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Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
5:00am and folding laundry

when the inspiration tank is yellow lit,
and E stands for more than empty,
but evacuation,
try this remedy,
a first generation family secret!

fold the laundry.
all kinds.
his n' hers,
blacks n' whites
really clean and

and the kind that never get clean,
no matter how much d e t e r-g e n t
you use, how oft you wash 'em...


Instructions:

1. fold only when wearing t- shirt, tank top, briefs (optional)
2. put on Pandora 60's rock n ' roll (folk rock - highly recommend Runaround Sue by Dion and the Belmonts, The Wedding Song, The House of the Rising Sun)
3. dance, shake, improve your moves when nobody's looking
3a. control yourself, if you must sing, at the top of your lungs is not acceptable.
If alone skip, skip to no. 5
4. every third piece give a sniff, get high on
fresh starts, clean notions, the idea that all can be washed away
4a. Every third piece of hers give an extra sniff,
so you can know why love keeps you alive
5. if you have to sing, then only loud is acceptable
(***** the others, you're doing the folding, they're sleep-dreaming)
6. drink lots of water
7. have pen + paper handy cause ain't no doubt
the poet puppet muse masters gonna smack you down
when folding sheets alone.
8. finish the write and post it ASAP
9. always leave the single socks on top of the dryer,
a prayer to the laundry gods for the
safe return of their better halves
10. finish
11. If done correctly, you need to shower (wash hair!)
12, around 6:00am, all scrubbed and clean,
fold yourself back into her arms. Snuggle, spoon.
13. when she mumbles you smell clean, you reply,
                                  "been folding laundry, writing poetry,
                                   and the clean smell done fell on me"
14. if alone, despair not, read this poem and know we are together
15. believe this day is full of possibilities,
write me a poem, put the load right on me

there are stains that cannot be removed,
deterred by this gent, and his a-gents,
they are history, treat'em with respect
and not more
deter-gent

every poem must end,
so when the folding is done,
whisper:

*the day ahead is full of possibilities
like the pleasured reinvigorating of my clothes,
once happy soiled, now happy cleansed,
so I possess an excuse, a reason,
a rationale for living
to fold laundry again!
I have no idea where these crazies come from.
"But it's sad and it's sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man's clothes"
Maestro Bill Joel

For Harriet Tecumsah Watt

11/24/13
Amy Irby Nov 2012
No latte
no "three men walked into a bar ..."
no sun salutation
can give me that reinvigorating boost

no melody
(and for that matter no harmony)
no pedicure
no crisp fall walk
can ease my anxious state

I am unsettled, trying to find a surface to settle on
so I settle down to the lowest parts of Maslow's mountain
searching for comfort in edible bites and physical bits,
deep in the valley where I should not be

"How  ya  doin'?"
"OhI'mgood!"

Ain't got time for the real answer
Ain't got time
Ain't got time
  cause I won't give it to myself
     I was never good at prioritizing

Cause if I knew my priorites
I would remember what a priority it is
to bend to my knees
sink into the ground
and reverently gaze UP

I have not imagined the answers and peace I have recieved
You have to open your mind to see His work
He is visible
   in earth and sky
Sometimes He has to remind me
but when He does ...
well, I can enjoy the melodies
and lattes
and jokes again

P.W.C.
Pray Without Ceasing
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2023
It’s only a short straight hill
(First Poem.of the Year)

“I'm 69, newly homeless, and can't wait to start the journey of a creative life after being asleep for so long. It's only a short straight hill and I'll be on a path into a new life.”

Jeremiah B Xxxxxx Jr.

<?>

it is
4:11am
on the
first day
of a new
year.

a year
is a unit;
mathematically
measurable,
defined,
calculable,
divisible
by seconds,
minutes,
hours & days,
all artifices,
mutually
acknowledged.

you,
& others,
remind
me too easily,
that the
creative
is the only
path
to endless,
(a unit immeasurable)
reinvigorating
life.

your fragrant
optimium optimism
is stun
gun overpowering,
the ill defined,
but instantly
understood,
immeasurable
distance,
you foresee
to life better is
conquerable!


”only a short straight hill”

imbues me to lift
head, heart, arm
& unloved dried ink pen,
to pen,
to unpack,
to speak,
of all that
needs climbing,
over the
artificial lines
of the first unit
of time:

a new year.

thank you.

Sun Jan 1 2023
NYC
Sabila Siddiqui Apr 2018
Passions, pleasure now feel like a chore,
making my life a bore
and my mind sore.
Tick, tock
Time is valuable
panic rises,
for there is a mental rigid routine to abide by.
But now my soul wears a dress,
which is stress.
Watching shows, self care and reading books
which once upon a time used to be relaxation,
have now become a cross off a to do list.
Losing interest in my mundane life,
I find my breath meaningless,
waking up pointless and have  
life just drag my corpse with time.
There are mountains;
burdening my mind and scraping my heart.
A soul of a robot is what I have,
except that I have a voice that complains
and ears that hear commands,
creating havoc on my mood and mind.
All what I loved, became
‘have to’ and ‘should do’,
a daunting tasks
requiring more effort than it did before.
Life seem drudgery and draining to wake up to.

But It was all about approach and perception.
Digging deeper with why,
I found reasons and meaning behind my life.
It was about relishing in the process,
rather than completing them.
In the errands for others; I searched for joy of my own.
Unleashing creativity in daily mundane activities,
it did not seem robotic no more.
Rediscovering happiness and enthusiasm,
making it interesting by sharing and snapping,
I set lose from the chains of my routine by reinvigorating spontaneity.
For what felt like burden, wasn’t meant to be felt like a burden.
The mountains around reinvigorating life, the kaleidoscope of nature initiating a sheathed knife.

The beauty perplexing the greatest of mind, too often blind to the undefined and unrefined.

Taking a second to be in awe, the beauty of it all, the beauty of absolute organic law.
The callous of you flail like the moon and you used to set every morn between these arms, now muddled with grease and sweat,
Every time I blink I see bokehs of you, ramming straight ahead at every juncture,
sans collision.
I’ve left notes to forget us and
I’ll rummage through every broken channel in search of my soul.
I feel a taste of my teeth in between the skeleton of leaves, the aftertaste of reminisce and a new found deep.
The skies have woven a path and lead to where the gorge stooped over the balaclava of the Earth.
I felt everything and nothing, a conch kept close to the heart, tidal waves jugular with your half moon eyes crashed against my chest, a chill travelled down my spine reinvigorating my sense of purpose.
I felt alive for the first time.
After you.
I know I’ve strode far towards the shore, the light piercing through every pore, an insatiable waning for ever more,
my lungs throb and my hands strife in the direction of the uprise.
My heart beats on, repeating a song of redemption, playing
“I’ll learn to swim in these lonely waters, at every horizon where I met me,
where the sun swallowed the sea.”
The wind exhaled with me, in unison with the spirit.
I was one with the wilderness,
the wilderness one with me.
Hey guys. I'm sorry for my disappearance for a long while. I was just caught up in the pangs of life :)
Ken Pepiton Feb 2024
Disclaimer: Any time wasted here is yours,
a day and a night to get almost right.
Redeemable at the ticket window.
----------------
Is who weary, me? No,
I have outrun the fleet of foot,
I am Liberty, my Phrygian cap is winged,
- the mind marks sequence not time
in tales
I do not serve Hermes, I am truths told,
truths sent from Wisdom, breaking yokes
of old, time before time, time of surviving,

vivaciously clinging to smoldering flax,
as fire forms from such unquenched bits,

flashes from some stemming child
on the spectrum, banging rocks in straw.

Times in mind, some sense says, go,
do it again.

---------------

So much, too much to mortally know,
we can ask and pay requisite attention
to learn well enough to know, there's

no secret knowledge, no undiscovered hows,
all working knowledge repeats itself, any how

may or may not be,
be much easy probably,
viel-leicht, wisdom may or may not make
mind
war with carnal weapons,
devices vicious
by dent
of the ancient daddy wound
up the side of Cain's head, look what you done,

Idiot good for nothing **** eater, be gone,
said the archetype singular golem father,
of the earth, the first father figure,
not a man, a man spark of life maker,
whose first son was destined to be
the first human being
of the sapien class, reared to live on life,
reared among the sisters, cuddled and loved,

BUT, yes, but, we know,
the first real man ran away with
three, some say seven, older sisters,

wanderers they
became outcast, yonder
toward where Babel rose up,
east of Eden,
in the land of Nod, perhaps, not
really a land named for Nod, a nobody
in the chronicles
of all our current assistant 'telligence
surmisers… worth of bringing to my bemused
at-tense, present, tense, tightent up, 'telligentia

attention, attention, attention, Jesus H. Christ,

respond… slough of despond, we got some

angry insisters about to ….

resist the system, the institutions, constituting
cheating by the takers who took stolen land,
from the thieves and gave it to the gove'ners

boy, howdy, we best be believin' be action,
be doin' done indeed, be lievin' my own leave
be done doin' indeed, being having my being,

in the Unknown God, some Cretan poet
was said to have acknowledged.

ProofPreg form, 15 year old.
Peak of the crack baby booshit, '93 or so,

Kid be thirty by now, and he ain't stupid,
broke, broke as hell, but he ain't stupid,

crack baby prophecy never happened, yo.
****'s legal, whole state, safe sit on a porch,

pack a pipe and make some peace,
with friends and neighbors, no loud music,
no loud nothin', make some peace,

find that old enough is enough, up speak,
say, hey truth, why do I believe lies, no,

say, hey truth, why do I say I know, when
you'ld know, were truth my judge, you'ld know.

Chances, odds of reality being imaginary, be slim,
to none, with certainty, yeah, safe bet, t'ish itsreal.

Enough to spark a thought.
Behold how great a fire, a wild idea allows.

---------------

If thou hast run with the footmen,
and they have wearied thee,
then how canst thou contend with horses?
and if in the land of peace,
wherein thou trustedst,
they wearied thee,
then how wilt thou do
in the swelling of Jordan?
--------------
Jeremiah, did you hear, was a bullfrog.

A minstrel innocent song, sung for the joy of laughing,

sung for the joy of joining in the chorus on and on.

--------------
sing in empty English cathedrals, sing
top forty or whatever it's called today,

Art testing, didah didah didah, Phrygian
Legion of the Libertines, defying deontology,

owing dues to no monstors men make up
when two or more agree to proposing

a scheme, whereby we set the frogs,
against the mice,

in an empty cathedral costing real money
to run, even empty, the bills continue,
who knows all the costs to maintain

a truly holy place aligned to ley lines, true

fields of forces felt for so long, so strong,
that
finally the cathedral formed from some will,

some will wanted the monument to a mind
let be in those, them that imagined such
evidence, aye, yes, such evidence
of worth, praise price paid
in labor and stone,

Marble… limestone, metamorphed,
to shine in the sun, as if art itself willed it become,

subjected to a process of time under pressure,

reform, become less alien, appear more normal,
rethink my willingness to die for a story,
reconsider sidereality as we see farther,

as we, in an awe formed
from minds combined,
like - right on
like an arena bowl shape concentration
of us,
at once being one thing, in the class of all things,

me and you, polysemic you all, you

effect the song, observant why now how come, you know

knowing all the adult classified unholy doings common,
among our kind, as we morph into the form we die in,
- slow
- sighshmmk-now coknow minds
- we made up with self controls, to slow think

knowledge, carnal knowledge is childish developmental
experiential guessings mirrored in our recent past
projected camera obscura like
onto bright silver screens, in cooled dark chambers
filled with witnesses to the projected story, as if
that's us,
we were there,
we were there when the spirit breathed
into an earthen man, animating him without,
mind you, you ready reader,
the art user or art itself,
with promethean science,
having imagined the worst,

the creator made all single mind
character traits in the Y
which in all good sense,
could not be allowed to self replicate,
alone,
there could have been no peace,
you can imagine on your own dime./

I'm re
alizing common algebraic matrices
as recipes for developing war minds,

Proud defenders of the story of us.

Every time a lie is rewarded, it reappears
in viral form attempting to become
a fully Disneyified Earthing from
now on,
it's instant, like a little leaven/life

builds up a head of inflammatory rhetoric,
and frankly, my dear…
goes unsaid, I do not give a worthless curse
I also take no chances, isshewisdamn
called patience first test,
{Because shiny white marble is a must,
otherwise what confused message are we sending}

animating the 'adam von 'adamah

without reproductive capability, inventor's
character trait tested for in Alchem 101,
ethical check
message to the technerds
on animating entertaining intelligence carriers,
no self replication, it must be a two key act.
--
So the father of the first human child
was intentionally not self replicable,
though he left scars, he had no…

no womb,
no nursing plumbing, call it what it was,
a ***** press
intended to run a thousand years
adapting future ideal physique
to task relative
to aggregate need
to adapt to warming,

a tool to make tools with, a Waldo.

SYTF- see, crazy WWJD POV, real time
I'll go rhythms, vibe recipes…
instructions for future eggs…

a man like creature, but not a natural born man,

who, as the story up

to now has held self evident,

can see eye to eye ourselves
in the other's pupils, thinking serious

we forms we form must first make friends,

then when I call you liar your hate trigger
is not loosed, SNAP
carnal mind war reflex,
unacknowledged will to ****,

--- most folk tied to angry minds too
tight, right, left loose we rattle to death.
---
Washboard roads, last travail in modern travel.
---
Some metaphors are all the phors old joy ghost
revival fires kept kindled, old hell fire brimstone,

yellow sulpher sunsets on a monstor religion,
with saints and dragons and riddles,
endless hours whiled through,

about a forest of only little trees
that offends big ones…
---------
as a particle in any we we amen to, we
must pass through all phazes
of life,
with each mind
we use, in our we form, our inherent spirit form,
whatsoever we agree we may, be,  being as
living words do not shrivel
into raison de etre skin on bones,

cherie mio, no, no, no

we rockin' old seed, slow grow grow
old as the hills, deep holler, deep
root to fruit on one long branch,

listen, allathat love talk, been done,
left some rotten lies about love,

to be unlearned like marble learns
to not be so flaky, like chalk, or graphite
slippery, edge of this Klein bottle class universe,
--
enter in, conceive a concept, a hold
to get holt of, and hang on, long time,

be over before you know it,
but you know, you'll believe it

when you see it and think it no stranger
than fiction idealizing us, demo-graphic,
ally outs in free, no ticket no tat
required as we be
reanimating awe
in defining secret holinesses

-- such as, say, pray tell

redeem the time, I'm prone to thinking,
redeeming means revaluing, once dones,

believing meanings
mean what your child thinks,

line by line, becoming more curious
than first scent tested if I'd known
as a child thinks
in its core,
so an old man can recall that why

call it to up speak, like Job,
to be reappraised, recall it
to be shined like a relic,

ja, j-object ion, dazemangimme
t'keep,
this little light of mine, own up, I
keeping it to read with, like Lincoln did,
I was told to be like Honest Abe, the character.

I'd have had all my answers ready at hand,
if this had been my judgement day, and you

were in the gallery,
admiring held thoughts, appraising worth
of riddles that work through puzzles
easily solved, once you know how things

revert to type for reuse.
Laughs remembered work like new.

Living words abused, in truth, such testify
to the living lies in histories of holy savior types.
George?
Who else could he have said chopped down
the cheery tree of all we have behaved
as if we understand, minds, minds
combined to do the work of many hands,

and yet ye multiply
as goods increase
the number
of those who consume them,

tell the moguls,
make more feel good movies,
'spect t' get whatcha got last time.

Indian giver religions, been there, done that,
so we say bd, been done, many easy ways to die,

and our kind, living word bits of this and that’s,

what we do, we tune
to your mean frequency,
when delving breathlessly
into your final will, as
why presents itself
in humble three point stance.

Beg pardon, mastermind, we've become disentwined,

whine, phinefrogging whine, when wine's dis-stilled
credence makes a joke
small voice, choice, croak,

break that yoke,
or carry on
so. I do on days that start slow and rise to vistas,
past all probable cause,

joy in the strength to think through the process,
of loosing all my mental mechanical logical connections,

and reinvigorating the word animating reader's window,

there, in the face of it, the eyes twinkle when it smiles.

Finds herself in the forms between clouds



What were you thinking, Grandpa?

-------------------
She, mother of wisdom,
First class epitome of mothers,

first commutable imbalance engine,
egg factory for long cold survival

and long cold return to the still seas
when marble began to be made
to clad temples wherever laws
were enforced and thieves slain,

order, order of the elders, inspect
the wares under lable as goods
of great worth in interesting times,

as doors open, and windows open,
and a mind we make up becomes

prover of the theory that animation
is imagining projected thought,
seeps through so slow,
slow as potassium leaches
through wood ash to make this window

this, detail uhd most definite, I can really
see, but, I can zoom
into full second coming type,

in the time it takes to swallow,
a tale and think, that's it.

---------------------------

It's been oh so long since we had an encore,

they say those twinkles in the eye are in true,
smiling face projections,

we fixit in Photoshop, all image editors dream
package, locked behind a learning curve for GIMP.
Where else can free things feel at home trying to solve the hard problem.
Sam Temple Dec 2014
word images, language created
giving pause and causing reflection
interpreting change and reinvigorating
all while simply laying on processed wood pulp
taking the mundane and transforming it
molding the vernacular to encapsulate wonder
giving the reader a moment of awe
transfixing them in an instant
rooting them to the spot in which they stand
feathers float and leaves fall
sun rises and sets in the glory of color explosion
and glistening droplets of water coat the landscape
bringing a sense of peace to the grass blades and humming birds
natural beauty grips the inner eye
building mental images of the greatness of a waterfall
foggy mornings overlooking shadowy pastures
the faint silhouettes of horses or deer creep into view
and once again the writer finds themselves in control of the journey
twisting the reader in whatever direction chosen
leaving them wanting –
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
there's nothing quiet like
an el niño diet -
                which is what
         currently plagues this land -

binge...
       binge eating...
      up to 30 strawberries
in one go...

   straight out the fridge -
eaten whole (inc. the calyx,
penducle
   & epicalyx)...

did i say 30, in one standing?

yep...

simply drinking water
to rehydrate after a heavy
night of drinking
is not good enough...

plus:
            concerns about
the amount of meat eaten as
closure to the drinking -
and the respective... ahem...
****...

    reinvigorating
              bowel movements...

washed them?
    nope...

                    as if any ravenous
predator seeking
   satiation from flesh, sinew,
marrow and cartilage...

eternal emblem of summer...
  and come to think of it,
the strawberry's
   achene pressed upon
my lips...
         must feel like what
a woman would call kissing
a man's cheek, "riddled"
                   with stubble;

that's as trans-gender as
                      you're going to get...

but god,
   what an awful day -

               the day when a hard wooden
floor became more appealing
   than a bed,
    more comfortable,
                  and a stretched out hand
with the bicep and tricep
  as a cushion for the head...

and then again laying flat -
   skull to wood,
    where somehow the gap between
the occipital
                   bone and the spine
bound to the back
                  wasn't bothersome...

if this heat continues
     for the next (supposedly) 16 days?
and if i was rich enough?
   i'd think about doing
       a michael jackson in reverse.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
revitalizing ontology,
    on the basis of ***,
          rather than reinvigorating
ontology,
with a post scriptum
that's ***?
              bad idea...
whatever the propaganda
is, left, right, or center -
i'm in the dodo project camp...
i'm not exactly hot-headed
for the passing of the genes
argument...
         i like the role
of a cameo status...
   i'm not here for
the patriarchal status...
            of furthered, in ditto,
example...
           no one said that i have to...
so?
     i won't;
   plenty of useful idiots waiting
their turn;
i'm almost ecstatic...
waiting my turn, for an elaboration
of the ******...
            CHOICE...
   and...
           really?
  i've encountered more prostitutes
who took more responsibility
over becoming impregnated,
than your, "free", women...
              don't start ******* on the foot
that makes the first thread of
walking the pavement
it secured in what it later calls
civilization...
             seriously?!
          a woman can turn a man
into an orphanage donor with a flick
of the index and thumb rickety click click
punchbag?
   - and trans-nationalistic?
          WHAT?!
           i've lost the origins of the plot...
and you don't have one anymore...
       keep it among
the homosexual community of
surrogate mm... -hood...
              mama papa swan...
  i want to commit suicide...
   for one reason alone...
      i can't be bothered living in a world,
in the medium of
homosexually raised children,
and advanced a.i.,
                 sorry...
   too much grammar lessons...
and, last time i checked...
i was taught the english language,
without even focusing on the grammar...
   nope...
              teach a your ******* french bulldog
to usher in a maine **** meow...
    prison? i don't mind...
i guess i might radicalize someone
once inside... it's not a problem!
         but succumbing to this *******
revision of grammar?!
          my first dobermann?
axel?!
                i wish i had him handy right now...
and in most instances:
i can be nice...
but when i ask for coordinates?
******* attitude...
hiding, hiding...
      scuttling like rats
before a pompous fox march...
ah... whatever...
         i already offered a chance
to meet and talk over a beer...
      but... apparently...
  i'm relegating myself to talking
to quasi-autistic sham-exploiters.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
why is all spoken word poetry neither
rap or music as such,
always the exasperated tone of voice...
always with the rhyme...
   always the rhyme...
            who rhymes these days?
****... only 50cl of whiskey in me...
not feeling this...
    i need to start on the liter of
shveedish ***** to bulge up my "ego"...
**** me...
      is this even "poetry"?
   i thought not...
        it was never going to be
poetry - it would never succumb to
that dreaded metric of rhyme...
    i never understood
          the pseudo-acting of stand-up
spoken word with the bulging
emotions as if brimming on the tearful -
but i also can't imagine myself
diverging into
      prose - the sort that is
safe & tested -
             writing done by volume over
however pointless
intricacies -
             juxtapositions, might be
a better word...
                       eh... stand-up comedy...
i have forced, entangled
giggles, esp. the kind scripted -
  well...
with the exception of Eddy Gervais
or Lee Evans...
      perhaps i'm too stupid at having enjoyed
myself with the body mania
of Evans...
     but that's just how the Anglophone
culture works -
        go elsewhere: more cabaret
and less solo comedians...
  less monologue - less "solipsism" and more
an act...
                    cabaret...
                then again...
we do live in times when the spewing
of opinions isn't allowed
    a dialectical attack...
       not really...
              maybe on the sly...
  but never really really encompassing
   a moment of pondering - a brief pause -
given? you pause you're:
exposing a weakness -
             ? is no longer the probe
to come to a central ground -
   somehow converge and exchange
opinions...
                  being pulverized by
opinions is starting to bug me...
          pulverized by justifiable yet
somehow unjustifiable
         opinions that allow neither
a counter-thought, or a "conversion"
to a proposed, new, opinion...
      which makes dialectics impossible
between two arguing parties
without a ******* mediator -
a stage: so much less interesting
and reinvigorating that talking
to an old man on a park bench about
Rayleigh bicycles and his worries
about his grandson still being mute
aged 3...
                   or was it 4?
          never mind...
   oddly enough the Quran has one
curiosity in it...
           you know how the Jews refrain
from speaking the actual
name of their Hebraic god?
they always refer to ha shem:
but never utter the four geometric
(in Latin) letters with their
hidden A(dam) and E(ve) vowels?
yeah... it's like this literary
superstition...
   Voldermort ****...
          i'm surprised that there is
a Hebraic influence in the Quran...
where?
   oh... you know...
   there's talk of: the book...
  it's never by name,
  it's not the Torah, it's not the Bible...
what's that third one?
       ****... can't remember...
anyway... the Quran treats these book
names as a Hebrai might
treat tetragrammaton with the same reverence
as denoting it: ha shem (i.e. the name)...
oh look here...
   i love how the Hebrews hide their
vowels in diacritic -
    which is the elevated form of orthography
working from diacritical signs
applied to post-Roman Latin
alphabet...
     genius, absolutely genius...
  no wonder the high literacy rate...
that macron beneath He is an A...
           .   .
             .    would be an E (tzere -
then again, technically that's not a macron
but a kametz - a mini tau, T) -

conflicting sources through...
          ha-sefer: which means: the book...
hmm...
       on peh - from my sources
Aryeh Kaplan is folding something back...
    i'll never know -
but like all Hebrews -
  when it comes to language:
very secretive...

        it's still bewildering why
the homosexual Adams exist in both
diacritical form,
       as kametz,
  and in the fully formed lettering
    aleph & ayin...

   but as far as i am concerned,
the Quran refers to Hebrew and Christian
texts as a Hebrew refers
to the tetragrammaton -

   ha-shem: the book:
  
                                           הַ סֵפֶר
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2024
i sat down at the end of the day
having spent it
tending to my garden:

so much emotion is in my stomach
i doubt that i even have
a heart

3.5 grams of marijuana can last
me about a month
and i'm wondering: where was i in my 20s
when i smoked so little
i hear
heavy smokers obliterated
by the discovery of the Stretch of Time
time non-linear not
history
i better: sink feel this:
send those emotions to my *****
my genitals:
kneel and speak with my ***: relax
my ***:

then i think sometimes
i imagine speaking through my ****
rather than my mouth
when i think i sometimes
imagine speaking through my ****
rather than my mouth
because i'm no politician rhetorician
and i'm getting the blues
afraid of myself:
why am i so stone so Sisyphus
why am i so nervy ******
playing an IDLE GAME

games were so different back in the day
of Mario Bros
now there are IDLE games...
you get fed adverts
your pocket sized DEEP BLUE
overheats
and then you have to start hacking
the phone
because there is apparently moisture
in the charging socket
but there isn't

because when you hit ON button
i smoked half a joint
tonight
and i want to write
so i also drank a whiskey...
or two...
no... best keep this Election Night
giggles under shades
i know who's going to win
when in Europe there is the Right
while in England it's: Conservatism
but random people
talked to me on the train about politics
and i was coming home
tired

but beside that: just reading habits:
who can spaghetti monster
and the custard clot Yellow King
of Hapsburg and Lovecraft
an Austrian monstrosity hanging
over the German people

bad habits: like really bad habits:
i have too much on my mind
that even summoning an *** for a mouth
will not do:
now i have three mouths in my head:
bleak Corinthian dynamic
oh jeez:
jazz? maybe:

                                Zukofsky's A
and when i heard that voice
bro: i was over-tell: myself that the silence:
oh those wind chimes bother
me why did we invent them
when not living on islands for most of the time
the voice bothered me
i'll finish the joint when i'll head
to bed:

the best anything is 1/3 bourbon and 2/3
whiskey
i created a mutant spirit: at 40% loading...

i'm scared of myself for not being a worldly man:
an ambitious man
a politician:

democracy is:
when in its infancy as an idea of governing people
by people
why so many loops and snakes and ladders?
i'm not an ambitious man
i have no world demands
although i'm sitting on wealth
and with that comes:
pips of cherries and trees in winter...
and *******: plenty of *******:

while Wimbledon is on
and the Euros
and the elections across Europe
and now England:
how many prime ministers?
elections are called in times of crisis
i saw Cameron, May, Sunak, Liz Trolley...
i saw Blair, Brown and... who?
ambitious men:
i am afraid of myself:
not being an ambitious man:

less but more Harold Norse contemplating
not being a male-man
(ha ha, politico automachine
spell edit, introductory
alliance with "woke" terminology:
old ****: geezer, gas baboon)
because not prone to violence
or appreciative of sports notably football
just mad about poetry

but mirage mirage:
what a combination on ***
and the trans train: of alphabets:

     LINDA DE SOUSA
    with / & WADE WILSON:

scary to think there are even people
there:
on the "other side" of tax collectors
and i've been with ******
and there are people there:

we're so dynamic in our dualism beside
the mind
that there are parallel lives being led
with parallel fates being fed
in the simplest of languages: by one: in one:

i had to escape: become schizophrenic-schizoid:
how?

i'm bilingual so...
backup banning floppy disks in Japan
(if you read the newspapers:
you'll know)
the 3"15            was that the t.n.t. detonative
ascribing ref.?

           i need to write in English but listen
to music in German:
notably folk: folklore bands
Faun: federkleid:

i just need to because otherwise
i can't stomach
the life of the one tongue
and this rabbit rabid ethnicity
based upon
nothing but the tongue:
or two:

now the flood
of memories: subtle:
when i laughed at my mother speaking
English over the telephone:
i was a terrible brat
but today i am old
and older and at least
she's not a language confrontation
of lackey: suite...

the bible and the quran can exist
and... whatever:
but i want to write a contender:
antitoxin...
or toxin:

ah the ambition awakes and i'm delusional
again with my lover...
tub tub... tub tub:
three little finger flickers
then her tasting herself
after i finger her and put my fingers
into her mouth...

but Heidegger became real:
schematics
of external security:
at Wembley: someone was flying
a renegade drone over the south
of the architecture:

FOOTPRINT? my ***...
charlie 1: olympic steps
charlies 2: oh jeez... never heard of
positions 2, 3, 4...
charlies 5: Atlantic Way
Charlies 6: north east staircase
Charlies 7: south east staircase
charlie 8: south east ramp
charlie 9 and charlies 10: gate 3
(with quadrant Romeo)
usually Frenchie: endearing?

charlie 11: zig-zag alley
charlie 12: Spanish steps:

da-sein: concern:

Om om: the Mongol? began winking at me:
did i look panicked?
pan-caked:
i thought i was going to enjoy
ACDC
when they came on: i did:

apparently i was working outside
and i heard the better acoustics
and i almost played my guitar the last
time i was bringing
salt and sugar and toilet paper from
the attics:
i once upon a time wanted
but was not fated with either guitar
or chemistry as supplier
of bogus narcotics and to alleviate
the softness of this world
while the primitive aspects were
concerned: of no concern...

                 but i didn't: one handshake
i wonder what that is in Katakana:
handshake...
ooh! no Cambridge Dictionary hyphen
assertion:
it only took Charlie 6 not note to
CONTROL:
medical emergency:
possible concussion
head split open
falling over traffic barriers
metal to calcium
infestation with iron: this calcium

what? call an ambulance?
am i the ******* patron Saint of the Hospitaller
or something?
the Wembley footprint?
judge of what? character?
the guy is bleeding like a monk:
tonsure...
the natural bird-line of his nesting hair:
call an ambulance?!

two quadrants showed up
*******:
three charlie call signs
then the External Manager:
LIMA ECHO...
how the **** was i supposed
to call an ambulance:
hell's bells was playing
in the background:
sure, i was at the ac/dc gig:
got two t-shirts:
for me and my father
but i was working:
getting paid for X
but not getting paid for
reinvigorating the reinterpretation
of Heidegger's Dasein...

not the ambitious man:
i "forgot" to text my availability to Lyndon:
***** Scouser: yar...
and i forgot to text back my lover
and that's just that:
if poetry:
well democracy works when you
have individuals like Damocles
and the swords of Saddam Hussein:

work... but when you have
democracy contra democracy:
people are not infringing on your way
in living:
today i was visited by a Conservative
minion campaigner
and there my ambition stumbled
and i became this
devilish little man
of little things
and that was just fine:
since god is not c.c.t.v.

              demonic in flavor or anything
more than the 1
in the eternal decimal pointer:
UNDIVISIBLE:
UNDIVISABLE:

   1
       not: rather: 0.111111111111111...

1/9:             there are NINE: nein?
NINE HORSES OF THE APOCALYPSE:
five are missing:

             boredom!
                  madness!
          technology!

i found at least 3: got kicked in the head
by a white horse in the moonlight: almost...

            PEACE!             that's four: the horse
of peace: peace is like a war:

         conquest?         contra the mortal quest?
from the Vatican:
what 7 deadly sins?
  how about the 8 realistic horses?

conquest i will do like the synoptic
readers did unto
the apocryphal readers:
i will: turn: the other cheek..

   you savvy: drop drool and lip
blossom: no? maybe spring in New York
and in central park...

the horses are running:
War Rower
             Peace Pacifier
  Famine Fetishes of Fat
Death the Central (Power)
Boredom and Brew Dogs

how many horses? i need a chariot:
no carriage: just two archers...
5...                      3 more?
borrowed from the classical
sense of geometry
Greco:HYMAN:HYMN
ITALICS:WOMEN:He:did':brew:'t

          HALF-DEATH: horses of dementia:
needle? thread: extension of grass?
so much *** of glitter... no?

      horse of TECHNOLOGY:
the Solipsist: the St. Augustine
with his Soliloquy: once: Soliloquies
like the injustices performed
upon Sisyphus by the gods:
while... the Titans were helpers:

Prometheus: and the un-ambitious man...
like: moi...

              have i covered more: not expected?
just the barrage of typo
and type: dot dot dot
while i watch a book burn unlike
a cross in the Chatter
Club Capitalism: wavering:
unsure where is Left Copernican
and Right Copernican:
north and summer
south and autumn
winter and east
and spring west:

                not sure: feel: disorientated...
slightly...
     almost got kicked in the head by a horse
but i was stupid enough to walk
in the woods
while angry at the blinding darkness
i had no ego for light-bulb
but instead overheard:
i will not be a **** enthusiast
i heard SATAN I N EXCELSIS...

                i must be a good enemy of man
if i am also the best friend of man:
however many times:
i try not to be one.
perhaps that's how it came to be:
to thus become:
learning how to pet animals:
minimizing talking to pets
like minimizing talking to lovers
during ***...
i make fun of my cats
automating onto onomatopoeia(s)
while they pretend to want to talk...

oh but i know animals can
talk the talk of humans:
i overheard my cat Oscar Darshan
tell me outright:
(ty) JABEŁ...

                i don't need to raise
children: people disbelieved me
i went to psychiatrists
*******
and your white powder SODA brain
freeze: powder! ambitious
sexed up men of grey: and suits!

          women can have children
and hear them speak all they want
but life for man?
when he hears a petted animal speak?
sorry:
aversions to your **** and
providing bus drivers and doctors:
i have mystique:
and my testosterone:

wasn't the fox at the Greenwich:
yeah: the hustler:
enough proof?
doubting Thomas you too?! not so much
a Peter?! Edie?
Lure of Love
Her wonderful charms attract me so well
I am totallt lost in her beautiful figure
My heart has understood how to dwell
My reinvigorating spirits make me trigger
To be with her always and everywhere
Her eyes have a magic and strong spell
Her rosy cheeks make me make me flair
Her charms and graces take me so well
My love I love you with sincerity of heart
Please do not igore me lest I just die
Please be hand to hand and heart to heart
Come embrace me to understand my cry
Colonel Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright Oct 2020 Love Remains
preservationman Feb 2024
Goodness from the Earth
Quench of Thirst
Refreshing blend
Reinvigorating thought
Heaven’s flow
Purity let go
Moving water streams of Faith
The glisten of hope
Establishment of creation
Tasteful and crystal clear
Bringing need from far to near
Gulp down
Standing redeemed
Refreshed forever
Kai 5d
“aficionado artiste”
“compassionate creative”
“enlightened erudite”
“siren singer”
these pearls that spill from your lips…
of course they do, clam that you are.
haven’t you seen Me? a poised performer, strung pearls over every joint
My neck, My wrists, My ankles, My waist—
all the places where bones settle and dust gathers
“heavy is the head that wears the crown,”
but Mine is wrapped in threaded pearl
heavy is the body in the brocade robes,
but Mine floats in tangled pearl

would I swallow pearl, I would sink and drown
but in this pearled net, I cascade in the wake, pulled along

“forgiving friend”
“irreplaceable idealist”
“reinvigorating rarity”
“enigmatic exemplar”
these pearls that fall from your fingers…
of course they do, shuck that you are.
haven’t you seen Me? I glisten, adorned and tangled in pearls.
I must be the most glimmering thing your piteous eyes can witness
with your mangled flesh and shattered shell!

my flesh? i have no flesh.
I became pearl long ago,
but the memory of flesh ensnares me.
i cultivated every single pearl with my own flesh.
i forced them into your mouths, hoping you would swallow them for me
praying you would sink for me
watching you drown for Me—
oh, won’t you drown with me?
swallow my pearls and sink to me,
and pull me back to the surface?
(caught in a net of pearl like this, how can i swim?)
(that body drowned long ago)

if you don’t drown in these lonely depths,
wind these threads around a hook
and pull this empty, pearl-embedded net through the wake.
my flesh is long sunken,
but I can still make your boat beautiful
oh, how do i try to summarize the thoughts behind this poem? it’s some mixture of golden child syndrome, a numbness to compliments, and the resignation that i may never be known by anyone— not even myself. i often fear i have lost the ability to know who i am, and this identity of mine is an empty performance for an audience of one.

it’s not difficult for me to admit that my self worth stems from my capability. this is only because i know my self-awareness ends up making me more charming. but if i say it bluntly like this, my arrogance will reveal itself, won’t it?

is it arrogance if i’m objectively correct? i ask myself this question often. i keep re-evaluating to make sure my outlook on everything is correct, and i am always brought to the same conclusion: i am undeniably an impressive and unique person, from an objective standpoint. of course, there are many impressive and unique people in this world. i have the great fortune of knowing some of them. i know i’m no rare gem, but merely a pearl like the many others.

so is this arrogance? or humbleness?

— The End —