You whom I could not save
Listen to me.
Try to understand this simple speech as I would be ashamed of another.
I swear, there is in me no wizardry of words.
I speak to you with silence like a cloud or a tree.

What strengthened me, for you was lethal.
You mixed up farewell to an epoch with the beginning of a new one,
Inspiration of hatred with lyrical beauty,
Blind force with accomplished shape.

Here is the valley of shallow Polish rivers. And an immense bridge
Going into white fog. Here is a broken city,
And the wind throws the screams of gulls on your grave
When I am talking with you.

What is poetry which does not save
Nations or people?
A connivance with official lies,
A song of drunkards whose throats will be cut in a moment,
Readings for sophomore girls.
That I wanted good poetry without knowing it,
That I discovered, late, its salutary aim,
In this and only this I find salvation.

They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds
To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds.
I put this book here for you, who once lived
So that you should visit us no more.

Admirable, Blissful, Bewildered, Curious, Capable, Compassionate, Determined, Daring, Delighted, Dazzling, Eagar, Edgy, Enlightening Enthusiastic, Elegant, Fabulous, Fantastic, Forgiving, Fictitious, Fancy, Feminist, Glamourous, Gorgeous, Glowing, Guarded, Greatful, Generous, Gloomy, Happy, Honest, Hopeful, Humourous, Humble, Humane, Heartiest, Heavenly, Imaginative, Interesting, Inspiring, Intellegent, Incredible, Impressive, Important, Indecisive, Invisible, Jinxed, Joyous, Judicious, Justified, Jobless, Jiggish, Jimp, Jittery, Jazzy, Jaunty, Kindhearted, Keen, Knowledgable, Kiddish, Knavish, Knockout, Kempt, Kween, Kin, Kittens, Kinder, Lazy, Luxurious, Lively, Loyal, Limit, Laminated, Lawless, Lightning, Lushious, Luminous, Lovesick, Logical, Modest, Marvelous, Motivated, Music, Momentous, Mindful, Magical, Memories, Merciful, Mellow, Mesmerizing, Malicious, Mannered, Noble, Nervous, Night, Naive, Noted, Natural, Nifty, Nurturing, Never-ending, Noteworthy, Neglected, Narnia, Native, Number 1, ***, Openhearted, O Canada, Obviously, Obidient, Obsessions, Open-minded, Oriented, O.K., Observing, OUT-OF-THIS-WORLD, Omnicient, Outshining, Obliged, Obsticles, Passionate, Personally, Poetry, Picture-Perfect, Positivity, Pulse, Painful, Physic, Power, Protagnist, People-Person, Pros, and Cons, Purity, Purpose, Pleasant, Pieces, Quiet, Quality, Quick, Quoted, Queen, Quirky, Quintessentially, Quest, Quick-Minded, Questionable, Quarter, Quiver, Quiddity, Quiescent, Qui vive, Quip, Quantity, Ravishing, Rapport, Reliving, Reassuring, Rebal, Rainbows, Reckless, Relaxing, Respect, Remedy, Regrets, Right, Relatable, Reliable, Rad, Ready, Responsible, Rainy days, Sagacious, Salutary, Sassy, Secure, Self-assured, Self-reliant, Self-confident, Self-disciplined, Selfless, Sensational, Sensitive, Stars, Shawn Mendes, Sénorita, Sentimental, Set, Serene, Seamless, Significant, Sightly, Trustworthy, Talented, Tender-hearted, Thriving, Thankful, Titanic, Touché, Touchy, Transparent, True, True-blue, Traveller, Transpicuous, Titillating, Timeless,Tidy, Teasing, Tender, Terrific, Thorough, Thrilling, Unarguable, Ultimate, Undefining, Under-the-weather, Unalloyed, Unassuming, Uncommon, Understandable, Undivided, Unique, Unlimited, Unstoppable, Uplifting, Upbeat, Uber, Unconvensional, Uhuh, Unbelieveable, Under control, Unquestionable, Utter amazment, Valiant, Valuable, Valid, Veridical, Valiant, Vibrant, Vigorous, Vigilant, Victorious, Visions, Vivid, Voluptuous, Vulnerary, Vulnerable, Venust, Veracious, Vestal, Violen, Vroom Vroom, Victory, Vows, Wake me up, Wise, Welsome, Well-behaved, Welcoming, Well-grounded, Woke, Whimsical, Whistler, Wholesome, Wired, Witty, Wondrous, Whilst, Winter, Wonderful, Wide-Awake, Walk it like I take it, ****-bang, Wishful, Wellness, Worth it, World-Class, Xo, Yolo, Zero

We were two introverts
surrounded by an infestation
of the dipsomania and delight.
Ingested by white noise,
flashing lights
and sin,
we stood sheltered behind conservatism
and our cocktails.
This technophonic cave
was crammed with lascivious men
modeling their lavish kicks and threads
in pursuit of non-commitment.
With our backs pressed firmly
against our salutary wall,
we felt inviolable.

But then, you turned to me.

Your chandelier earrings exploded
the luminescence and trepidation
into a million particles,
and through the deafening roar
of pandemonium and decadence,
you offered a wink and said,
“Let’s dance.”

..



You whom I could not save

Listen to me.  

Try to understand this simple speech as I would be ashamed of another.  

I swear, there is in me no wizardry of words.  

I speak to you with silence like a cloud or a tree.


What strengthened me, for you was lethal.  

You mixed up farewell to an epoch with the beginning of a new one,  

Inspiration of hatred with lyrical beauty;  

Blind force with accomplished shape.


Here is a valley of shallow Polish rivers. And an immense bridge  

Going into white fog. Here is a broken city;  

And the wind throws the screams of gulls on your grave  

When I am talking with you.


What is poetry which does not save  

Nations or people?  

A connivance with official lies,  

A song of drunkards whose throats will be cut in a moment,  

Readings for sophomore girls.

That I wanted good poetry without knowing it,  

That I discovered, late, its salutary aim,  

In this and only this I find salvation.


They used to pour millet on graves or poppy seeds  

To feed the dead who would come disguised as birds.  

I put this book here for you, who once lived  

So that you should visit us no more.  




                                                                                         Warsaw, 1945

                                                                                        
- by Czeslaw Milosz






st, 13 dec 13

I looked for that which is not, nor can be,
  And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth
  But years must pass before a hope of youth
    Is resigned utterly.

I watched and waited with a steadfast will:
  And though the object seemed to flee away
  That I so longed for, ever day by day
    I watched and waited still.

Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more;
  My expectation wearies and shall cease;
  I will resign it now and be at peace:
    Yet never gave it o'er.

Sometimes I said: It is an empty name
  I long for; to a name why should I give
  The peace of all the days I have to live?--
    Yet gave it all the same.

Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfit
  For healthy joy and salutary pain:
  Thou knowest the chase useless, and again
    Turnest to follow it.

It is not to be thought of that the flood
  Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
  Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flow’d, ‘with pomp of waters, unwithstood,’
Roused though it be full often to a mood
  Which spurns the check of salutary bands,—
  That this most famous stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
  Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
  That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.—In everything we are sprung
  Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.

It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world’s praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, “with pomp of waters, unwithstood,”
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held.—In every thing we are sprung
Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.

Take the dead Christ to my chamber,
The Christ I brought from Rome;
Over all the tossing ocean,
He has reached his western home;
Bear him as in procession,
And lay him solemnly
Where, through weary night and morning,
He shall bear me company.

The name I bear is other
Than that I bore by birth,
And I've given life to children
Who'll grow and dwell on earth;
But the time comes swiftly towards me
(Nor do I bid it stay),
When the dead Christ will be more to me
Than all I hold to-day.

Lay the dead Christ beside me,
Oh, press him on my heart,
I would hold him long and painfully
Till the weary tears should start;
Till the divine contagion
Heal me of self and sin,
And the cold weight press wholly down
The pulse that chokes within.

Reproof and frost, they fret me,
Towards the free, the sunny lands,
From the chaos of existence
I stretch these feeble hands;
And, penitential, kneeling,
Pray God would not be wroth,
Who gave not the strength of feeling,
And strength of labor both.

Thou'rt but a wooden carving,
Defaced of worms, and old;
Yet more to me thou couldst not be
Wert thou all wrapt in gold,
Like the gem-bedizened baby
Which, at the Twelth-day noon,
They show from the Ara Coeli's steps,
To a merry dancing tune.

I ask of thee no wonders,
No changing white or red;
I dream not thou art living,
I love and prize thee dead.
That salutary deadness
I seek, through want and pain,
From which God's own high power can bid
Our virtue rise again.

Tick

In the tyranny of the measuring clock
Death is but a tortoise in this timeless race
With every slow tick and echoing tock
Forever keeping its careless pace

With so much to do I stay awake
With one foot in front of the other
Running with knees and feet that ache
Time feeds worms a salutary supper

In the end we must lie and nap
Embrace eternal slumbers deadlock
We are just hares caught in times trap
In the tyranny of the measuring clock

Tock

We come together in this swirling mass
You participate in an endless flow of energy, from one movement to the next
You kiss, feel, touch, love, care, hug
You believe, think, have faith, gesture
You hate, renounce, decry, hurt, break
Played out on a stage, a life led as so many millions before
Things you will never know are never known
The knowledge you do know cherished
The love you felt and feel embellished across a chest
What note will you have left?
A salutary glance, paragraph or a punctuation mark?
You are sustained by all that ever passed before
Those scraping bodies across floors to those elevated in thought
From slaves and ******
To intellects and emperors
Each a fully breathing entitled human being
No more, no less
No more, no less
A mother, a father, a sister, a brother
Related are all, blood tied and adored
Taken away in time, eroded into the winds and forgotten for ever more
Let the stars glare upon this blue orb
Reflecting the dreams of those inhabiting it
To never be known, secrets drowned in space
What say you to heavenly bodies on deepest, darkest nights?
Utterances trembling from unsure lips
I love
I hope
Humanity built on feeling. For we must feel our way.
We must feel our way.

and sometimes magic, a scene from the book
of genesis, chapter verse whatever,
buying whiskey and beer in a supermarket,
the cashier, Tara, knows me,
she's my gym coach,
she tut tut struts and tuts when i buy
beer telling me to keep the beer off -
i told you alcoholics are mobile,
we go sightseeing most of the time,
on a double decker bus we bemuse and
lipread: and here's the Elizabeth tower (formerly
known as Benjamin "big ****" Disraeli -
the English by the French after the 100
year war: if they're not retards, they're perverts) -
****! that ****'s brushed off on me! am i a *******
if i hold dear a British passport? phew! no? yes? huh?!
i must be a Mr. Khan in waiting...
no, but seriously, a scene in the cave of an iceman,
5 lasses buying wine lonely,
me my beer my whiskey,
i get a lemon added / ****, i told you it was a lime not
a lemon on the conveyor belt -
i get a lime, lucky Adam got an apple
and one asking, i'm doing double-up fevers waiting
for Saturday night with Paris, Hilda, Venus and Hera..
Adam gets an apple from smooch slick Eva
naked and i get a ******* lime on a conveyor-belt
in a supermarket while buying whiskey...
Jonah! call the whale! i'm sure we'll both
be calling it Noah's ark when tomorrow comes;
**** you not, we'll be boarding dry-land at
Arsuk - ****, send a message to Columbus -
we discovered North America via Greenland
like you discovered the same via the Caribbean Islands,
ha ha! call it dynamo of Erik versus Kristopheren;
i just got a lime on a conveyor belt in a supermarket,
Adam was handed an apple in Eden -
i guess that's worth a 50 50 chance of coincidence
with my ***-starved libido and the English "roses":
not that i'm guarantying anything good either,
it's not like i'm a vacuum cleaner based guarantee -
but **** me, the ******? **** wrinkles and all,
bamboozle clad the salutary march for applause -
and the fainting bearskin trumpet-brigadier at
the ro- -yal parade onto Buckingham Ponce;
n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah.

you are slow like daggers or
        cancer.

this is what it feels like to travel
on a discourse:

something about you metastasizes
in my mind whenever the silences
are no longer beautiful;

and just like that, I thumb a prayer
to the fallen obsidian,
this harbinger of marvelous calm.

sometimes all the rooms are white
and I am immersed deep into pallor –
when both our eyes do not meet,
I wring out a cockeyed miracle:

dragging the blood of the trees with me,
these bushy polyps,
   these benign volcanoes skin,
ashen and dull like a heart – these agonized
appurtenances, I gleam like light
   cut from the mirror and fade out
as my visibilities hide.

something in me smiles when you
are flattened out – cross-legged, interconnected
  unloose a star fettered somewhere deep where
hands cannot reach for the inside of a tomb.
  
  this suchness that when I feel your sensations
press their threats against my skin,
      you are a salutary squelch
in this pure-iron condition, or a heavy-earth machinery
   moving inside my marrow, that deep

  into death like a morning waist-high
with tears, walled in by requiems.

I imagine        you naked
I imagine        you dead in faint recall
I imagine        your hands the gun metal
I imagine        your teeth the fence guarding flesh
I imagine        your perfume, your mother’s wake
I imagine        your strut a dance to J. Alfred Prufrock

I imagine       you singing from each to each
he puts    it like that,   and you have become overwhelmed
      by passivity
             as   in    a salutary
as capitulation
                      as the Earth surrendering to rain.

I imagine        you clothed
I imagine        you alive in the demise of day
I imagine        your hands studded to the hilt with lacquered sorrow
I imagine       your teeth gnawing my skin to suture
I imagine         your tears, the sea in front of your mother’s grave
I imagine        you
          ******* in the silver  head of morning

My mind harbours its own salutary neglect,
Disregarding the rapidness in my chest,
The perspiration on my skin,
Does it not see how these thoughts
Are affecting it?

out for no nursery of accolade.
i am trying to sound my way
into a great mishap.
wing me the streets of all and i shall
give back their names to their fathers.

taut as a gun is held,
these words wield their unapologetic
assaults.

the next face i see will be the victim,
and it will be ******.
the discombobulated moon
gloats without a price tonight.
the white hand of it sees a figment of solace, rumples it,
disconcerts a votive clearing
reducing it to a bawl of
a windswept tumble of leaves.

i am now in front of the machine;
its salutary silence, its waiting groans,
its orchestra of trite gears slamming
the ornate of words and cutting
the stem of the flower that once
hurt me with its beauty,

i see your face
in this mound of havoc.
the pain of marvel's presence,
inclemencies of longings

everything takes space and trembles
  in its place.

(a projection, genuflection, and extrapolation - if/when thine eldest "star student" progeny becomes the bride of one lucky guy)

with ur svelteness quite outstanding and accompanying zeitgeist tub boot my knowledge iris see vd reprieve from arm hug get n escort rub bing bliss until thee betook by another down thee aisle of life a pub
lick venue, where eyes bet cha yar er re: zist ta bull n deaf fin knit nub

charming slightly older gal to em ma, a puerto Rican well *** boy well worth effort form to start a family o' year own, time and tide will tell
waves of nostalgia for childhood memories may be difficult to quell

effort to cultivate relationship with omnipotent emotional ease
with nuptial savings bond, a salutary hint of success - cuz he's
a near perfect match wedded til death do ye part, locked, keys

engineered principally by fate recognized worth turning to dust
where omnipotent invisible bars anchor with mettle no gust
nor clangorous discord erupts, and neither one of ye lust
after infatuation of anther hold ye with pinterest n trust.

time to curry familiarity with ye mid haw ter, i didst waste
so unwise for this papa to express envy, and how thee taste -
of euphoria, whether single r double spaced
years 'tween offspring will not conflict with biological run -  raced
as greatest marathon - yet ardent cross country track star placed
yar mental, physical and spiritual well being, where well laced
sneakers ratcheting pedometer set other challenges faced
against duel as tempus fugit will acquiesce to grim reaper
hence, i must be mindful n make haste
to gather thine few rose rubs while ye may witness time erased
all the while the shadow of father time 2b finds me chaste.

already taking quantum leaps edging 2b come college alum n aye
a severance dissolving parental protection doth evince good bye
yet tis a relief, that few tears evidence that this papa didst cry
thus, this generic guy
doth app ply
words 2 roll like die
an image in my
mind well nigh

to evoke n elicit intrigue and say "hi"
in his atypical mode - butta not 2 pry
nor intervene un-necessarily - only to share as i try
2 exchange lite banter 2.0 n case u wonder why
u most likely did not get such an electronic sigh
email if...ye wish to chit chat or converse 'bout pry
vet matter, thus nearing conclusion, dada doth notify
a hope that ye accept my
weaknesses and faltered during your girlhood - no reason 2 lie
about detached emotional fabric - faults no excuse foreign alibi.

now before i go to sleep
ur sunny roseate countenance
   will invoke slumber within me
   like an oracle - quick n deep.

meanwhile life passes in one direction end date toward
as additional minute men slink in their swiftly tail lord
non-harried style spruced n tricked up ford.

HOW TO WRITE A LOVE POEM

You can do it, anyone can write a love poem. First, decide you want to do it, then get something to write on, pencil or computer, and begin. Do it anytime, anywhere, whenever you have a few minutes to contemplate. View the ability to do so as a treat, for it will be fun to navigate emotion via words, akin perhaps to working a crossword puzzle as you fish for just that word or turn of phrase that gives meaning. It is challenging and exciting to find that rhyme that works.  It helps to have a strong vocabulary, but just knowing the language is all you really need. Some of the greatest poems ever created are utterly simple in the language used.
Metaphors and similes are always welcome additions to poems and utilize onomatopoeia, alliteration and assonance whenever possible. Using these tools delights the eyes and ears.
Put your mind at ease and enjoy and appreciate having the time and ability to create and think about life’s most precious gift. Start with a phrase or thought that has come to mind upon which you’d like to expand. (I have a collection of these I call upon when I’m looking for inspiration.) Focus on the what, why and how of love and its meaning to you. You can write about your feelings for someone you know or with whom you are in a relationship. Or, perhaps, you will be writing in a fictional context drawing from your own experience or from hopes and dreams. Is there someone you miss, or to whom you wish to be closer?  It helps to have someone to think about, but it’s not necessary.
There is no formula for a love poem, it can be free verse, a sonnet, or one of a myriad of rhyme schemes. When I write, I just start writing and words and rhymes just flow. It’s somewhat like riding a bicycle. It’s not that hard to learn, you can go faster and faster in any direction you want. The more you write, the easier it becomes stylistically,  
There are many kinds of romantic love:  those of longing for or missing someone special, and the contented, satisfying type when it’s really going well, among other variations. You’ll never be at a loss for inspiration. I get ideas from the newspaper, comments in conversation, and much of the time, out of thin air. So many times I’ll write a first line, not knowing where the poem will go, and lines come, one after the another, as if on a scavenger hunt. Then, voila, I have a perfectly formed little verse that is just right, at least to my eyes.
Writing has a salutary, therapeutic effect. Grappling with words and emotions in the context of love is invigorating contemplation which can assist in resolving thorny, important issues facing the poet. The problem may not be solved, but perhaps it may be defined. This is your opportunity to get back at a someone who hurt you in a failed romance. You’ll feel better after doing so and no one will ever have to know you really feel or how you were so hurt. When you do share your poems with others and loved ones, you’ll be gratified at the reaction and the recipient will be thrilled to have been the object of such affection.
Write for yourself, satisfy yourself first.  Poems are personal and can remain private forever, so don’t worry about being embarrassed about what you write. Get it down.  You don’t have to show it to anybody. However, once created, maybe you will want to. Love is about sharing, devotion, friendship. Writing poetry has gotten me through much sadness, given me goals, and been endlessly pleasing to my psyche over the years.
Be spare in your writing, don’t use any unnecessary words. There is elegance in simplicity.  It is in the editing that the poem truly comes alive. Doing a good polish is to eat the icing on the cake.
Once you start writing poetry, you will never stop. It’s addicting and just a great way to use time wisely. You will amaze yourself with what comes out of your mind and heart. It’s a process, writing, and will exercise your mind and bring much pleasure.  
Start today.

As the hour draws late,
      all the tribes gather,
The band begins to play, and
      in the midst of their serene
Exchange of musical phrases,
      I meet a quite peculiar man.
His dreadlocks hang way
      down past his shoulders, and
Above his rope sandals and
      patchwork pants, he sports
A shirt, emblazoned with
      a portrait of Lord Ganesha
Seated serenely in Lotus posture,
      overlaid by a wire wrap necklace
With a large piece of opal in the center.

His pupils are the size of
       dinner plates, nearly
Eclipsing the irises of his eyes.
       his musk is a distinctive mixture of
Body odor, *** smoke, and strong incense.
       we exchange our salutary pleasantries, and
As I absorb the spectacle of his appearance,
      he begins to discourse, saying:

"I charge my crystals
    in the moonlight, and
Keep them close by day,
   they clear my chi blockages, and
Realign my chakras,
   I burn sage and patchouli
To invoke the goddess
   spirit of the forest moon,
We are all just cosmic vibration
   expressed as living matter in
The timeless unity of
  the flowering astral plane"

He pauses for a moment,
     to light his spliff, and
After a few large tokes, continues on,
     describing the events of one fateful night,
When he "sat for a long spell, and
      experienced an unbridled quiescence of
Meditative stillness, culminating in a
      stream of flowing fractal visions, and a
      Whirlwind of
                             Pulsating
                                  Kundalini
                                       Energy

I listen with a sort of
   detached amusement, but
My brain is filtering his words out, and
    all I can hear are bursts of Charlie Brown's
Parents from the old Peanuts cartoon
    Interpolated with sentence fragments
That all seem to say the same thing:

"Look at me, I am so spiritual
  I am so profound I am so wise
I know the Truth I am enlightened"
"mwah Mwah mwah Mwah mwah
Mwah mwah Mwah mwah Mwah"

and then, suddenly, this haze of
  pseudo profound spirit science is
Interrupted by a phrase that grabs my
  attention, with strange immediacy.
"Also, I've got some fire doses. 5 a hit."

"Oh yeah?" I say. "ME, TOO, and
"I know mine are better, best on lot!"
He seems taken aback, as if offended.
He says he'll Pepsi challenge mine, and
That I'll be proven wrong. I accept.

He then pulls out  
a shiny vial of
Lucy in the Sky, and
Without hesitation,
squirts a generous
Puddle of it onto my tongue.

"Alright" he says "your turn."
I reach into my pocket,
Produce a small vial, and
Reciprocate his action.
"Now, we'll see!" He says
to me, with an air of smugness.
"That, we will" I retort.

We talk a bit longer, and
I look down at my watch.
"I must be off!" I say
"It's time for the show!"

We exchange our goodbyes, and
I wander off into the night,
Feeling rather odd,
He thinks he's bested me, but
I laugh quietly to myself,
Knowing in my mind,
That my vial was just eye drops, and
He just gave me nearly 10 hits for free, and
All for the sake of inflating the ego
He supposedly didn't have,

and you know...

I never saw him again after that.

in the rain striding past closed stalls
and bottle shops, my head the
flickering lamp, my fingers dead candles,
my eyes the last flare of splayed days.
i roar like a lion — stubbled, prowling
the deserted streets but flinch at the
first sight of shadow. revisited by old
haunts mirroring strange voices, distorting their claims — in my retina
is a woman sitting idly sewing lissomeness strings to bed and we sleep.
   i wake up quicker than any light.
lift words, chain them and sing steel songs, carry volcanoes, herald ravens.

i can't stand the populace, can't live
without them. i squat next to the fire-hydrant and imagine hounds *******
at the world. once, the sheen of the little
sightings festoon, borrow the moon and
i was once levitated into meaning. now,
i want to hang my head next to the old cypress and scream, "Forever, the peril."
   but i am the thrall of the sea.
immenser than the leviathan of ache
  the last scream of the perished hills,
forever, a clout on the grey-faced asphalt dazed into the lenient whiteness of paths,
    i still sing steel-songs, solder volcanoes, chase the salutary ravens—
  i see myself cringe but i will not cry.
the woman sleeps and i am awake,
  a gentle hand will whirl upon her
lithe figure and then gone. i am the
   tear of the cloud in their exhausted tier
but somewhere here, i am as perpetual
   as waters, tracing the end.

I wished for a wishing tree and
for all its leaves to be wishes
that would shower down on me,

Genie said I was greedy and
gave me an acorn.

It’s hard to properly appreciate true bits of happiness
Without ever experiencing the slightest glimpse of sadness
How can we know what love is about if we have no idea about hate?
Sometimes a lie is what’s most appropriate
Is normal rather defined by what it is or what it’s not?
We have to **** cells to perform a western blot
It is a necessity to go down to have the opportunity to rebound
Shadow is visual proof that light is around
And provides a salutary breath of cool air when the heat pounds
A crash only means that you’ve taken off
If we had everything we would have nothing to dream of
If we knew everything, we would never be surprised
To lose control is to let chance unsupervised
To clear the path for the unexpected and close the door to a fate previously crystallized
Being far from loved ones, triggers a withdrawal sensation that brings us closer
The ability to feel pain is what keeps us away from fire
And stress, away from immediate danger
Rain always precedes the rainbow that later illuminates the sky
And without it our environment would be nothing but dry
The fever is a weapon to fight infection
Fatigue, a sign of determination

Who’s ever learnt anything without making any mistakes?
Who’s ever achieved something without failures?
Who’s ever gotten better by winning easy fights?

Getting hit repeatedly is an ineluctable feature of any victorious crew
Cell death shapes us and insures overall maintenance
Being vulnerable is a requirement of every single romance
Painstakingly climbing a “cloud-scratching” hill is the price to pay for a breathtaking view
A major crisis can help us reconsider our centuries old perspectives
One of the worst mass extinctions is the solely reason why we exist
Sharing our world with flying dinosaurs that sing in the morning

Living in a world full of relative paradoxes is our most valuable blessing
It gives us the wonderful gift of being able to make a decisive choice
Between being trapped powerless or considering the silver lining
Suffering in silence or releasing tension loudly and eventually rejoice.

Hobbit those characters who lived
within the realm
of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
as far removed as
Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
upon squelched cusp of progressivism,
now most likely
experience bitterness at the autocracy
of Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin.

Impossible mission to believe
amidst audacity, atrocity, egocentricity,
ferocity, mendacity, rapacity, et cetera
former KGB intelligence officer currently
serving as President of Russia
total mortal kombat of Ukraine did conceive
author of these words doth grieve
needless wanton death and destruction
analogous to volcano that lays waste
to innocent lives indiscriminately
spews forth horror as fiery lava
belches forth instantaneously
devastating explosions heave
leveling great swaths landscape
Gaia retching liquid rock
rendering utter wasteland
entombed survivors cannot leave.

The older generation
most likely experienced taste of democracy
(or the closest approximation thereof)
as I (am American baby boomer)
felt wowed by revolutionary changes,
when Ronald Reagan
occupied the White House.

Permafrost of the cold war thawed
when Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev
(a Russian: born 2 March 1931)
ranked as salutary Soviet statesman.

As eighth leader of Soviet Union,
he rang successful posts as follows:
General Secretary of Communist Party
Soviet Union from 1985 until 1991.

He headed country of sprawling Soviet state
from 1988 until 1991
Chairman of Presidium of Supreme Soviet
from 1988 to 1989,
Chairman of Supreme Soviet from 1989 to 1990,
and President of Soviet Union from 1990 to 1991.

Gorbachev was born in Stavropol Krai
into a peasant Ukrainian–Russian family knoll high
in his teens, operated combine harvesters
on collective farms as strapping guy.

He graduated from Moscow State University
in 1955 with a degree in law.

While at university, he joined Communist Party,
and soon became jaw
burr walk key i.e. very active mouthpiece per se.
In 1970, his near flawless
dossier a boon asper getting appointed
First Party Secretary drawing
salary of Stavropol Regional Committee,
First Secretary as “Chaw”

Bach ca qua Supreme Soviet in 1974,
and appointed as member of Politburo in 1979.

Within three years after death of Soviet leader
Leonid Brezhnev, following brief "interregna"
of Andropov and Chernenko, Gorbachev
elected general secretary chief
by Politburo in 1985.

Before reaching said post,
his bona fides occasioned bill leaf
As top dog name-dropped
in Western newspapers
as a likely next leader and reef
furred as barrier to manage
younger generation at top level.

Gorbachev's policies of glasnost ("openness")
and perestroika ("restructuring") and
his reorientation of Soviet
strategic aims contributed
to end Cold War.

Under a rustling brand
new program, the role
of Communist Party in governing
the state was removed demand
did via the constitution,
which inadvertently led to crisis-level
political instability fanned
surge of regional nationalist
and anti-communist activism
culminating in dissolution hand
of Soviet Union. Gorbachev
later expressed regret
for failure to save USSR, Mother land
though he insisted his policies not failures,
but rather vitally necessary reforms, miss man
aged, sabotaged and exploited by opportunists.

He was awarded the Otto Hahn
Peace Medal in 1989,
the Nobel Peace Prize in 1990
and Harvey Prize in 1992, plus un-cease
sing honorary doctorates from various universities.

In September 2008, Gorbachev vis
a vis, and business oligarch Alexander Lebedev
announced formation of Independent
Democratic Party of Russia,
and in May 2009 Gorbachev
announced that launch meant
to be imminent.

This third attempt Gorbachev
sought to establish a political party, rent
asunder from disparate competitors started
Social Democratic Party of Russia in tent
toward legitimacy dated 2001,
and Union of Social Democrats
in 2007 voice of the people to vent.

Borker is instructed in Demiurgy, after learning that everyone was gathered at the banquet. He tried to intercommunicate with everyone looking for the reason and intelligence of the soul that he attached to him when they were reunited. His faculty and the authority of the souls of Trouvere led him to the ancient of Helade, in her ritual that was of great heritage and vernacular purity. His freedom of action led him through the forests of Nothofagus to discover his qualities as a Demiurge, fasting alongside the Geodesic quadrangular of Vóreios, Notós, Dyticá, and Aftó. Leiak with the assertive legal chastity of him assisted him for the possibilities that were priorities of the same to distance himself from the magnetism of the souls of Trouvere and the Ghosts of Shiraz, who were unified in the face of geodesy, to excite flat emotions. Borker takes the sword Xifos from Vernarth, makes a circle separate the barriers between the ghosts and the souls that were summoned, so the hoplite grotesques that were relatively close to that dimension, began to grasp the center of eternity. The circle will break the taboo so that the rules of the Duoverso allow the opening antiphon that is pre-figured in the eclectic portal of the nearby cell of Procoro, there was also a bronze vase that would be used to symbolize the reality of unreality, under the level of the condensed water that used to be stored in these Borker rituals. Annelids and pieces of meat from the Falangists were seen entering the circle, scaphoid ossuaries prowled the larnax of Alexander the Great pointing in advance on the losses of the Soul after winning the World. The Souls of Christi were added as a corollary of the common reason to be alive or dead in a verse, which could inflict a sectarian aligned in the Mortis arsenal league, that is, it began to continue moving before the eyes of others declaring a common parable to the magical sighting. The first ritual was circumscribed to the necromancer circle, which in turn towards another round of front on the precognition of another curved space, which mediates the sepulcrity of all to the future in the senses that have never been referenced for a common, that only sees on himself, and sometimes invisible like a Shiraz or a Trouvere. Borker looked carefully into the eyes that were not typical of those who observe, but rather of those who diffuse inter-spirits that flow through his pontificate, clarifying the vision of others to make Vlad Strigoi the one to assist him, since he would gloss it better. The sensations spoke of the true spirit that passed among all and lived to be reborn in the neatness of their actions, in later seconds they would verify their roots with the image of Notós, for the superior moments of spiritual governance, where everything moves and now it will visibly shake it. , unimpeded by the stages that made her invisible, and without the awareness of abandoning a body, which has always been verve among all the perceptions that speak of the Psychic Being, incomplete shimmer of transition towards the Austral, towards the supra-austral! where the Necromancer calls to the Demiurge to quench his physicality, to turn it into a physical and psychic tactility, which invokes a moderate spirituality that converges on the physical, but without limiting in his vitality. Borker released the fetters of the Notós, to travel to the southern-Boreal of Jakidiki, near the sea of Cassandra, very contemplative of the rapture of foreplay to Kallithea, towards an epithet so that the coast of the Cyclades is not demonized, making the circle of Borker a summoning of Cassandra as a living Sibyl, ordering the dawn of an organism allegedly biologically disorganized. The air becomes furious and the wings become gigantic with Borker's orders to sculpt the obsolescence of greater harmonious sounds, over a breath that needs Aion and limbs to move, before the sudden differential of the spirit that only systematizes the connection of liberation of a being not released. Temporality decides to shelter itself from combined conservatories, and from risky guardians who spread their powers risking their own essence as a refugee object and subjective sedentary.

The forces that were born from others, scalding the physical arcane that transmigrated to the psychic arcane zone, systematizing salutary hordes of immunity, which inflicted the natures of the Corpus that were being formed with the demiurgic necromancy, the willing was based on the ordered numerals that made the acrotera rise. , which remained weightless on Zefian's tetra saeta, marking the Eruv of positioning in the greatest preponderances of a fervent transition risk, which was deposited in the hands of Borker as constructive pollution to get close to the ossuary of the Falangists of Arbela, which they were returning to the world of the Living, from the Tremens or trembling delirium that was aggravated in the non-converted supra-gifted bodies in the fangs of history. All the skills of the world roar through the lamps that will discover the work that hangs from a Níma, which is spliced by its rethreading in the Physical Spiritual world of Borker. The will to dig over himself transformed into the revival of the Arbela soldiers so that they would revive, to assist in the construction of the Megaron, then they would stop being unburied spirits purging the broomsticks that throw the dice from the cunning of the throw. , and from the bravery hoplites that instruct the intruders that they are only risky pavites, but without necromancy training. The despotic of the swarming souls are liquefied, with empty bodies but as whole spirits, the ossuaries are quickened and trembled with cold, the bad regretful moment of the bad omen shone in the circular container, and vanishes before everything with the ocher nails of Vlad who assists Borker to open and then close the environment, under an arcane attribute that would resemble everyone's appearance under such *******. The movable objects of the pantry and cellar of Prócoso were sneaking along the path of expropriation, leaving visions behind the ashes of the mantle that temporarily sheltered the full moon of the uncontrolled regression by the shoulder of Getsemani, which alluded to winged tetra appearing in the lattice. that hid the night in its curb, beyond the exact devotionals of San Juan and San Pablo. The lifeless tongues lay to revive in the sacred spaces that touched the earth of the unlived new world, from nothing they only aspired to the prototype of Hillel, for the intelligence that flourishes in the ******* coarseness of those who do not escape from ignorance and who he only thinks and does not act. Shemash and Apochróseis (Sun and Shadows) were lengthening from those that grew through those who still stood on the flat Encina as a console, and were under the predestined Mataki of the pilgrimage of two worldly and momentarily unexplored dimensions. Saint John takes the chalices and illuminates them with the Menorah, where they were encouraged to reside on the sparkling curves of the full moon, which was only preparing to reside in only two cosmos that would unite, under the ******* of one who did not collegiate ... they empowered facilities in the trances.

The Ekev or reason or cause, was in the domain of Saint John when he blocked his eyes and was transported to the year 70 AD in the Judeo-Christian war. Jerusalem was destroyed and its temple too, devastated as well as the Beit Hamikdash that was collapsing, each stone deposited in the free fall of its walls textualized a Christian Gnostic in the stage of analysis of the Apostolic Apocalypse, which led them to the Analogy of the Ditycá , or Equinoctial after the points of expectation that everyone captured when San Juan opened his eyes. The values to prove the truth pontificated before the Ekev, which consolidated the importance of the events of the fall of the wall caused by Tito's troops. This flaunted regression of parapsychology was always guided by Vernarth, Saint John interceding with the matrix of the collapse of the Neshama soul of the Beit Hamikdash, which was inaugurated from there with the free fall of the grafted stones of the voice of the Mashiach, to appear together in the reinforcements of the Zealots to collect the orphan stonework from their free fall, generating the blessed word and testamentary supplication with the fact of bringing all that daring to collapse, for the next oscillation of the Ekev that affected the Testament of Levi, with a large amount of mass tonnages that would follow the parable of ascent, to ***** the word and the action of generating and raising the Megaron, before the Stav or Aramaic winter from where the Mashiach will resemble.

Saint John says through Vernarth: “we were surrounded and lacked legions to stop the advance of the barbarians, the walls were destroyed by the draconian battering rams, but our tefillah turned in the adversity of the siege, seized by our resistance and attracting the forces that rebuilds everything, captivating the volume of voice that determines everything that has already been done, beyond all periods without any architect to redesign it, free fall will be what is catapulted from the uncontrolled fire of catastrophe, which is also rebuilt in reverse. People and their moans became escape routes to sneak into the Tefillah or prayers that skimmed past Caesar's head on his dais, taking with them the souls in the flames that engulfed everything. The demolition was the grace of new construction of the elemental material, and of the consecration of the wasteland of a table under the Mataki, where everyone with total normality dried up seeing the visions of the Prophet of Bethsaida, tying the laces of their sandals, with the towers of Fasael and Miriamme, for a great height of observation of an equinoctial that was now made in the analogy of the Dyticá, which carried the aromatic images of Saint John to perch in the cyclamen forests, towards a divine encounter in Patmos, moving the vocality of the crowd that brought with the force of his voice, in all the building of the stalls that would be contemplated in the twinkling of the eyes of the Saint with his Ekev, for preterism as a prophecy of a Yeshua who was born in the walls turning their voices into the bricks, which built the living gospels in the column that diverged in the Vernarth archivolt, celebrating with him.

Hobbit those characters who lived
within the realm
of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
as far removed as
Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
upon squelched cusp of progressivism,
now most likely
experience bitterness at the autocracy
of Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin.

Permafrost of the cold war thawed
when Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev
(a Russian: born 2 March 1931)
ranked as salutary Soviet statesman.

As eighth leader of Soviet Union,
he rang successful posts as follows:
General Secretary of Communist Party
Soviet Union from 1985 until 1991.

He headed country of sprawling Soviet state
from 1988 until 1991
Chairman of Presidium of Supreme Soviet
from 1988 to 1989,
Chairman of Supreme Soviet from 1989 to 1990,
and President of Soviet Union from 1990 to 1991.

Gorbachev was born in Stavropol Krai
into a peasant Ukrainian–Russian family knoll high
in his teens, operated combine harvesters
on collective farms as strapping guy.

He graduated from Moscow State University
in 1955 with a degree in law.

While at university, he joined Communist Party,
and soon became jaw
burr walk key i.e. very active mouthpiece per se.

In 1970, his near flawless
dossier a boon asper getting appointed
First Party Secretary drawing
salary of Stavropol Regional Committee,
First Secretary as “Chaw”

Bach ca qua Supreme Soviet in 1974,
and appointed as member of Politburo in 1979.

Within three years after death of Soviet leader
Leonid Brezhnev, following brief "interregna"
of Andropov and Chernenko, Gorbachev
elected general secretary chief
by Politburo in 1985.

Before reaching said post,
his bona fides occasioned bill leaf
As top dog name-dropped
in Western newspapers
as a likely next leader and reef
furred as barrier to manage
younger generation at top level.

Gorbachev's policies of glasnost ("openness")
and perestroika ("restructuring") and
his reorientation of Soviet
strategic aims contributed
to end Cold War.

Under a rustling brand
new program, the role
of Communist Party in governing
the state was removed demand
did via the constitution,
which inadvertently led to crisis-level
political instability fanned
surge of regional nationalist
and anti-communist activism
culminating in dissolution hand
of Soviet Union. Gorbachev
later expressed regret
for failure to save USSR, Mother land
though he insisted his policies not failures,
but rather vitally necessary reforms, miss man
aged, sabotaged and exploited by opportunists.

He was awarded the Otto Hahn
Peace Medal in 1989,
the Nobel Peace Prize in 1990
and Harvey Prize in 1992, plus un-cease
sing honorary doctorates from various universities.

In September 2008, Gorbachev vis
a vis, and business oligarch Alexander Lebedev
announced formation of Independent
Democratic Party of Russia,
and in May 2009 Gorbachev
announced that launch meant
to be imminent.

This third attempt Gorbachev
sought to establish a political party, rent
asunder from disparate competitors started
Social Democratic Party of Russia in tent
toward legitimacy dated 2001,
and Union of Social Democrats
in 2007 voice of the people to vent.