in the ideological ring with
a lax on using boxing gloves...

        did sports take over our
perceptions?
   and kissing our middle-man
point of exit for talking out
our differences?
   what the **** happened?

dialectics has died, a boring death
worthy of: in his sleep, aged 84...
if we can rekindle the basis of
dialectics, replace the, "moderator"
with a simple park bench...
     you'll be me...
talking about bicycles,
grand-children, and drinking
alcohol in public with some
retired cockerel...

                 who's old age...
bred an insomnia he's trying to wake
from, by dying.

no... this is not a war against
free speech...
this is a war for free speech,
within the confines of dialectics,
an exercise of...
    why?
      free speech presumes
the posit of undefended opinions...
unchallenged opinions...
oh i'm pretty sure...
      with however many comment
section narratives...
everyone's sheepishly nodding
along...
              
i abhor the case for a "freedom of speech"...
here's my posit:
i am complying with a defense
for dialectics...
which implies a freedom to speak,
but also a freedom to counter,
subsequently begging for a debate /
a resolve / a momentum of what
will forever be known as: forward /
the cyclic ontology of time.

we're all bound to solipsistic / cyclops
echo-chambers of opinions,
whether challenged, or unchallenged,
rarely discussed within the confines
of the canvas of civility...
when the civilians become more
militant than the actual soldiers...
    that's the problem of the citizen stature...
not all civilians are citizens...
some civilians are counter-productive
to the status of citizen...
British Muslims are civilians...
but with their views?
              they're not citizens...
given they're also militarily subversive
of the status: civilian...
hence... hence?! home-grown terrorists!
what?! the status quo asked
me to refine nouns...
     and pronouns...
                  my hands are tied...
              something hits me,
i react by hitting it back...
i.e. this language... in the wrong heads,
mouths, tongues, hands.

p.s.
   oi! white western girl!
"dude" my *** the next time you see me;
savvy?
don't worry... hand does the same
as ****; i don't know,
but i'm sure of the same firm cavity.
Evaldas Eseth Dec 2010
Every passing minute,
Penetrates us with new implants,
Of dynamic stability,
Of anxious comfortability

Fixing until they're obsolete,
Machine flies in fleets,
Rust in our sterile neurons,
Symmetry causing deforms

An arcane glitch,
Until the illumination
Of our steel plated souls,
An untouchable virus,
Not alone but
Imaginary friends
Or personal nemeses,
Under the dust hides us

Fate lost its impact,
Before the very birth,
In self excusing motherboards

Entities of creation
Or accidental subelement relation,
Beings of chaos at unclarity,
No stalemate, always in action,
What's ever born of it,
Presumes towards destruction
Created 08 December 2010
wes parham Oct 2015
Secretly, I envied you...
Forgive me if it presumes too much
To wish you happiness and comfort.
As far as I can tell, you'd have me think
Those things are not for you.

I used to think that this was appalling,
and pity the creature who lays claim
To misery as their lot.
but
Secretly, I envied you, before even
Understanding,
That my pity was like hatred,
A misery in its own right,
And worse than that which I judged.
I resented the affront, another deadly sin,
And you were right.  
You were right again.
You were right.
All along...
When all that you presented
Was hostility and greed.
How was I supposed to know
To look deeper?
-hear the author reading his work:
https://soundcloud.com/warmphase/sets/poems
.
True happiness may be a myth, but you'll discover that that's just fine.
Ease suffering where you can and contribute no additional suffering.  You may just find this more than sufficient.  And, please, don't deny others their given right to move through sadness  as well as joy.
Amanda Kay Burke Aug 2021
I'm not sure what to say to you
Seemed to have lost my voice
So I guess writing it down on paper
Is my only other choice

Only a tiny part of me is sad
You decided to go a different way
Not ready for something serious
At least I'm not today

I may be drenched in melancholy
But the fault lies not in you
Depressed long before we met
Your presence made me feel less blue

I couldn't describe accurately
The plethora of emotions inside
The strongest of these is envy
Of the one who gets to be by your side

Right behind is indignation
In a close second place
At the way you handled it
Without any tact or grace

I'm just waiting for you to talk to me
I suppose you don't possess the nerve
But how can you look at me and believe
This treatment is what I deserve?

I wasn't set on a relationship
It was you who started this
And it was your actions that convinced me
I was more than just lips to kiss

You told me you liked me
I warned you wouldn't for long
Your doubt warmed my center
But it has now been proven wrong

I recall you saying that you didn't want
What you had with her before
But maybe she has really changed
And it won't be hard anymore

I wish you both all the happiness
And luck this cold world can hold
Sincerely hope she is the one
To stand by you as you grow old

I don't know when my turn will come
Or if my heart is capable of love at all
But what is meant to be will be
It's just not our time to fall

I do not know if you see it how I do
Maybe I am the one to blame
For making myself too available
Smothering the flame

But you appeared to be an adult
I assumed you were somewhat mature
Different from my troublesome ex
Who just made me insecure

Only to find out you're no better
Lying like all the rest
Omission is still a form of deception
I must say I'm unimpressed

I thought we were closer than that
That you would give me honesty
What have I done to make you scared
Of telling the truth to me

A simple explanation was all it would take
For why I was being neglected
Instead dwelled on my every flaw
Wondering which was rejected

To discover it's not me at all
But someone else that caused this change
Actually comes as a relief
Although that might sound strange

I understand that love never dies
Because I'm going through the same thing too
The only difference is that the person I miss
Replaced me with someone new

Which I am surprisingly grateful for
Because we are better off apart
No matter how much it kills my soul
Or paralyzes my heart

If he wasn't taken I truthfully don't know
If I would be able to resist
Although I know he is no good for me
Tempting urges persist

So I wish you would have been forthcoming
And shown me a level of respect
I can't tell if it is my feelings
Or your ego you're trying to protect

You behaved like a gentleman
Until you didn't want me around
And instead of letting me down properly
You didn't bother to make a sound

But I guess you don't owe me a reason
No commitment hanging between
It is just that personally I have a problem with
People who say what they don't mean

I process conversation in a literal way
When speaking aloud I follow through
So naturally my brain presumes everyone else
Is inclined to mean what they say too

I forget sometimes how cheap talk is
And guys want to come off as smooth and sweet
So they fill our ears with ******* without even missing a beat

You told me you would be right back
Left me waiting up all night
But that wasn't that big of a deal
Didn't want to seem uptight

Then you took off on a road trip
Without saying farewell
That's when I suspected something was up
It was fairly easy to tell

Then when I found out you drove past my house
Spent time right down the road
And didn't bother to stop for a second
That's when I wanted to explode

You blew me off two days in a row
Yet give your attention to a *******
Do you get how low that made me feel?
Like you just used me to hit and quit (it)

And then when you finally show your face
You barely speak two words to me
I didn't know what pushed you away
Just wished I was able to see

It wasn't until later that night
I saw her Facebook story posts
And it dawned on me that I
Wasn't actually what you wanted the most

Don't know why you couldn't just say so
Would have saved me a lot of frustration
The only thing I deduce is that you
Weren't man enough to handle confrontation

Communication is key that is true
To understanding and resolution
Yet your cowardice tricked you into the false belief
Avoidance the appropriate solution

Running away from friction
Because you lack the bravery
Has really shown your true colors
And I don't like the hues I see

I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up
When we had hardly just begun
But I sensed a genuine attraction
And with you always had fun

But history outweighs sparks
Shouldn't come as a surprise
But if you regret it don't come crawling back
Because I refuse to be your consolation prize
So sick of jerks
M Annalise Aug 2010
If I was a fool,
I would believe that I was born to
Pull you from this cement cage
That encases you into perpetual stillness:
Static and untouched and yet so electric
That it pulls me to you with lightning-struck eyes,
As if it were fate,
(or destiny),
Or any of those other words that fools love to say

But who am I to decide if I am a fool
Or not?
It is a fool who presumes his own intelligence
And a fool who calls himself a fool

And it is true:
I would be a fool to love you
And yet I dig my nails into the concrete nonetheless
Clawing, pulling you out of this wall that stretches
East and west.

You fall onto me
In a cloud of grey dust, and your arms pull me up
And yet I’m not sure you’re real,
For shards of your wall-house linger on your skin,
Covering your face and hiding you from me

And still you touch and pull at me,
As if you were trying to pull me from a wall of my own.
Darling, with your concrete eyes,
How could the rest of your body be so alive?

Alive enough to run from me
After you were through with me
And you ran,
And you ran,
And I was a fool.
Valerie Feb 2011
Galactic starlight of gold
Fluorescent and glowing strong
I'll keep it even though
I can't hold it very long.

This odd ball of bright
Is everyone's guiding star
With it you can see the city
And you can see very far.

But it's the only light in the city
Because every other it consumes
Who needs more than this ball of bright?
Only the greedy, it presumes.

It has a mind of it's own
It's goal to protect and control
The people worship it humbly
Their oppression something unknown.

They can't leave the city
To the world outside
The ball of bright though is hungry
For more power, in it's pride.

Cause the star is confined
To these city walls
Though it's powerful
It cannot leave at all.

So within these walls it suffers
As the people suffer as well
Though they're blissfully unaware
Of the stars want to rage Hell.

The starlight ball so bright
Really wants to leave the city behind
In it's yearn for freedom
It has a plan in mind.

It'll expand the walls of the city
By raging wars and fire
Gain more land and thus more freedom
And build it's tower higher and higher.

That is not what it really wants
The freedom is nice and fine
Though it's not really freedom at all
But power hungry in kind.

Because though it has more land
More people and more power
The walls still trap it endlessly
So it resides alone in it's tower.

Immortal life for the star
Along with power and land
But a yearn for freedom
To be held in a hand.

And let it go into the sky
Back to where it belongs
We took it for our own greed and power
Let it be free to go home.

Stars shouldn't be confined
Within city walls to rule everyone
To be worshiped and fed power
When it should just have freedom.

Feed it and it grows strong and mindless
But let it be free and it will be soft and guiding
Feed it and it will be powerful and hungry
But let it be free and it will grant wishes to your liking.

So keep the stars in the sky
They can still guide us through the night
But they're free up there
And it's better for everyone in their plight.
SSK<3  AKA: Valerie Garcia  --- I plan on making this into a book. I have sketched ideas for it and such.
Sleepy Sigh Apr 2012
I have been ill the way the sun is ill
In the black empty of nowhere
With a thousand fragments floating,
(Adoring in rings and ovals)
And no light but its own
Lonesick stare reflected from a thousand
Dull copying fragments; and it presumes
It is the loneliest of the universe's
Togetherlonely children.

I have been ill the way chalk is ill
On the blackboard staring out at
Uncomprehending faces, and then
In one let'smoveon wipe
Cleared from existence;
And some did not finish their notes.

I am ill with the grandiose
Ill-used illness, swirling my tongue
Against my own abscesses
And crying oh God it hurts
When they might have healed
But for my own foolish
Probing painful wanting.
K Balachandran Jun 2017
Ardently you sought me, your perfect partner
in the planned, ****** crime extraordinaire,
all I needed to say,was "yes I am game"
Nothing more than our bodies commanded,
yet, I did that because it is you, who'd be in
the other side of the bed, that pleases me a lot.

You were an unknown and rare perfume
that I long sought, but failed to lay my hands on,
every amorous eye, falling on you,would attempt
fornication,vicarious, but all were in vein, of course
then, your eyes fell on mine, though you'd have loved
it to happen the other way round for more perfection.

Both of us are, those ones who walk that extra mile
in any kind of ****** adventure, without inhibition
if the idea originally occurred without instigation.
for us "Kamasutra"in it's real potential,is yet to be invented.
You always had thought that you were the game changer,
but now realize, things aren't  the way you expected!

How could you imagine, I still am uninitiated
in this genre,passion play we put our body and mind
a flaw you should have avoided, in  the  first place.
Now,make up for the lost time.Do the thing in earnest,
why don't you ascertain the facts before begining?
One presumes that things  move the way one plans
with out considering the significant other playing!
playground of cupid remains a field of pleasant surprises.
Terry Collett May 2012
Joey sees her strolling
up the beach, young girl,
smoking a cigarette, been

in for a dip, her legs all wet,
aged 9 or 10, scanning the
sands and crowds, hair

blowing across her face,
her eyes dark, scowling,
he follows her barefoot

track wondering where
her parents are, where
she’d got the smoke,

the stance, the stare of
her giving the beach a glare.
Joey ponders as she turns

and looks back towards the
sea, the cigarette held between
fingers, the smoke rising,

then she waves a hand,
puts her head to one side,
and then Joey spots them,

the parents, he presumes,
the woman a long haired,
sun kissed ***** swaying

her hips and broad *** along
the sands, and the man,
holding hands, a beefcake,

suntanned, puffing a cigar,
gazing at the young girl,
presumably his daughter,

like one sizing up a gift horse,
letting out language and
words loud and course.

Joey watches them meet
up and walk up the beach,
each one kissing each,

then the older woman
goes off alone, as girl
and beefcake stroll to

the sidewalk and go off
and out of sight, leaving
Joey to sit and muse

and watch the sands
and sea, a slight breeze
tousling his hair, thinking

of the girl’s fate, her life,
although she isn’t there.
Ken Pepiton Dec 2022
So called, taker of the offered gift.
-- some say he is the lazyman, some say holy
here's this day, wit you and me in it, see/
clever berdach clown curio
here's whose telling who's story, as if
what is it, the touche engarde
peace re distance, engaged,
- final gloss, if it makes peace
touch me with a sign, signal peace first
at a distance,
a whistle, and a wavy, hey
what's new?
Finding any finer points
to press
into service? Dialoging with Daemon's.
-- spirits claiming truth makes nothing free.
so all who aim at nothing know it.

In a time, we all hold, in stories
of who we were
when only sense talkers lived
on the dryland,
relatives of mine and yours lived
on the dryland…
- we came as children, already
- teachers and feeders were here.
- we became boys, we learned
- we learned letters let one
- become any believable,
- why not factor, a will,
- and we was only me,
- suddenlies occur,
- and this one was you…
- we the writer/reading mind, me

- I said, I see no other, I must do some new--ness
- necessary how ness options,
- so sleep came and gave me hats,
- each hat held a dreamtime,
- I had artist intuition, I knew the use of gifts.
As a I shudder when I hear "the burden of the Lord"
the long forbidden phrase, banned
to any professor

becoming the story all boys and girls know by heart.
-Grace comes with a price, Christ failed to pay,
according to the institutions of religionized authority.

Augury. Spill the dove's guts and wish on the liver spots.

Been there, done that.
Played the game, read the book, watched the trilogy.

Drama serves to open wedoms, welcome, become dear,
pay up front for an hour or two of laughing,
at the royal fool retelling the savior story.
-----------
cut to Danny Kaye, close up wink,
check out the Emperor's New Mind.
-----------
whole world of inventions making our link occur,
instant occurences, technical tools for making joy.
Happy hellos, that each have good byes, good be witcha.
Turn up the house lights. See your role,
take your proper bow, on your mark
pirouette on a paradigm./
Roll in the Phrygian dime, tales. Fascis./ what
could that mean, in a peace making tale,
told in the fallout shelter,
after the legend of the Alamo lost all credibility.

Staged form,
dance expressed
in silent wordwise opera,
quest for meaning, go riverwise, be rain,
be one drop
of your kind of thing,
falling splat… near where the whole fallen man story started,
timewise, around the time Jacob dreamed,
what would seem the right thing to do,
that's a question from Hebrew Schule, if you
were Jacob, and I, your brother, keeper
of our father's flocks… do you take usus fructus abusus,
of our father's lands and wells?

Forethought set piece,
a mental drama
in the literal jungle of guesses men have left,
scribbles in sand, gigabits aligned in assorted sense,
pearling stones in wide shallow streams,
reflecting fractal suns,

rented cyberspace poet taste tests,
poetaster proofs of progress, testimony-

witness if I lie, catch me if you can,
lest I lean on my own pile of reasons
for being any thing at all, as a man, I mean,
not as a stack of sense
I
balance by leaning lightly into winding Jello
time winds of reasons after imaginations,
shifting actual pairs of dimes,
Phrygian capped Liberty,
she who welcomes po', any shade,
sifting fine sense to hold one particular
God's thoughts, so no jot or tittle is ever lost,
God knows, pro-verbs pro-cede acting as if
any who opens the habitate, is visited,
by the visitor who gave reason worth,
the truth you test through living it out, once,

logic, orderly paths to production at scale,
odds increase
as new minds come online, wondering
if I had the tool for the task at hand,
how might I use such a tool.
Money and data, both lack any good, save
the use that can be made of each concept,
each mind framing paradigm building tool,

take a thought and hold it, mark your time.

---  there's my cue, says the real Ken Pepiton,
in text, actual current context of --
What is this…?
play, perhaps,
- feels like a movie- you know?

happening to be enabled by my augments,
to remember any fact I was ever given as a go-by.

Benchmarks in history, of your single point
for becoming anything at all,
relative to the edge
of my influx, swinging wide
ifitsnotitsgottabegnosisnotted, tangled
knots, tighten, right,
or loosen, if
depends, swings on a single strand that is you,
and nada mas, just
you… doer of all you ever do, before or after.

Now, so, as we think,
in mind, we exist,
at the moment, this instance of reality,
a thought I used to think of you, ready,
is behavior in progress,
be, I became holder of this thought by
having read the story I believe,
my leave, I let my story be true, I do not
lie to me, ethos. Point… from which an axion

extends… a sense of thick, frictionless time,
in a wind-like form, gnosisnot, you feel
you know, the flow is safe to let go,
-Jello-time slowing
think with logos as logos as that word
unfolds to essential first phase human maturity,
recalling names of things you named, as a child
learning the role of mankind in reality, growing
sharper, or brighter as age, demands,
understanding, and, in my culture, forewarning,
do not lean on any structure you build alone.

I have my being in that same story,
after my entrering in
to the realm
of walking upright,
I stepped
knowing some time since, giant
steps taken feel just like falling
- faith, fidelity its ownself
strong confidence in the depth intentionally
forcing re-deflection, cross winding threaded

thoughts fit in words, each word held either

sense, common or crazy, to any seer, in this medium,
connected to a mortal means for holding thoughts,

as no man can hold the wind in his fist,
so no lie can hold a truth known to make
it's knowers free…

so, what is free? At the moment, you. Free
to choose to
retry tracing conservation of energy, or
let it be, at innate literal action level letting loose,
open the sluice, let go the flood of ifery,
the way life ever was done,
is the way life ever is done.
As a mind thinks it is it is.
As a man, wombed or un, thinks at the core,
so it is, and only actual faith shifts from absurd,
to sublime, one step past proverbial simple…

if the sense in any word, holds mere, I know, right,
mere inspiration, a thought that feels real yessy,
no pain, easy to work with, ever onward leaning,
no dread hell to pay should I assume the reason,
I was made,
is peace, made by my say so, where none was,
where only I was,

bottom line, good for nothing I could think
of being
worth the effort
to guide through the meandering course
of human events, where all the power lies,
to hold back the flood, forecast by the redactors
of the literature, all we know, wordwise,
from the time
of the oldest texts, and most recent prophecies.

- aside, btw, sidetrack, all the oldest texts,
- sealed in eroded alluvial bubbles,
- you have seen the edges of the deserts,
- geological symmetry, same forces, same patterns
- -- Dead Sea Scrolls, found in once sealed amphora
during my mortal moments, those were deciphered.

- same aside, the tehkne we use allows, if we chose
- to learn to learn forever, no fear of never knowing all.
- The truth you know, frees to the limit of the sense it makes
- in post- all we all ever knew, loosed, in one generational
- laminate of spiritual images fitted in words for use,
- rote
- ritual liturgical dance, done in clouds of representative
- saintly prayers on the way through the void to the other
side… meandering streams of conscience, science, sfumata,
no lines, smoke-like streams of conscious -- awake, and attending

From on high the seer says, we saw when the poet wrote the tale
we tell it as we told it,
still,
few find the time or patience, to ponder, dams.

---------- Now, me, 74 and a half years old, today, by the way,

Younger me lives in all my once unaccounted for idle words,
rusting hulks of reasons for my shame,
all my reasons for war,
all my reasons for crafting confabulations, - another btw
I learned why preachers tell jokes, by paying attention
to one thing, one Sunday, for about a minute.

The Methodist Minister, in his Holy Garb, classic black
John Wesly style flowing robes of early modern academes…
advisory boards, seers, sayers and prognosticators…

Told of a preacher overhearing children staging a liar's contest,
the prize was a common box turtle. Why, heavens,
of course, the guided holy man, knew, I must give these lads
a lesson… so he peered over the plank fence, and ahemed them
to attention, "Boys, when I was your age, I never told lies."

Where upon the boy with the turtle handed it over,
all conceded none could tell a bigger lie.

Riverwise, meandering is how whole forests, and mountains,
have been carried to the sea. Ideal fluidity, presumes
we can think real complex things,
look at any protein, that’s a twisted process,
think that up, irreducible complexity of realification,
twists that twist as far as possible, constantly, taking shape
forces beyond the power
of water and rolling stone and flotsam, command,

a lip of the earth rises in a one-sided smile… things thought
riverwise, always,
in any religion,

accepting truth, is the way life takes us beyond our fear of death,
or possible acceptance of chains forged in guilds,
doctrinal congress, doxological orthogonal games, in the realm

of my reality, my century after the concept, the first gripping
hook, metaphor, hook-up, connextion, come along, hold on,

if you did inherit the wind,
would you find your self returning or going… from now on…
-- easy as untangling princess hair from a slept in tiara, first thing... real life Grandpa... sowing curios burrs found in my socks...
You see Tim McGrath was getting teased by Mark and Ryan whilst jonithan was filming the whole thing on his iPhone
And Tim said ******* I don't deserve to be treated like this
You see I am trying to enjoy life
And you **** are trying to push me down and then Tim said I don't wanna get teased like this because I am a family person who doesn't deserve this inappropriate teasing
Ryan said how about I give you a nice kick up the *** whilst Mark said as I pass by your head I will  knock your brains right out of your head and Tim said I don't want this awful teasing to keep going because I do a lot of good for this country
You see everyone presumes Tim hates people partying but nothing could be further from the truth because Tim was the party animal a bit like me I guess and Tim hated people treating him like someone who is against partying and like me Tim said he was the party animal of the world a bit like Brian Allan but Mark and Ryan was having fun teasing Tim whilest jonithan filmed the whole thing with a big smirky smile on his face and Tim was sad because nobody likes him
And they want him an object for social media and Mark Ryan and jonithan were laughing as they humiliated poor old Tim
vanessa Jan 2014
You can have that boy
really you can
I don't want him but not because of reasons you think
you can have that boy because if he won't have deep talks with you at 1 am then I don't want him
if he doesn't like books and his favorite parts don't happen to end in cliff hangers and beautiful begininngs then I don't want him
If he isn't very smart and his bestfriend is a pig I don't want him
if he chooses looks over intellect and the feel of your skin as apose to what's underneath it and if he doesn't try to dig deeper into your soul through unlocked doors then I don't want him
if he pretentious and thinks he's all that and more and presumes he can throw your heart around like a deck of cards, then I don't want him
if he plays your heart strings like his favorite instrument and then puts it away when he gets tired then I don't want him
if he chooses false friendships over your love and says he "simply doesn't have the time" to save you
Then I don't want him
Quite frankly I don't want a boy
who is built out of stone cold silver and rotting piles of dirt
I don't want a boy who isn't clever and doesn't let his nostalgia over take him from time to time...
so you can have that boy

*vm
I threw it all away like smoke through my fingers,
Scattering my dreams self-sabotage – it figures.
I've lost the passion and I'm running on fumes,
You’re okay it will be fine – everyone just presumes.
Working Hard and Sleeping light,
Starting from scratch now that’s my fight.

I'm all out of love, fervour and conviction,
Wondering if the efforts are worth the reward.
Moving through space and time with little direction,
And sometimes not being able to tell back from forward.
Losing hope embraced by Fears,
I'm complacent and waiting for something exciting.
Looking out and holding back the tears,
Emotionless void never abating.

I heard them say you can fix a mirror if it broke,
But you’ll still see the crack in my reflection.
Days and joys past I cannot evoke,
A broken compass offers no direction.
I can feel the hate growing inside.
Filling the void left by the ebbing tide.

Starting from scratch now that’s my fight,
Working Harder and Sleeping light.
You’re okay, it will be fine – that’s what I assume,
I've lost the passion and can’t keep running on fumes.
Searching my dreams self-sabotage – it figures,
I’d thrown it all away like smoke through my fingers.
Riz Mack Nov 2020
Such pretentious pretense presumes a plethora of personal pejoratives,
please pay the predicament proper attention previous to persevering with proposed promises of placation.
***** purloined your parlance?
its hard letting it show and getting a hold
of emotion when letting go, or moving on
when all you gots self help knowing anyone else,
you vent to will give an apathetic yawn

So I record this for those who hoard this
same fear and board it needing strength
stress so enormous aborted is storage of gorgeous  
dreams resorted to feelin horrid for lifes length

It can be a struggle drowning in tear puddles
as trouble, less than subtle doubles to attack
And every stride doesn't abide or Coincide as snakes
rise, til your tries of going forward flies back

To square one, and in life rare is fun thats
fair to none, we were taught
Or told,so be bold in lifes cold and hope as you get old
youll get to hold the gold you sought

and ill be first confessing how distressing
and depressing life is, so less interesting to you
is being targets, and seeing how charmless the  
arm pitts of lifes hardships are, but true

is how we grew from it, learning to control
frustration when we lost and had to let go
teaching us the cost of a loss, and to cherish what we got  
before we do not, and learn as a whole

to fight it off dont write it off, from a loss, like
calling a cough fatal but a slump confuses
so we sacrifice triumph for lumps concluded
when at most it was only bumps and bruises

But the more humps eluded
The less theyre found to be intrusive
And lack of experience separates the greats
from the ignorant fake and stupid

Transforming Translucent to Lucid
Helping the disapproved prove its
Only movement with motivation will prove an
approved transformation to see improvement

Recycling for beneficial Accruement
so positioned positivity surrounds my proximity
Ignore judgement given with no realistic vision  
like religion and ****** Proclivity

Cuz alive and well is vocal Bigotry
Don't let it lead to Social misery
Nothing but insanity and vanity can come
from some dumb boastful imagery

Just concentrate on denying timidity
All u need is a path spacious for clarity
Be honest with yourself, embrace its sincerity
to trump the negatives of bein an Auspicious Rarity

And soon the limitations will dissipate
and'll incubate prematurity from the womb
so the happiness it Impedes will now lead with speed
and feed whats conceived and leave you immune

to The sadness that presumes to bloom and consume
the needed room to emphatically feel free
Sometimes the mentality of normality is just a fallacy
to stop empowering the masses but we

need To dissemble what resembles self hate
its poisonous to our mental plot  
so fight like you were a ****** blow addict
against psychosomatic havoc reeking thoughts

Of conformity when normalcy lives In abnormal
habitats, and almost extinct is average acts of affection
to ones self cause, and ones doubts'll come out as we
figure out, true perfection lies in imperfection

and that visions the driven means of conception
who we are, what is given and what will be
And evidentially this entity essentially will remedy
being our own enemy then eventually proceed

To prove as key, and all we ever need
To be secure, and to assure our second guessin
can be denied and die as no longer are we tied to  
what insecurities imply forcing us to question

If our quests less our own invention
as we are stuck restin' in a direction
Thatll leave us stressed and left in debt to our
future set, hoping to avoid collections

Cuz the confidence to believe we wont regret
is needed, while perusing
dreams seen as too far or too hard from where
you are but so is anything worth doing

So don't hesitate to pass and move on from a past
that knocked you off your path on your ***
Just continue this rat race or waste what awaits
as you erase manifestation to grasp

what destiny had, so Let go, and move on,
being victorious maybe laborious, but it'll help
emit the enriched bliss fueling you to dismiss
doubt amidst lifes struggles and finding out
  
that if you Learn from mistakes, and shake the self-hate
that makes you controlled by fears based  
on statistical outcomes, that say to out run the high
risk, but when you are faced

with a mirror showing the face of
your raised self doubt, dont mask it
cause within us is both the magic to pass it or the
havoc traffic of our doubts to help end tragic

so act drastic and grab it, hold the mirror that
mirrors doubts and grasp it
then **** residule subliminal doubt, of this cynical
criminals habitual ritual as you smash it

Cause confidence is needed to believe in what we do
and who we are while perusing
dreams that seem too far from where we are or too
hard but ..so is anything worth doing
Shari Forman Feb 2013
Life provokes obstacles,
That is encountered by many,
Pursuing such unique careers,
Cost a fortune; not a penny.
Life is vivacious,
Filled of laughter set by younger ones,
The memorable days of homework,
Yes, there was tons!
Life tells of a novel,
In which humanity grows,
Successful or not,
God always knows.
Being able to succeed in a future life,
Is not folly, yet a gift,
Taking chances and risking pure life,
Would be a great shift.
Life presumes to be adventurous,
Even if it doesn't go a certain way,
It will try Its absolute best,
Throughout life people will play.
Shari Forman Mar 2013
Life provokes obstacles,
That is encountered by many,
Pursuing such unique careers,
Cost a fortune; not a penny.
Life is vivacious,
Filled of laughter set by younger ones,
The memorable days of homework,
Yes, there were tons!
Life tells of a novel,
In which humanity grows,
Successful or not,
God Always knows.
Being able to succeed in a future life,
Is no folly, yet a gift,
Taking chances and risking pure life,
Would be a great shift.
Life presumes to be adventurous,
Even if it doesn’t go a certain way,
It will try its best
Throughout life people shall pray.
Kimmy-Nichole Apr 2011
silence in the library
the stillness of the air
the creepy crawl in the pit of my stomach
mixed with the continuous pinching presumes
you hope they dont stare
Donall Dempsey Jun 2017
". . .THE WONDROUS ARCHITECTURE OF THE WORLDE. . . ."

I laugh
the road over the Hog's Back
closed because....it melted

was the sun ever so
back in your day
eh Kit?

and what do I read
Mr. Marlowe?
why words, Kit, words

that word magician
Dr. Burgess he presumes
to bring you back

to life again
and so it seems
I see your blood Kit

streaming in the firmament
nay only a Deptford sunset
dragged screaming from memory

your blood upon the page Kit...
mere cherry juice it
stains the words

and so to Deptford I
do go
thanks to Madame Remembrance

I a poor
purveyor of poetry
clutching at words

and here
a great reckoning
not  in a little room

but on a lost street
staining the scene
a sickly yellow

and so enough
of Prologue...
Act 1 begins

a smiling ruffian
see his knife smiles too
the blade eager for blood

alas I
in so much pain I
have no fear of death

indeed would welcome
the flicked knife
if it would release me

from my life
a man prepared
to die if it be so

"Come live with me and be
my love..." I doth quote
in my best Passionate Shepard

"Wot?" he wots
scared of my insouciance
the ghost of Marlowe by my side

ahhh he the very villian
a scar from eye to smile
he aims to do the same to me

"Where, rogue... did
they get thee?" I mock
"VILLIANS 'R' US?"

Marlowe's ghost laughs
"Aye lad...aye lad
to him!"

"Only one of us..."
I warn my hellhound
"....will come out of this alive!"

I pause for effect
"And I'm afraid
it won't be( hee hee ) thee!"

I take a determined step
towards my would-be
now trembling killer

who all this wordage
being too much for him
he flees

ahhh the glint of words
defeats the glint of steel
he my would-be-not-to-be-death

"What God or Feend, or spirit of the earth,
Or Monster turned to manly shape
Or of what mould or mettle he be made...?"

I declaim to an audience
of cats and cans and
other streetly filth

I...I. . .unable to
find the next line
and so I etc., etc., etc.

and once more
I am of Guildford yet again
30 years or more away

and there melts a road
upon the Hog's Back
and I laugh to be alive

"Doth teach vs all to have aspyring mindes:
Our soules, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the worlde.."
TAMBURLAINE:

"Nature, that fram'd us of four elements
Warring within our ******* for regiment,
Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds.
Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the world,
And measure every wandering planet's course,
Still climbing after knowledge infinite,
And always moving as the restless spheres,
Wills us to wear ourselves and never rest,
Until we reach the ripest fruit of all,
That perfect bliss and sole felicity,
The sweet fruition of an earthly crown.”
― Christopher Marlowe, Tamburlaine the Great, Part 1

ORTYGIUS

What god, or fiend, or spirit of the earth,
Or monster turned to a manly shape,
Or of what mould or mettle he be made,
What star or fate soever govern him,
Let us put on our meet encountering minds;
And, in detesting such a devilish thief,
In love of honour and defence of right,
Be arm'd against the hate of such a foe,
Whether from earth, or hell, or heaven he grow.

― Christopher Marlowe, Tamburlaine the Great ACT II, Scene VI.


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BY CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow Rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,
With Coral clasps and Amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.
derelictmemory Jul 2014
It was another blast from the past
And like they said a love like ours would never last
I've been turning stones over and looking under bridges
Searching for the answers to impossible decisions
You came into my life on a conveyor belt -
Casually walking past and taking the air with you
I was reaching for something else, anything else
Then I knocked you over the same way I did
A glass of red wine on the seventh date we went on
You once told me that coincidences never coincide with you
And I've repeatedly mumbled about fate and its misgivings
It was true -
I should have watched where I was going
Maybe if I did, I wouldn't have tripped and stumbled,
Fallen and tumbled, right in your way
You walked out of my life the way a feline presumes it owns all
With a sultry confidence that was almost mocking
At the same time, I couldn't help compare you
To his hands at 2 AM by the bay
And his lips locked on mine while we rolled about on an edge
You were crystal, and he was porcelaine with fine China
You were safe, and he was a wildcard with no limits
I pegged you as the marrying type
And him as a summer fling
You strolled over my already aching heartbeat but all I could think about
Was him.
I shouldn't have given you the satisfaction of
Serving me my favourite tea by a plate of scones
He was the one I wanted and I was the one you had to possess
I loved you
But I was in love with him
Kimmy-Nichole Apr 2011
silence in the library
the stillness of the air
the creepy crawl in the pit of my stomach
mixed with the continuous pinching presumes
you hope they dont stare
betterdays Jan 2018
small upon the wire
extruded with such effort
she swings with the wind
capturing her  stability against
the verdent green, once secure
she again  launches, like a spelunker
down into the darkness of the bush
only to reappear and leap from leaf to leaf

having constructed her main lines
the little architect, then proceeded
with absolutley no fanfare
but an audience of two,
enthralled by her
bravado and industry,
to fill out the infield of the  construct

before setting some fishing lines out
off her main points,  to sway in the breeze
she  then  strolled  back into her leafy boudoir,
one presumes to have a well earned nap,
before dinner
my son and i spent over an hour watching a  largish spider, spin her web today in our garden....absolutely facsinating
Circa 1994 Feb 2015
**** anyone that presumes to know how
I feel.
You *******.
You ****.
Smiling eyes. Bleeding tongue.

Blah blah blah -
Are you okay now?
You're okay, right?

How are things
How are you
Small talk
Small words,
And quick *****.

Because someone has to do it.
Leydis May 2018
Me miras con perfidia

pretendiendo domar mi recinto.

Presumes tu sabiduría

sin saber que yo soy, ¡guía audaz!

Que llevo más de diez vidas

perfeccionando mis gritos,

cuyo sonidos te llevaran al

olimpo de los seres invictos.


Gimos con algoritmos que descifran

los calóricos revoltillos de una mente esculpida

que sabe sumergirse; en insondable pozos,

complacerte, hasta que logres tu propósito,

hasta que digas ¡eureka! la novena maravilla,

la he encontrado, en tu llanto pasional.


Me miras y pretendes amedrentarme,

pretendes que huya de mi desnudez

y yo sencillamente, te reto a que te

atiborres de mi ser..,

a que te pierdas en mi querer;

que no te avergüences de mi placer y

que escuches en mis suspiros

los quejidos de mi erotismo.


Me miras como quien pretende impresionar

y yo con la mirada fija..,

te reto a que descubras mi castidad;

Que te enganches de mi honduras,

que te aferres a mi cintura,

que te enamores de mi sabrosura,

que te deshagas de tu cordura

y respondas al clamo de mis deseos

que te hacen un llamado visceral.


Que apruebes conmigo los sabores del tiempo,

con feroces besos, que van componiendo

la canción perfecta, hasta que lleguemos

a nuestro destino pasional.


Te dije alguna vez y te lo diré otra vez,

“Yo no gimo, yo gruñó como loba,

maulló como perra” brinco hasta  

afincarme en tus cinco sentidos,

y logres entender, que tú serás un lobo maldito,

pero, a mi amor !no lo puedes someter!
Everything was consummation to define the end in everything that was insinuated in the idyllic border that nothing presumes and deduces a good decision, but the emptying was already unobjectionable Vernarth, after living a thousand lives, began to anxiously call those who he believed that everyone was going to depart with Him. The elements had already been treated to reverse them in future spiritual lives with Eucharistic prayers that smelled specific aromas that would preserve the indiscreet air when seeing caravans passing by that came from concurrent to the final ceremonial on the heights of Profitis Ilias, including flocks of Ravens that they carried in the lips of birds that brought the essences and tiaras to decorate the Opistódomos. Alexander the Great and Ezpatkul were already coming with the rooks from the suburbs that would swarm through the ****** heights of the pronaos where the Vas Auric levitated, turning towards the Cinnabar that was already categorically in the Naos. The lavishness of the Mashiach specified the elements that were divided from the abstinences of the liturgy in honor of Him where all the winds from east to the west became the majority in the disciplinary section, from where its interior was grafted to the Vas Auric as a complement to the body. of Vernarth that began to atomize in the Apokáliptika assembly towards the paths of the eschatological epilogue, without detractors and tribulations to attend to the sighs of the Universe that would contract with magnificence when seeing that the nadir of the Duoverse was appearing, that is, the inferiority of the Universe that would bow down to the complex and unintelligible Duoverse, but with swift paths towards the sacred textuality where the work is already a reality. The souls in the pomegranate tree on its pedestal were already occupied by the Hexagonal Primogeniture, seeing that the Mashiach had already become the living word of Nazareth whose passion became co-binder in the ascending radiosities that came and went along the shoulder of the Hydor in the Nimbus Iridescent carrying rays of ultra warmth. Carrying imperious prophecies that departed from the component that everything is part of the precious stone that is submerged in the deposit, where the resurrected Mashiach takes Vernarth's hand and places the Golden Xiphos sword on his right hand, forming the empire from east to west. Thus it is demonstrated that Vernarth during the entire journey of this Mega Parapsychology was never dead nor ever lived, he only waited for the hypostasis of the Lord that led him snowy on promontories that brought him closer to the monumental ex-voto held in those present where everything was of monumental muteness, bringing resurrected wails of the Apostles to the scene as they were martyred by their pernicious pursuers.

The Investiture ceremony already gave rise to a formulation that would satisfy great celestial desires with gestures of toast or universal conformist gestures, to unite all the people of different origins who began to meet with Vernarth with a total outcome of humility that embodied the figure of a proselyte who constituted the voice of Ruth crushing the leftover grasses in Naomi's doubts. The trapezoids mocked every cross-eyed look twisting the height of the summer that swirled with the objects of generosity that arrived and fell on the lawn as a remarkable epiphany in the form of delicacies and ambrosial that dreamed of being in the compendium of the height of Olympus and Horcondising on the same level of the liberation of beings where the Gentiles converted to the creed, which fed on the words of Ruth and her grasses as advocated banners that adored all who were present at the Investiture of Vernarth's Himation.

Behold, the sacrosanct pilgrimages were from the geocentric Rosemary who had held the Messiah before trying to throw him off the cliff after intervening in the Synagogue in Nazareth, reversing the plot, perhaps assuming a figure of the indulgent portent that clung to the barrier of the portals of the corn, and everything in the center was dressed as the focus of the Himation towards a great rodón or molding of Rosemary.

Who else may be missing from the presses of or that could not be taken to the mill. Behold, from the spaces where light did not reach, the sacred ones of exclusive faith were displayed with the flashes of these Bern olives, so that everyone could enter the central place where everything was crowded with double luminaries that lit up as obfuscation until the end of each descending inspiration. . Vernarth melted and carried the shady slip of the cross that entered over the heads of the attendees, and the late prayer that did not hit the avatars of each bis of each pagan and converts that slipped through the lips in the seventh invocation, as if Flavius Josephus were referring to the purple gold that volatilized in the midst of all those who slept, and at the same time the dim jambs of the temple dilated to act as a relationship to the meeting of the Vas Auric and the Cinnabar that joined the shimmering aldehyde contracting in the oratory that fell when the Beit Hamikdash collapsed, to later become oratic frames that were largely diluted when adopted in the dynasty of a throne that would have repercussions similar to those of Homer in the Iliad, where an admirer like it is Vernarth of Achilles as he worships his parents Hair and the goddess Tethys more in the affront of an empyrean higher than Olympus. Achilles walked ***** but limped only supported by the materialized rods of the Aldehyde with the sole purpose of reincarnating him in Vernarth's submitology, where he will show him noble fields and herds of black-white steeds before regenerating him in the genealogy of the bishop that is situated and surrounded of peons, but not in his long palatial life, rather in the equestrian fields where his life was reborn in death and took him to old age that receded as he walked on the heads of the deceased. The notorious individuality was made by taking hold of Vernarth's arm for the short walk like a Soter that finally rearmed his gallantry in front of Briseis; she granted it to Achilles, and that she was now Vernarth's female consort.

Saint John says: “we all give parts of our bites to others, what an honor makes us more special when armies of Greeks descended on this investiture where incense reigns, longing for the aroma of Briseis in each piece of air that is soaked in Vernarth's Himation. This is how all courage becomes perennial in the gifts where the Achaeans also dare to arrive at this ceremony, and of all that exordium that contradicts fighting beyond all death, especially if the Mashiach extends the opening of the point and its space! -time in a single potion of the heart of the servants!
Everything was in the hands of the eyes that perceived the birthed gaze of the Fibonacci effect, where the steep columns seemed to open up to the gazes of those who were stuck in the stands before the descent of the Naos. What greater strength than being brave and eager to shield all the cowards who do not forgive the demigods who die first before the boarding, and without pain before the merits of those who with their beginner gaze reside with their eyes closed before being absorbed by the duality of life that recurs farther from the threshold of the flame that devours the indecisive departure. Feats and disdain to close the senses when the Mashiach came down with his archangels and Cherubim defying without any fear that illuminates Homeric doubts so extensive, that they could perfectly be confused with all palpable reality.
Ravens and Belphus
Shaquille Reid Jan 2018
We bow our heads as the night ends with a slumber,
To drift away into an eternal rift.
'Tis the season,
but yet....
I wonder
Who was it really
to bless "us"
with such a perfect gift.
The Abilities we possess are below our
understanding.
We turn off
only to turn on
like
Televisions when you switch them on.
The back up generator,
Injects incinerators,
Flooding arteries,
Until the inner greater,
Presumes to haunt thee.
Nightmares.
Like light glares,
That lead to blank stares,
And that cold sweat right there,
Leads to tight air.
Then you wake up.
Shaken up.
This gift, only resides in the rift.
Eriko Dec 2015
This will be the best
It will ever be...*
A question dangles
Like a cliffhanger
Or a period presumes
To stunt the night
And I'll live every second of my life
Wandering when I'll ever know
Which ending best fits
The pages of this fantasy

— The End —