"reiterated" poems
And they asked me
"Are you down to **** Or do you prefer friends with benefits?
Either way there would never be any emotions involved", they say
I said "no, I don’t want any of those things"
Their faces started to change
My guards are high up and they suddenly wanted the chase
But "seriously no", I reiterated
"I don’t want my body to be used in any of your fantasies
It’s not that I haven’t tried any of those things you are imagining right now
I have been there, I have done that
Far too many times than the acceptable number
But I am not ashamed, I am not proud either"
Some of them turned their backs on me due to their dismay
“You shouldn’t really be here” they say
But I am just looking for someone to talk to
This is something that they really cannot accept
I know that my credentials fill your heads with imagination
My photos burn your souls alive
And my words linger in your minds
I have you all trapped under my finger tips
You all want me, but I don’t want you
I am sorry, but not in that way
Because I have been there, I have done that
Far too many times than the acceptable number
But I am not ashamed, I am not proud either
Because I know my worth
And none of you deserves my
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 9:39 AM UTC
My bf works in Geneva, Switzerland. I go to school in New Haven. We Facetime a lot - but it’s not ideal.
“I wanted to tell you, that it’s been nice.” I told him somberly.
“What do you mean?” He asked after a moment.
“Well,” I began, “You know how I like to go down to the harbor and watch the ocean?” “Yeah,” he answered.
“Well, I was down there this evening and the sun plunged into the sea and it got dark. I think we’re all going to die.”
“Anais, you’re on the east coast,” he reported. “That’s true,” I confirmed (New York’s on the east coast and it’s 60 miles away).
“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west.” He explained. “ocean sunsets only happen on the west coast.”
“Really?’ I said, flabbergasted, “I never noticed that.”
“Yeah,” he reiterated.
“I have a confession,” I admitted, sighing.
“What’s that?” He enquired.
“I made it up, the sun and sea thing,” I admitted.
“For real?” He followed up. “Yeah,” I said. “Why?” he asked.
“Nothing happens, when you’re not here,” I disclosed, “It’s SO dull, I’m dull, I’m afraid of underwhelming you.”
“We’re going to die someday,” he assured me, consolingly.
.
.
songs for this:
I Can’t Remember Love by Anna Hauss
So In Love by k.d. lang
It’s the End of the world as we know it by REM
The end of the world by Skeeter Davis
Apr 20, 2024
Apr 20, 2024 at 9:44 PM UTC
That day we came
and having come
lapped at by perfumed light
at once separated.
We bathed in the pool
the water like crystal
in the sunset
our limbs like glass.
On the bank
in the hot conjoined air
we made love again
our sweat
like silver in the moonlight.
the water's suppurating flow
drew our limbs
like flotsam in the reeds
grappling glistering lilies
as we floated in slow, ********
currents.
along the bank, the Camphor
shades the forest flowers
through the long-leaved grass
the python slinks
We leave for home
darkened by the sun..........
tongues digging into melons,
pomegranates laid out
neatly for dessert
******* out the Rambutan-
once the hairy skin is peeled-
fiery, red
the soft core sweeter than coitus-
and stays longer in our thoughts.
is this where the dreams are,
or where the dreaming begins,
between the first caress
and the final gasp of satisfaction?
Where the threshing limbs
devour the sun-shredded wheat
and the panting ribbons of air
swallow the final sigh-
the sleek river flowing
seaward, ocean marshalling
the land,
coral languishing in green pools
of broken light.
Here, within this infused beauty,
********** has power
beyond the weather-bound senses
of our northern homes,
encased in dull precipitation
sunshine a blunted knife
beyond the pot-shaped mountains
high above the trees
like a tear emerging from the sky
drops the waterfall
its descent
languid, its fall sharp and effortless;
tinged with azure, carefully sprinkled flakes
it spreads out like a clear, chiming puddle.
There we spread ourselves
naked in the sunlight
the sea's rumbling noise
distant and fumbling-
spreading its curling claws
into the slyly forming sunset
in reiterated rhythms
like beating hearts
like lungs-
the carefully manufactured beats
blending.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
/ *because such examples have to, have to(!) be perpetuated, reiterated, perpetuated, reiterated... these... "things"... these minor quests of establishing being - against, the authoritarian rule of the democracy of beings.*
you don't shout,
you don't disturb the "social", "peace",
of proverbial english society...
nope...
shouting does not good,
akin to:
silent water eats
away at the shorelines...
what you do...
is akin to what birds do...
you don't gnash your teeth:
i.e. clench them molars...
gnashing means clenching
your molars -
a gnashing a gnarling,
a pestle & mortar scenario...
no...
no shouting...
silent movie era of hollywood
translated...
you... simply... chatter...
you strike incissor teeth against
each other... crafting a lightling storm
like crackling sound,
like corn flakes...
in a bowl of milk...
you... chatter...
inspiration? birds...
bird calls...
you... chatter...
mind you, unlike the english,
looking into my mouth...
the jaw should fit within the confines
of the skull...
the upper set of teeth
should accommodate the jaw's
line of teeth...
but you simply... chatter...
which is embodied by attempting
to take a phantom bite at "something"...
you...
echo:
central incisors against
the lateral incisors...
you subsequently: chatter (χατερ)...
i missed the eta (η): given that i also
missed the excess of tau - in what isn't,
a translation - other than a phonetic
equivalent of putting on sunglasses...
because, when your neighbour,
tells you... that you can't smoke...
in your own home, perched on a windowsill,
out of the window,
implying that the smoke is
vacuumed into his bedroom?
and somehow, the law,
and the air, we share, is somehow his,
and his alone?
and i can't do, what he can,
within the confines of his property?
NOW WE HAVE A PROPER SHITSHOW!
some english are ******* backward
hardly insulting the ****** community,
with some succumbing to prosopagnosia,
while some (notably down syndrome)
actually having a memory capacity...
that curious look and a familiar expression
waiting for a smile...
i basically live next to a mental illness
example, par uno...
and englishman who "thinks"
he's king, rather than a convenient
citizen...
****** won't budge...
guess all i'm equipped with is
my chatter remedy;
and english society still "thinks"
that i'm the "mad" one.
- because it's like...
how can you dictate, what someone can,
or cannot do, on their property?!
like smoking a cigarette,
perched on a windowsill, outside a window,
with the accusation:
the smoke is coming into my bedroom...
oh right...
so...
erm...
you own the dynamic of air
to suggest such a bias?
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 11:30 AM UTC
Peace! God’s Peace upon you all! The Bishop blessed
The dyed-young congregation: dyed fathers ‘n mothers,
Grandpas ‘n grannies, great-grandpas and great-grannies.
The demons of decadence--Hair dye, ****** and Spirits –
Chuckled and giggled, crouching well under the pulpit.
Dyed gurus ‘n financiers, dyed lawyers, doctors n’ nurses,
****** entrepreneurs and ****** entertainers, dyed judges
Dyed ‘n spirited evangelists, priests and vergers on ******
Peace be upon thee all! Blessed the Bishop from the pulpit.
Now, the demons in the hiding iterated and reiterated it.
A Sunday spirited chat—all smiles! -- in the church portico:
The Viagra-dyed banker in later life smiled a dyed smile
At the elderly dyed mother of three; and she said: they say,
In spite of my age, you know, I look so young and pretty!
And the thick flanks under her chin jiggled in approbation.
The ****** great-grandpa said to the dyed Justice of spirits:
Milord, they say: “The stuff brings cancer;” Fools! Idiots!
“The gloves—the condom-like device—that’s our safety!”
“Milord! This trinity wizard, they bring a million crores
To the exchequer of this famished democracy, milord!”
“Milord! The nature lovers say, we wash billions of bottles
Of these magic stuffs into their rivers and the seas, milord!”
“They say we all-- dyed ****** men-- are sissies and doofuses!”
“Milord! Our tubby women dye young, lest they’d be labelled
Mammy, Granny, Grandma, Old Granny, the decrepit ‘n that!
Now, the dyed media reported: father mated with his daughter,
Mother with a teenager, grandpa with an infant; and Ministers,
MLAs, MPs—all spirits-Viagra-dyed-- are in a ******* spree!
Now the Dark Trinity cried “Wow! In this world of ******
The Kingdom, the Power and the Glory--all are ours! Amen!
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
The day that we met, I watched you press a cigarette to your lips and laugh.
I cringed.
How could a paper stick filled with nicotine leaves and other little ingredients
bring a satisfying, calm five minutes?
We talked about how you were trying to stop,
and how I’d never, ever smoke myself,
and how that was a good thing.
We laughed.
Six months later and I haven’t seen your face in over a week.
A month ago, we were lying in your bed talking about how we’d
always love one another and always have each other,
and you pulled out a cigarette.
You reiterated that it calmed you down but I just grimaced.
How could a paper stick filled with nicotine leaves and other little ingredients
bring a satisfying, calm five minutes?
I wanted to ask again, though I know how addiction works.
You can’t really explain it.
All I’m sure of is you always know you could quit one day.
What I don’t know is if you ever really wanted to.
I took a walk to clear my head of the memories of you last night,
to get some fresh air for the first time in over a week.
It was overall ironic because as I tried to forget you,
as I breathed in the fresh Wisconsin air,
I pulled out a cigarette.
I stared at the rolled paper between my fingers,
and I saw your face.
I could smell you through the air,
taste your lips,
and wondered if I could really replace that connection in my head,
if you really should be represented by impending death and
overwhelming scents that never really fade.
I wonder because I know at heart, you were never made of tar,
you’re just sticking to my mind longer than
you ever really intended,
it was just what you were made to do.
I know you were never made to remind others of death,
though I know you wanted to be a few times.
I know you’ve encountered it and
I know you think about it at least twice a week.
You’ve always reminded me more of a sun,
because you’ve always been bright in my mind,
you’ve always been something I looked forward to seeing,
something that warmed my heart just by stepping into my presence,
you remind me of a fresh gasp of breath,
and that’s why I put the cigarette to my lips.
That’s why I lit it.
That’s why I started smoking,
Not to think of you,
Not to try to remember your taste,
Your scent,
But because
if a cigarette became my ten minute escape,
it’d be my go-to,
and you wouldn’t be.
I could get the calm you experienced and not experience you,
I could feel something other than missing you.
When I snuffed out the ****
I was actually smiling.
I felt free of you,
free of the holds your love brought to me.
For twenty minutes,
I felt complete happiness without thinking about you
for the first time since we met.
So that’s why next time we see one another,
when we do become friends again like we promised
each other that we would,
Next time we meet,
I’ll press a cigarette to my lips,
and I’ll laugh.
We’ll talk about how you were trying to stop,
and how I’d never, ever smoke myself,
and how that promise was temporary,
just like us.
Just like the cigarette.
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
he told me, "put down the cigarette,"
worried i'd get sick.
i looked at him with regret,
craving nicotine like a nervous tick.
we left around half past twelve,
just to clear the air,
leaving my heart on the shelves.
he asked, "is this really fair?
breaking my heart this way?"
he reiterated his worry.
and i laughed it all away
"don't fret, my honey.
i'm clean and new.
my heart has been glued
and is no longer in two.
i'm eating my food -
see look! my ribs!
they're aren't as pronounced.
maybe one day we really can have kids."
his hand held mine as he denounced
that i was still no good
i was still no better
than before emotions would flood
his heart, i still his debtor.
so on i went,
forward to the waves,
and on this pole i leant,
until i came to with sun's rays...
and i became one with the sea.
she is more than i would ever be.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
sick to the bone
i was tired of words i could not swallow
"i've been starving myself"
of food of hope of love of lust
i was tired of diving into toilet bowls
"i do not like to throw up"
i insisted this but my fingers did not listen
life lesson or self pity?
ingesting smoke
i was afraid this was all i could eat today
the fridge had told me different
and the cabinets too
i am tired of teary eyed binging
"i have to leave you alone"
i reiterated but i could never have enough
selfish promise or short term goal?
dizzy accusations
this was all my fault
i swallowed my words whole
and could never spit them out
it's starvation eating me up
i am tired of leaving tables early
"i could have stopped myself"
but my legs have proven otherwise
routine or bad habit?
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
I don’t like having to put in the effort on things that leave an extra page missing
I can’t trust it
You’re every little thread I’ve tiptoed around
Making sure I don’t move on unchartered space too quickly
I felt like you didn’t want that too
With your experience and all
Your chapters have started
There have been important people
Leaving fly leafs
Or bookmarks
Waiting to be scanned through blankly
Or
Revisited
I don’t know who was important enough
And I’m too afraid to ask
As to who
That little thread head was
So I made a subtle investigation
I’ve wandered around some parts of your book to merit
Audible versions of this girl whose book
So well covered
In dusted promises and doodles
There was an innocence left of her
That was so kept
She needed to hold my hand
To lift her pages so slightly
“Careful”
She whispers a great deal
These past few months
She’s trusted me with
The choreographed pressure of how
To feather the leaves of her past
On good days she’d read back ours
I’ve quoted enough lines and characters and memories
To entertain her of how it once was
The threads vibrate and echo
Reiterated but answers back the same
The untangled locks at least
I’ve seen fly leafs
Those were left with no closure
“We kind of just stopped talking” or “can we not mention her”
I’ve seen bookmarks
Of relatives and family and friends
And lovers
The bookmark had thread hair that tangled up so much that it left an aching worry in my heart
She was a lover
A lover with a bookmark
The bookmark who echoed a little too differently and brushed my skin too often when I’d lift a page
A little too close to the chapter on which she was written about
I don’t have quotes on her
But I have their stories
Stories have become our currency
The currency that equaled trust
The same currency that taught me how she was
And how to be
The currency that mattered
I’ve invested on these stories and have managed the skill of being gentle
I was the chapter that started after the messed up spool of the thread head lover
I guess that’s why it brushes in so close to me
I’m worried that I’ll end up tripping over thread, hold a page too tight
That I’ll rip down my own pages
And mess up perfectly fonted words
Forcing you to
Close down a chapter of me with a torn out page
You were too sentimental to throw away
And just be left as not even
A bookmark
But rather a poor excuse for a fly leaf that
You’d rather not talk about.
Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 9:05 AM UTC
what is written in the stars and expanses
is reiterated in your eyes
in the brilliance and wonder of your glances
i can see the dawn rise,
the refracting light reflecting from your gaze
is a sight that glorifies
us, our connection in this universe ablaze
and i have come realize
that the moments i will always remember
are the ones that symbolize
the past, the present, the future-and forever
cause whats real never dies
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 10:35 AM UTC
When I was younger, I saw a meteorite
It fell from the orange sky
I watched it fly in front of me
I was sitting in the back of my family's jeep
Pointing forward,
Eyes glistening,
“Dad..”
“Look there..”
Before him was a white streak in the sky heading down
As if something was announcing
I was here
“It's a plane..” He said
Quickly diminishing my dream
Quickly disregarding what I think
That could have made me lose hope but I didn’t
My eyes still glistened
Looked up knowing it wasnt of this world
That this white streak was all that was left behind
As something miraculous came from the sky
It was special
Different and I knew it
No matter how many times he told me it was nothing
How many times I reiterated that it was more than that
That it was everything
That it was mysterious
And out of this world
He claimed it was nothing
That it was the same
No ounce of doubt in his mind
He saw a plane
But I saw a meteorite
Throughout my life
I never saw someone that special
So beautiful that they left white streaks in their wake
So amazing that I would of risked wrecking my car
Just to see the allure they can create
I knew she was out of this world
And what we had was special
Different
But my dad claimed it was nothing
We were just friends
And my love was misinterpreted
Quickly diminishing my dream
Quickly disregarding what I think
But my eyes still glistened
As the sight of her
There was no one I loved more
My dad swore what we had was nothing
While I swore it was the opposite
That it was everything
That it was beauty
And it was special
And it was different
Later on the news
The reporter spoke of a meteorite that fell in my county
The picture he showed was exactly what I thought it would be
“Wow” my dad said
“You were right”
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 4:25 AM UTC
Every word uttered
whether
offered or obligated
spit or sputtered
graced or given grudgingly
bears an impeccable pin
point
of potency
Some snuffed suddenly
others
an epidemic
EXPANDING
--Demanding.
Exclaiming!
or
proclaiming
M
ai
mi
ng
Blaming--->
Stirring up
and
then
Taming
Careless sentences
strewn
over laughing lips
Reiterated recollections
and
aspirations running hot
on alcoholic
raspberry breath
What weight
but
what worthlessness
what wastefullness
Speech is
an immediate line
to your
purest heart and soul
but
Without
consideration
we are wandering
the mazes of our
very conversation
My words and your words
whispered or shouted
were designed to be
Dazzling
Not crammed in
uncomfortable pauses
Not vomited
with cruel intent
but
powerful and
persuasive
Accounted for
and
appreciated
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
In the currency of our current world
I have been taught for as long as I can remember
That my value as a woman
Exists only
In how worthy I am deemed by men.
'Remember, no one wants someone that everyone's had'
Was a favourite of my elders.
A line reiterated to me
Since I was old enough
To be made conscious of being sexualised
To be considered one day by men
Disregarding any of my own desires.
Letting me know
My exchange value
Is worth nothing more
Than how much they might want my body
Or by this we mean
How little they may want it
Once they might not have been the first
Or somewhere thereabouts.
I am no one's virginal prize
No one's to define or demonise.
I am too much ******* woman
To be reduced to such confines
To be fit into a category
Fit for only men to use
To determine what it is I am good for.
I can be the Madonna and the *****
Whatever I choose
And every bit of brilliance in between.
But make no mistake
Not one bit of our womanhood
Is here for your judgement
Make no mistake
Not one bit of my existence
Is woven into how worthy you find me.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
How do you explain a feeling?
How do you condense something so complex into a few simple words?
Words that have been used endlessly to describe the mundane.
Over reiterated and overexaggerated.
Words do not do you justice, but they are all that I have.
How do you define our love?
How do you explain our perfection?
How do you put pen to paper and write down the utter calm and comfort I feel in your presence,
And combine it with the passion we share that never ceases to burn?
How can I jot down every notion of a future that is truly unimaginable without you?
Let me try, anyways.
Call it a cliche or call it a classic.
I call it simplicity.
And with this,
Know:
I love you with all of my heart.
Take away the world, but leave me with you,
And still I would know happiness.
Give me the world, but remove yourself from it,
And I too would cease to be.
I love you with all of my heart.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
My saint,
my good Samaritan
who never leaves.
How lucky I am -
so grateful for
my humanitarian man.
How lucky I am,
so grateful for
his faultless memory -
reiterated recall -
everyone else left you
Oh my humanitarian man.
My good Samaritan,
holy martyr.
A heart for a soul -
a love to barter.
So sweet (so deserving) a sacrifice
for my humanitarian man.
A heart for a soul,
so sweet a sacrifice.
*For if our love shall perish
accept my death twice*
How lucky I am,
my humanitarian man.
My saint,
my good Samaritan.
he'd die for my heart -
he'd never leave.
So how could I part
my humanitarian man?
How lucky I am.
How lucky I am.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC
The Souls of Grenfell Tower
1 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls did not depart in vain.
2 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls have been chosen from amongst other souls
3 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls have been returned in the best of months, Ramadan
4 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for God descended to listen to their final utters of prayer
5 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their blissful souls reiterated the peacefulness of 2 billion others
6 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for they proved, pried upon practicing pupils, prevent further terror and tragedy
7 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for in June, they indeed sealed the end of May
8 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls showed the tweeting real duck, Londoners Khan all break fast together
9 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for they led Britain's conversation and distanced Hatie and her fallen solutions
10 Grieve not, dear families of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for their souls invited pleasant lilies, with beautiful oras, and the most famous of hellos - Salaam
11 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for they ignited the indigestion of cladding, in lowly aristocrats and their tory toys
12 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for Martyrdom was their end to a new beginning
13 Grieve not, dear families, of the souls of Grenfell Tower, for God has granted them Gardens of Eden.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 7:39 PM UTC
Just to add to what John said
with regards to the points
raised by Emily when she echoed
the arguments presented earlier
by Kevin
Without overlooking
the guidance that was reiterated
by the Deputy Director
about the need
for swift action from us
I propose we form a committee
composed of people in this meeting
who will meet later
to put the issue on the table
cut it open with a scalpel
expose the underlying problems
analyze and put it back with nine stitches
then we can report
that the first draft
is ready
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 11:11 AM UTC
I'm tired of love
poems
The laundry of
attraction.
I weary of
sadness reiterated
Everywhere.
The wombs of
Creation
Are omnipresent.
I read your sojouron
into the skin side
of this
Madness.
No I don't know what
you mean. The
Rhetoric of the
young, of the aged,
that moan of the years
that stretch, the direction
Empty
of arms to hold you,
of Kisses too
silent,
of hearts that beat
Alone.
Send me to the banks
of literature. The Ganges
where dust quaffs and
Fire burns and there is
only the poetry of tears
for the
Unforgiven.
Caroline Shank
7.12.2022
Jul 12, 2022
Jul 12, 2022 at 9:22 PM UTC
how to escape this thoughtful innocence
holding me behind bars of rightful insolence.
they say, "train your mind, lose sense of time,"
while i say, "why train the untame, isn't losing sense the wild's game?"
questions. answers. repeated. just dapper.
never enough you say? yes i feel that way,
often enough as if the work isn't done here,
so why stray far if the achievement is near?
sometimes roads bend and wind for days
only to cover the straight distance a foot away.
this, we call life, and we enjoy the strife,
for overcoming it brings jubilation
while the journey creates hesitation.
hold back and time passes your eyes,
jump in and time let's you fly.
what to do... what to do...
answers. questions. reiterated. human nature.
May 2, 2011
May 2, 2011 at 2:46 PM UTC
At first,
Love is a Choice
To act,
Not in emotions,
Nor perceived rewards,
Done from duty as duty,
Because we would be
Loving.
Love may mellow
Over time,
See traits worthy of surrender...
Take root,
Become reason of itself
For pleasure,
For staying true.
We performed the ritual courtesies:
Reiterated "Love yous,"
"Thank yous,"
Farewell prayers,
Hugs,
Waving good-bye,
We hoped our window tint
Hid relief shining in our eyes....
And then another farewell,
A mother crippled, old,
Bent low by time and widowed,
Gentle now, and grateful
For our shortest stays.
This mellowed love we would desire
When we have nearly lived our days.
Smiling tears and long embrace,
Juxtaposed these loves that end in sighs
The differences in love's good-byes.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
Before I left you alone, I placed an infinity of kisses on your collarbone.
You showed me what it felt like to be in a relationship and still feel lonely.
You showed me what it felt like to be in a room full of people bursting out in laughter and still feel alone.
The problem now is that I can’t stop reminiscing on what could’ve been.
It’s clear that I have never ever met someone like you.
It has been a while but I still feel the same way about you.
Maybe I need to let you know, maybe I need to let you go.
I still want to bury my lips in the curves of your neck.
You showed me what it felt like to be in a relationship and still feel lonely.
Now I’m running into the arms of temporary lovers asking for them to hold me.
If you were someone else I’d be tempted to say that the best part of was always you.
But unfortunately it’s not, the love I have for myself is all that I’ve got.
It's all I really need and it’s reiterated by the way my ink starts to bleed.
You found a home inside my heart and no matter what I do, I can never manage to get you to move out.
But if you’re staying a while longer just know that your rent’s due.
You can’t keep living here because a new tenant will be moving in soon.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 7:32 PM UTC
there's a pain that echoes
the kind that gets reiterated every time
the fallen angel traces where his wings used to be
what was beauty incarnate is now
an abhorrent malignant stump
he still finds traces of memories he had
of the allfather in places of worship
when he closes his eyes he swears
like he was back Home
basking in his Presence
a certain warmth passes through him
enlightenment that every single
thing he's done lead him to this moment
and he's exactly where he was meant to be
but then his eyes open
and the feeling of warmth subsides
replaced by the howling silence
the gaping god shaped hole inside him
opens up and swallows him whole
caressing a nearby marble figure
"if only we were as perfect
as you painted us out to be"
he murmurs under his breath
as he steps back outside
the hell he calls life
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 10:37 AM UTC
“...But Turkey is part of the story of Trump’s treachery. Erdogan, like Putin, Kim, and Zelensky, has learned that in the United States-- as in other authoritarian countries-- only one man really matters.”
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I wrote this after the brutal ****** of Jamal Khashoggi. I highly suspect the timing and the players of this backroom agreement:
The timing of Khashoggi's disappearance and the release of the Evangelical pastor, Brunson are not coincidental. The players were all there and the timing in place.
Here's what I think happened:
Turkey plays middleman, gets rid of bad press and high-pressure detainee, American Pastor Brunson. Saudi Arabia gets rid of its problematic critic, the newspaperman, Jamal Khoshoggi. The United States gets Pastor Brunson back plus the huge photo-op with Trump on his knees right before the election, claiming to his evangelical base, “See what I did for you? Does that buy your votes?” Everybody gets what they want, except Jamal Khoshoggi, who is tortured, killed, and dismembered in the Saudi embassy in Turkey.
Too diabolic and smooth for Trump alone. I think Russia and high level, intelligence brokered this deal. The agreement for it came between Saudis, Trump, and Turkey's Erdogan. Russians standing just out of sight on this – waiting.
________________________
Gotta wonder what our economy is based on? More-so, the morality of our government. We should be outraged and deeply ashamed!
Feel terrible for his fiance--not knowing-- not even able to bury him.
Support the free press everywhere!
...Latest: Trump's response:
But Trump also reiterated his earlier concerns that any punishment of Saudis shouldn't impact trade with Saudi Arabia, signaling that cutting off U.S. military sales to the kingdom may not be an option.
"I don't want to hurt jobs," he said...."
Fast forward--
10-8-19:
Now we learn a little more about what Turkey wanted from the deal.
Open season on the Kurds, anyone?
Trump's letter to Erdogan all but threatening him to cooperate with cease-fire in Syria allowing Putin into the territory he wanted. Not sure who actually framed Trump's words as he is a a blabbering ******* Jared perhaps?
The letter does Not promise reward for cooperation-- but in carefully couched words-- threatens Erdogan that he could end up like Khashoggi. As Michael Cohen testified, “Trump never says anything directly. Sorta like a mafia don-- everything is in code”
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 12:11 PM UTC
The Angel and Demon reside inside of me again.
"I could be your sweetest dream," she said
"Or, I could be your worst nightmare," he replied.
"I could save you, my dear," she poised.
He retorted gently, "Or, let me be the one who kills you."
"I am an honorable, compassionate saint and a despicable, ruthless sinner," I uttered, seemingly unperturbed by my surroundings.
"Two extremes at the end of each of the poles," they reiterated several times in a loud whisper.
Sometimes I like to take angels and corrupt them.
Other times, I gleefully take demons and purify them.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 3:32 AM UTC
The journey wasn't what I expected. I was lonely and had no idea where I was going.
After a while I began to hear footsteps behind me.
The further I walked, the closer they got.
Eventually I spun around sharply, and there she was, the most beautiful creature I'd ever set eyes on.
We just stared at each other, for the longest time. "Are you following me?" I asked.
She smiled and nodded.
I rolled my eyes, turned, and walked some more.
Inside I was glad of the company.
The journey was better for it.
But it wasn't long before I began to feel guilty. I couldn't let her follow me. I had no idea where I was, or where I was going.
So, reluctantly, I stopped, and turned to look at her.
Those eyes and that smile, beaming back at me. They lit me up. "Listen," I said "There's no point following me, I'm lost too you know".
"Oh, I'm not lost," she said with a very matter of fact tone, "I'm following You."
"But I'm lost!" I reiterated. "Then follow me," She continued "we can be lost together.
We walked the rest of our days together. Just talking, living, and loving.
Eventually we were tired and our journey was nearing its end. We sat together, then we lay together, staring up at the bluest of skies.
I took this moment to ask her,
"Why did you follow me that day? There were thousands of others. You could have followed any of them."
"Oh no," she said shaking her head, "I'd had a "Them"before , I always found them lacking.
But I'd never had a "you" before.
And Oh WOW! You were such a You!
I love Yous!
Not all of them.
Just you.
I love you.
With every breath we got closer, until I was breathing out as she was breathing in.
I closed my eyes.
This is how we lived and died.
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 4:48 PM UTC