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He fly above the same airport
Waiting for a chance to land on the runway
The runway of her heart
Nobody knows how long he waited but the Lord
That airport have only one parking spot and  one runway
And occupied by one aircraft

It's hopeless
To wait for that parked aircraft to take off and gone forever
He began to feel desperate
All his patience, all of his waiting, gave him a mental break

He opens his sectional
Pull out his plotter
Change his heading bug in his heading indicator
He finally said, with a smile
“It’s time to divert”

Waste of fuel and time
Waste of credits and dimes
Too long he was holding
Now it’s time for leaving

He will never know
How does the runway and the taxi light glows
After sunset and before sunrise
He will never feel
The satisfaction for using the service
24 hours everyday and night
He will never see
The runway decorated by green grass, flowers and trees
The beauty of the airport’s sight

But it’s for the best
This will be my last poem for Aurelia. 3 years I spend loving her and it’s time for me to leave her alone with her lover. With the minimum scale of knowledge about aviation mixed with my affection and metaphors, this poem is created
Forbidden fruit of Barbados
Oh how she glows.

Sectional sweetness
Bitter in aftertaste

My favorite things in life
Always seem to be similar

Maybe because
I prefer the familiar

The curve and the shape
Contour and ripe

As I slice thee in half
I notice your walls

Serrated spoon in hand
Showing gratitude toward the land

For it bears blessed fruits
The fruit blesses me

Upon receiving sour
Bite after bite

The bitterness sets in
Night after night

Grapefruit makes me happy
Grapefruit makes me smile

I hope that I don’t get sick
At least not for a while
I love grapefruit, I just hope it doesn't make me sick!!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
and you know what was, or rather,
what is the most "fun" aspect
of being being mis-diagnosed
as a schizophrenic...
   oh... 12 years ago?
  no one could have told me
i'd be riding a ******* carousel
of the remnants of my ego
into this sort of... "reality check"
prognosis...
   i always sat there in the psychiatric
office,
replying to what books
i was reading...
    making as much of
my ****** courtesy,
thinking... not much...
       inter-sectional feminism?
intra-sectional feminism?
ooh... someone has a fetish
       for Latin prefixes, don' 'eye?
when chemistry became a hard
science but also a quasi-science
of: well... we've done our bit
for the worth of shampoo...
*** yer *** on the benzene ring
unravelling...
   meta! y' sir!
  para! y' sir!
           ortho! y' sir!
  find us... trans!
   y'... you what?!
                                    find us trans!
imagine my astute astoundment,
say... 6 years ago...
being asked: what is reality?
the ontology of ever is,
that is, and every is, that isn't,
and every is that is in-itself?
do i ******* look like god?
well... here are your answers...
   trans-gender "women"
moved in all-female prisons?
arm the female prisoners
with strap-on ******...
         what?!
               it almost seemed like
a waste of time, back then...
   but, now, i guess...
everyone is as... "confused" as i was
back "then"...
to no apparent then
with what is worth a... now...
yeah... i always need a reality check...
like... reality is anything
worth checking, rather than checking-out
off...
         and i understand the gimmick
pundits...
      problem with me:
i have an unnatural will to live,
and a knack at playing
the patient, & happy,
& non-talkative happy camper
of... a... chief bromden...
whatever the hell i said so many
years ago...
  well... **** on me...
what does it matter, now?
- but clearly i never assembled
the grand puzzle of, "reality"
to what has been perfected
to a dysfunction...
seemingly: to begin with...
  most of them?
gen-X single mother households...
me? classical learning:
my mother is my worst enemy...
classical Oedipus-complex...
which means:
   i do not possess the audacity
to... trans...
             sure, i tickled
my fancies with cross-dressing...
had the ***** to walk into
a Butlins ****-fest of a night
out...
   lost my wallet...
but now?!
      chemistry, thank god,
is still a rigid toy of words...
  like... what's north, south,
east or west in Copernican terms?
answer... flat earth...
oh yeah... because that round earth
GPS really helped those
*** tourists in Australia...
drive their ******* car into a lake...
but chemistry is a cul de sac...
unless...
  you translate all that theory
******* back into a fetish for words...
esp. Latin prefix jargon...
physics? covered...
by science fiction...
and the atom bomb... no problem...
spoc' 'as 'is 'ne covered...
no worries...
   ah... but biology?
      there's a realism behind it?
sure... psychiatric realism...
       at times you start to wonder:
why does a psychiatrist
even get a chance to speak...
before a philosopher might employ
the cuddle and a pillow of sedatives?
yeah... so much of cultural darwinism...
has made... reality...
                 in-and-of-itself...
either...
             stealth synthetic beef stakes
and...
    ****** trannies...
   in prisons...
where female prisoners
are not armed with strap-on
******...
           no... no reality here...
n'ah 'um...
                   nada...
         zilch, squid... nuffin'...
no... ****** taqiyya...
                   we all wish to be homophobes...
only...
       going to a gay bar the previous
night... ended up snogging
a south american...
next day?
            went to a birthday party...
the south american
made an inquiry with my gay
cousin...
so i was at the party,
he was at the party...
       i came to the party...
was investigated by the feminist
police about being homophobic...
spotted the south american...
had an intolerable pain in my gut...
apologized to my cousin
hosting the party...
and...                            left...
the gay i could take...
  i was just getting my hots for him
had i enough drinks in me...
but a ******* homophobia
investigation, by a woman...
no...
i rather eat rar herring on beach
in... ******* Southend...
sitting on the pebbles...
wanting to count the number
of grooves of hemorrhoid about
to blush: blue....
yeah... reality...
everyone has a sedative
for that...
it's only that some of us...
do not think... being over-excited
by its speculative nature
of a theoretical physicist
            is all that important!
- so, what do i see?
directionless, and a-chemical...
just by looking at the attachment
groups to a benzene ring...
        but you know...
chemistry is a stable science...
      it couldn't be attacked,
it could only be exploited,
verbally, borrowing from Latin...
  physics is still instact,
although: science fiction,
unless you drop the Oppenheimer
quote...
                 or... talk via
a mobile phone...
                 but?
      not even the fault of Marxism...
although: i should wish that to be,
no?
          cultural darwinism...
     looking too long up
the **** of a monkey...
             and so...
                  in the meantime:
i did enjoy some of ted berrigan
poems...
                 unless of course
i have succumbed to a filter,
where i'm strapped to a pit
of rats that are about to gnaw at me,
and i will never hear
the sort of conversations
backstage at the BAFTAS
         or prior to the Ascot races...
at whatever tier i'm at...
having just picked up...
  a lászló krasznahorkai
   (like the name of the psychiatrist,
dr. szasz... yes: that implies no
SaS or ZaZ... but SHaSH...
  well... unless he wasn't
Magyar to begin with...
     but a geerman! ßaß)....
satantango...
          edition?
        the first english edition,
tuskar rock book
2012...
  oh hell, the book is older than as me...
first appeared in 1985...
but yeah... started reading it...
       to peer into what...
an anti-paragraph novel looks like...
and i thought that people only read
poetry for a light-heartedness...
turns out...
there is a hyper-statement of
prose-claustrophobia...
namely? the anti-paragraph...
then i read something from
the blog of alex preston...
writing in 2014 to his younger self
in 2009 having just secured
a faber & faber publishing deal...

              and all i could think of was...
the merovingian...
who? lambert wilson...
in the film... 5 to 7...
  about an aspiring writer...
                  hey baby hey...
hey second from now here on in:
boo!

                     alex preston
doing the analysis, back in 2014...
http://alexhmpreston.com/a-letter-to-a-young-writer/...
average: x25,000
          accurate figure x11,000...
one baby in hand,
another baby in tow...

the very sensible man...
            and why would anyone
crouch over a screen,
   find enough propensity
to earn a living from... being-bait
of one's on clicking rhythm?

sure... all poetry is but the horror
of an extension of one's
"inability" to shed off adolescence...
either the *******
claustrophobia of prose,
or the anti-paragraph
myopia of some Magyar...

           let's just call this
the medium of the infantile minds...
and call... the serious writer's
medium,
the medium of the book critic,
who finally exclaims:
and of the 20 books on my reading
list for the newspaper...
for the weekend magazine
review section... ?
i probably finished... 1.

pendulum... pendulum!
Waking up from another sleepless night, just great!  But this time it was different.  It might not make sense but, this didn’t feel like just any sleepless night.  Something was definitely wrong.  I couldn’t only stay asleep, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.  As if I couldn’t get enough oxygen or any at all.  I found myself constantly gasping for air every few seconds as I tossed and turned in bed.  My chest felt tight and heavy, a combination or getting the wind knocked out of me and my heart falling through my ***.  Anyways, that night it felt like breathing right was just not even remotely close to being on my To Do list.  Sunday all day I felt very… emotional.  Like every other 15 year old female, I felt like crying for everything, for no exact reason.
Today wasn’t one of my best, I wanted to curl up into a ball, shove my not so small self into the smallest corner of the world’s darkest room… a room so dark, what I think would be one of my darkest of thoughts would simply be the only light in such a place.  And a place as far away and so far out of this world, the only life there would be is…well there wouldn’t be any.  Well after I somehow managed to pull myself together, after being mobbed by what seemed to be an unnecessary, endless train of emotions, I walk through the disgusting olive, greenish colored door of our apartment.  Making my way to my room, leaving everything in my possession in the door way and not giving two ***** who trips on it, I sat on my bed.  I then realize my mom was home.  At that time of day it’s usually just my siblings and I, and sometimes my dad.  But for my mom to be home before 3 p.m. is unheard of unless someone is dying.  Well come to find out she came back home shortly after arriving at work this morning.  At this point she had us all gathered in the living room, with my dad sitting at her side, on the furthest part of the sectional and us children on the other, curiously watching her struggle to find the words to come next.  Me, being the oldest, I automatically think of all things possible I could have done that may have upset them… but thought twice when I remembered I had an audience sitting next to me. So I couldn’t possibly be elbows deep, this time.  I sat patiently next to my brother as my mom broke news that my grandfather had passed in his sleep early this morning… those next few moments of silent sobbing seemed to be an eternity.  As if I had lived 1,000 long years and it was my time to roll over. I, being the stubborn type, my instincts kick in… I ran out the front door leaving my family behind in their sorrows. I sat outside in the plush green grass, thinking, for that’s all time would give me... thought.  I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t want to believe it, and I wanted it to be some sick twisted prank. I think at that moment I felt as if I would feel relived if someone had only came around the corner saying “Gotchya!”  He wasn’t supposed to go… not yet, he was a fighter… it was supposed to be a fight ‘till the death, just not his… I believed in him I thou- no, I prayed he would make it, once again I was wrong.  
You know how people say they don’t have any regrets what so ever? Well I call *******. There is always that one, just like there is always that one sibling; they know how to just irk the **** out of you, or that one friend that is just a buzz **** to everything like… well, life. Yeah well I have that one, that one regret that I, in reality can’t do jack squat about.  The last time my family and I went down to visit my grandfather in Cali, we were leaving that day, and he had an appointment to see if he was eligible to do chemo, and as I think about it… you’d think they wanted to save a life right?  Anyways, my mom had yelled at me to wake up to go say goodbye to him before he left… I was being a bit selfish and only thought of me being tired and didn’t want to get out of bed, simply because I chose to stay up all hours of the night before to play Call of Duty with my uncle.  When I got up, everyone was crying in the bathroom.  My mom was ****** so was my Tia… that was the last time they got to see him, and I didn’t. All because I didn’t get my lazy *** up… I didn’t get to say goodbye and now, now it’s too late… and every day I hate myself for it.  But then I think to myself, at least I know, deep down, he is at rest, happy, care free…just chillin in paradise.
You know, life is a ***** and it *****, but we all got to live it, right? Many times I don’t want to anymore. I never was a regretful person especially when it came down to paying the consequences. I thank myself every day for putting myself through everything I’ve been through throughout my short 17 years of life, for if I hadn’t had the experience I’d probably be just another sheep talking out of my *** about do’s and don’ts.  But there is not a single day that goes by without remembering his soul. Remembering there is a place I once sat and enjoyed the cold wet grass, felt the warm golden rays of the sun.  The fresh mist in the air from a nearby waterfall, silent yet graceful drops of water.  My senses tampered with the sweet aroma of fresh cut grass and fully bloomed flowers as they lay next to wet engraved concrete.  As I sat there in silence letting time go by, memories became so clear. Remembering what was said, or the voice in which I heard it, brought me peace and clarity.  The passion of a fighter’s heart that only yearned to keep on fighting, taught me strength.  The hopes and dreams for a brighter future seemed to be my focus.  As I sat and embraced my day’s journeys of memoirs brought me to say farewell to my fighter.  As I leaned forward to give a tender kiss, the taste on my lips from the dirt on the stone is a bitter sweet goodbye.  I sit now and think, I must and will not ever forget that place, where I’d rather be, where I’d go and memories of my grandfather became my reality.  This is my one person I’d most want to see now… and forever.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
It's now or never what awaits
Gin is forever like her collagen of skin
the wanting how her prayers got answered
The (Him) the (I-phone) not my (Apple)
My blessings I got my miracle how fate
sipped me in with my best friend
                        (Gin)
The sip loving him  gin is her oxygen
All cravings from the countries
Native American, Latin American
Afro American, and The North American
The Hotel going to all the meetings
At the Sheraton
my lip to his sunset
Makes a world of her savings

Meets to my original
Tastebuds petals
and sprinkles like bling
Watering my rosebuds
So many brands but
Modern twist
Portugal Spanish
olives trees could sing

Cat nine lives versus her
Gin of love doves pleas

Scratch me lucky seven
But  conventional
Love-seat sectional
Him- I- Gin lets be

((Gin Rational))

Like the pixel living
more with a sweet taste
Stirring and purring Cat
I-Gin him the mighty morsel
Playing black-Jack
She had the best cards
Gin* I * pack
The game is pouring
the poker lip scouring

The origin of Dracula Bram Stoker
Her wavy hair red-hot tasseled
Like waves of (Gin) rippled
She mingled like" I- Gin"
But she was more mortal
Are we on air 2 win
The News over dripping
Hot Gin story him side-slip
National sip velvet whole lip
The warmth going down
The gin was magical potent
All exotic types she dressed
in stripes
Not the American Flag

The European sip of the Gin
Meeting her man
Weaving through the warmth
Juniper Glamped Gin camper
He's so defined in his character
Gin all him her floret trim glass

The process takes time
Gin- Boss Italian glass
Florence blown
Newfangled  or seductively
Flagged in bangled worn

Entirely subjective
The Europeans Industry
Origin of the whole dynasty
Juniper berries
Like a Junior virginity-Gin
Or him___?
Far from New York City
His flight first class (Gin)
and only him
Butterflies look divine on
her breast
Like the Gin and Science test
Her cherries in her Gin Drink
His theories in his Manly winks

The gin so medicinal
How it ward off malaria
She drinks to her delicately
tone body All God-lit
Her swiftly steps fit
Shes all heart like the ballerina
She is the Grace of the gin drink
The new look on her face
The purest wings fly the best
Our time of the Origin

Women and Men start now to begin
Dressed up new technology generation
The Gin of romance mission
The next pour dripping
intense torrential rain
For the single- set such potential
The married couple drenching
drink wet was more primal

The Gin couple was immaculate
never late
They won the bet that's
Gin-like no other fate
This is about the Origin of Gin my style and how a drink can change lives or if your single talk more and starts to mingle if your married there might very well be Gin God have a party gin fire up your hot rod
Robert Zanfad Jun 2010
The Lawncrest Acres State Hospital for the Incurably Poetic -
I think dear Granddad, the good doctor,
once practiced there as a clinician
(and as patient once, too)
his writing otherwise confined in public eyes
to those horribly dry tomes whose titles began
"On the practice of..."
whereupon he may have gone
on to expound the virtues of religion in psychiatry
as measured in cross sectional study
or harsh parenting as inherent to induction of pathology
But at home he would write
the sweetest poems to us
on birthdays or just because...
he never wrote one for me, oversight I'm sure,
as I roamed the floor
in his house, same as all the others.
So maybe that's why I secretly try
to be a poet like he was.
Start with a fifty inch screen
Make it smart
Hook up the blue ray baby
Now plug in the BOSE SOLO lady!
7 seat sectional
Comforts seat for all I meet
or just to nap, stick up my feet
Have a loaded bar with drinks on call
It is legal here, so load the ****
And enjoy the new single life
All summer long~
I love the new washer and drier too ; )
Emma Chatonoir Dec 2014
RTB
You and I were a lot alike
Though you were the better one

We met at a sectional two days before
I was put in the hospital
You introduced yourself and I realized
We looked a lot alike

I didn't hear from you again till April
When we got parts in a play
You were very friendly towards me
And said that as a fellow clarinet
You were really happy I got the role

We really got close when you invited me
To watch TV in your room on the band trip
While we watched some show about tattoos
We gossiped and I told you about my past
After that, you always made my opinions
Seem like they were valid
Especially the ones about the guy who bullied me
For four long years
Thank you for making me feel safe

There was a time during sophomore year
Where we talked every night
About people who did us wrong
Again, you made me feel valid
And encouraged me to love myself
Like when I said that I was fat
You said I was phat
"Pretty
Hot
And tasty!  <3"
That made me feel so much better

You judged me slightly for my decision
To date your ex
You should have judged me harder
When I was making a mistake
But even when I had an anxiety attack
Because he put his arm around me
You sat with me in the lobby of the movie theater
Telling me everything would be alright

The first week of that summer
I remember you drove me to get pecan pie
While in your Oma's car
After stopping at Target
A can of Pillsbury biscuits exploded
When you slammed on the breaks
If my phone wasn't dead
I would have taken that picture

Then you went to the education camp
We sent letters and that made me so happy
I have your letters saved, actually
They're on my bookshelf over there
Along with the photos we took
At the amusement park
Where I'm sitting in your lap

Then, you started dating
And everyone judged you for it
I didn't take a side
But sat back and watched
Your boyfriend is a great guy
But he wasn't worth fighting for

The last time we spoke in person
It was at a football game
I'd since moved but you let me
Join in on the section cheer
It felt like old times

The last time we spoke on text
Was over Skype on a 20 questions game
I felt like we were best friends
But I haven't heard from you since

I waved at you in March
I never saw you wave back
You never want to see me again
Or hear from me
And I understand that
Life changes us in many ways
I'm sure you're better than ever

You and I were a lot alike
Though you were the better one**

You believed me when I felt no one else could
Though we no longer speak, I'm speechless.
Lin Cava Jun 2016
Theodore Roosevelt –

Teddy ceased to walk this earth, benefactor to his beloved Nation, valiant in his service to his country, his family and the family of Americans, on January 6, 1919.

During his remarkable life he never wavered in his support of America – these United States, and Americans.  Were it not for Teddy, there would be no National Preserves or parks.

He had much to say.  So sage was his insight that it retains universal relevance to this day.

Sadly, we have no modern day Teddy to set things right; there is so much to address, and so little time to meet the challenges.  I fear we have adopted a timidness of heart that would be a foul countenance for this President to see.

What follows are some of his words.  See if you do not agree that they remain relevant words of wisdom, to this day.  Teddy is gone for 96 years.  How I would love to see another like him at the helm.



“Any man who tries to excite class hatred, sectional hate, hate of creeds, any kind of hatred in our community, though he may affect to do it in the interest of the class he is addressing, is in the long run with absolute certainly that class's own worst enemy.”



“Behind the ostensible government sits enthroned an invisible government owing no allegiance and acknowledging no responsibility to the people. To destroy this invisible government, to befoul the unholy alliance between corrupt business and corrupt politics is the first task of the statesmanship of today.”

“Our government, National and State, must be freed from the sinister influence or control of special interests. Exactly as the special interests of cotton and slavery threatened our political integrity before the Civil War, so now the great special business interests too often control and corrupt the men and methods of government for their own profit. We must drive the special interests out of politics.”

We should insist that if the immigrant who comes here does in good faith become an American and assimilates himself to us he shall be treated on an exact equality with every one else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed or birth-place or origin.  But this is predicated upon the man's becoming in very fact an American and nothing but an American. If he tries to keep segregated with men of his own origin and separated from the rest of America, then he isn't doing his part as an American. There can be no divided allegiance here. . . We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language, for we intend to see that the crucible turns our people out as Americans, of American nationality, and not as dwellers in a polyglot boarding-house; and we have room for but one soul loyalty, and that is loyalty to the American people.

-Theodore Roosevelt - January 3, 1919 - Publicly read on January 5, 1919

Roosevelt passed the next day, January 6, 1919



“Every immigrant who comes here should be required within five years to learn English or leave the country.”



And, wouldn’t this apply to the keystone pipeline? –

“Here is your country. Cherish these natural wonders, cherish the natural resources, cherish the history and romance as a sacred heritage, for your children and your children's children. Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches or its romance.”

“Leave it as it is. The ages have been at work on it and man can only mar it.”

*

“In foreign affairs we must make up our minds that, whether we wish it or not, we are a great people and must play a great part in the world. It is not open to us to choose whether we will play that great part or not. We have to play it. All we can decide is whether we shall play it well or ill.”

“In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes an American and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin. But this is predicated upon the person's becoming in every facet an American, and nothing but an American... There can be no divided allegiance here. Any man who says he is an American, but something else also, isn't an American. We have room for but one flag, and that is the American flag… We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language... and we have room for but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the American people.”

“In this country we have no place for hyphenated Americans.”

Presidential thoughts and on leadership…

"Patriotism means to stand by the country. It does not mean to stand by the president or any other public official, save exactly to the degree in which he himself stands by the country. It is patriotic to support him insofar as he efficiently serves the country. It is unpatriotic not to oppose him to the exact extent that by inefficiency or otherwise he fails in his duty to stand by the country. In either event, it is unpatriotic not to tell the truth, whether about the president or anyone else.”

“People ask the difference between a leader and a boss ... The leader works in the open, and the boss in covert. The leader leads, and the boss drives.”

“The best executive is the one who has sense enough to pick good men to do what he wants done, and self-restraint to keep from meddling with them while they do it.”

“The things that will destroy America are prosperity at any price, peace at any price, safety first instead of duty first and love of soft living and the get-rich-quick theory of life.”

Yes, he had a lot to say.  Not everyone can agree on everything.  But, I am sure that Teddy would have rather a person support their position, firm in the knowledge of the situation, when not in agreement, than go along meekly, unwilling to effect change.
Our Politicians, by and large, have become what our founders intended that they NEVER become - De-facto Royalty.  They are our nations royals, holding themselves above those they are purported to represent.
The are so much so above us that they exempt themselves from laws of the land that we must abide.  They refuse to represent the people in seeking solutions for the good of the country and obscure that with making ovations to "be inclusive" of special interests.  What is good for one, is good for all - no longer matters, as our representatives have taken the power we gave them and twisted it.
Far to few to make the difference, those who would not conduct themselves as if a class above the People are unable to overcome.
I grew up on Long Island, not far from Teddy's house.  My son and grandsons call it just that - Teddy's house.  They have visited, played and learned there.  Though I was born long after he left this world, Theodore Roosevelt touched my life - in fact, all of our lives.  Strange that I should so miss someone I never knew.
Lucanna Dec 2014
I sit on my sectional, a witness
to those vulnerable beings
pulling at scarves,
yanking at gloves
clutching at down jackets
I find great entertainment by this.

They have waited until November
When I have resided in frost
since last October
All       year       long
I held onto turtlenecks of impulsive irony
I bore
thirteen layers exactly
of self pride
I wore gloves religiously
that were knitted out of masochism
and egocentrism
And I drank from cups of hot cocoa
brimmed with whipped irony
during the month of June
I was far to eager

Now these glorious beings
surround me
clinging to warmth and long john material,
sitting closest to the hearth

All I can do is laugh

I searched for a shell
in June
I decorated a tree of longing
in May
I reached for a fringing
frolicking
frock
in July
that would
:gasp:
keep me warm

Fahrenheit resided in
pelvic bone
fingerprints
desperado
and seduction

None of it warmed my bones.
Alexa Oliveira Mar 2014
Oddly enough...

My desires and wants change daily..
A few seem repetitive and or i guess in more of a clear want.
I desire much.
Its interesting to me.
Because most of the things i desire i wonder if they will truly give me happiness, or partial happiness...
I am an appreciative soul.
I dont abuse what i have.
So i dont believe i will lose love or faith in my newly found gifts.
I do however think my newly found gifts will fall short to endless gifts from God...
What im trying to get at is..
I can name things i want off of the top of my head...
Most of these things will provide pleasurable experiences.. but one thing can change all of that pleasure...
For example..
I would like to finish my living room, and or change into a comfier lifestyle.
I would like a sectional couch.. extremely comfortable
A plush blanket
An ottoman for my guests..
A table by the door..
A bookcase...
Tv and mount in my bedroom...
New shades
A spice rack
A grill for my backyard...
Thats just the house.....

So i sit and i think. Okay Alexa... yes these things are wonderful, and by god, you do deserve them...

But what if you get a call in august that the church has invited you for a full expenses paid trip to help people in Jerusalem... and that you will be compensated for your stay...
Or your cousin Amy invites you to stay with her in Australia.. and you live there on a work visa.. and help the community in your spare time...

Is a spice rack still important?

I guess im in quite the transition here...

Its feeling of do i just want these things to want them...

Or  is it because i know in my heart that i will be receiving them, and they just happened to become obsessed thoughts...

In retrospect, ive always received everything i desired.

They usually came faster when i stopped moping around asking for them...

one by one everything would fall to me..

I guess im just aware of the process...

Im very present lately.
Im seeking a stronger connection with faith and god at this point in my life.. and over the course of the next few weeks, i believe my connection with god, Jesus, and spirit will be so much stronger...

I do believe everything will fall into place.

New Job.
New Car.
New lifestyle...

Just a brand new me...

Things take time. I some how remain on a scaled level of thinking. Like i need this next week.. and if i dont have it next week..

then im never going to get it...

Now that ive expressed this...

im seeing things differently...

like...

If i make it clear that i want these things... then they are mine already in due time...

Because i can have a couch, and all of those things and still travel across the world..
why not!.
Im allowed that luxury...
Im allowed the luxury of having beauty..
A passport
A camera
A surfboard
A guitar..
A comfy home that holds my energy...
A new car that can take my anywhere i wanna go.
A job that gives me supreme peace of mind, and abundance....

I dont know Gods plan...

I just know that i have to trust him, that he will take care of me...

My ideas are..
To work at a peaceful job.. go to school at night...
Surf and Take pictures, and play the guitar in my spare time.
Hang out with friends, meet new friends...
go to church
maybe become a youth leader
Exercise Daily...
Have a beautiful, healthy, and inspiring relationship
fun and exciting moments.
travel.
roadtrips.
enjoying being my free spirit self
building myself
remaining focused
calm
and centered.
inspiring
****
i would love new tattoos
i would love to just become ME...
not hold back...
i feel like i break out of my cycle every day.
Always something different.
Joe Wilson Sep 2014
There's something re-assuring about the tick of a clock
It counts off the moments and marks out the days
We know where we are and where we should be
It keeps the world moving without hesitancy.

But do we confine ourselves by wrapping in time
Are we constricted in this sectional way
What if we threw off the comfort of the norm
And took back the freedom of an old timeless form.

The world that we know would be drastically changed
Financial institutes would behave so deranged
Criminals would take over as 'opportunities' presented
Charlatans and fraudsters... - "The World Goes Demented".

So the thing that we find is 'there's no other way.'
We depend on the start and the end of each day
But if time stopped existing not one of us would care
We'd soon cease to function and then we wouldn't be there.

There's something re-assuring about the tick of a clock...



©Joe Wilson - The re-assuring clock...2014
Anonymous Aug 2015
I still do not know why you left the way you did. So quick, it was like I turned around for a second and you took it as your opportunity. But you couldn't see that when you left, you kicked up dirt from running away so fast. It got caught in my eye, and now I can't see the same.

I remember one night, we were up until 4:00 in the morning finishing my mothers jigsaw puzzle. It was set up on the dining room table where I sat, and you were standing on the very same chair I was sitting on. Hovering over me, you said it gave you a better view, I just thought it was going to **** your back being bent over the way you were tomorrow morning.  
We were silent, the only sound heard was the sound of your breathing and mine, occasionally matching in sync. You would stretch your arm above me to reach for a piece, and the other would rest itself on my head, gently scratching at my scalp, how soothing.
To any onlooking eyes, it would seem rather strange. The position we were in was in no way normal, but that's how most of our situations ended up being, far from it.
When we finally finished, after hours of contemplation on whether or not we should complete the task, and small remarks with giggles as responses, you stepped down from the chair and grabbed a glass of water as a token of victory, I still remember the way you smiled when you looked at the finished product.
We slept that night apart, but together. You were on one end of the sectional and I was on the other, because we were both too afraid of what the other might say. But right as I started to descend into sleep, you made your way to my end, laid behind me and whispered into my ear that I was great. It was bound to happen, we were like two magnets, always finding our way to each other.

But now it seems like we are the opposite ends, the magnets now fighting against each other, refusing to meet.
So I'm sitting here, a whole year later, finishing another puzzle that I didn't start, but this time I'm all alone. I can't seem to figure out how a picture distorted into 500 different pieces could make me so sad, but somehow it managed. This time you aren't here too encourage me to keep going even though it's 2 in the morning and I'm half asleep. Tonight I am not sleeping on my couch with you by my side and I do not have a stupid smile across my face. In fact, I can't remember the last time I did.

You ripped away from me, there were no more spontaneous texts letting me know you were stopping by, no more staying over late, and saying goodbye when the sun came up.
We were everything. We were Sunday brunches, we were midnight ice cream splurges, we were the song you blasted in your car driving down an empty road.

And now?
We are nothing .
It's all your fault, and only sometimes do I hate you for it.
Anais Vionet Aug 14
(a flash fiction piece)

My brother (Brice) left university, 6 months ago, like millions of other students, to shelter from COVID. After years away Mr. Annoying was back in MY world, bickeringly close and way too frequently in my business - like some half-assed adult (he just turned 22).

As school planning recently started though, I awoke one night, unnerved at the thought that he might be leaving. It was a shocking awakening to how much I need him, draw strength from him and shelter in his lee. The heart-wrenching realization of how much I would miss him was breathtaking, like that Disney ride where they suddenly drop you seven stories. I bit off half my fingernails before I finally fell asleep. =/

In the clear light of morning, it's obvious that he’ll leave again at some point and I'm dreading it now that it's flagged my awareness - and I face him with a whole new, creepy appreciation.

Yesterday afternoon...
Brice is on the sectional, with a bowl of pretzels, watching some BORING documentary.
I sneak up behind him and take his drink off the side table.
I plop down next to him - very close, I squeeze next to him, hard, like there’s no other room on the huge sectional. He gives me the side eye.
Me: “What??”
After a few minutes he reaches for his drink to find it missing - he looks around, then at me.
Me: With a mouth full of pretzels, “What??”
He gets up to find his drink (which I put in the kitchen) and that takes about 20 seconds.
While he’s gone, I change the channel to “Miraculous Ladybug”, my favorite cartoon.
When he comes back we wrestle for the remote - it takes him a couple of minutes but he’s too strong and as he begins winning, I yell, “MOM!!, Brice is hurting me!” (which was cruelly ignored).
He finally gets the remote and back to his show - I straighten my hair, out of breath, and wonder how long it will take him to realize the pretzels are missing.
brothers - annoying but loveable
Don’t know where should I go
And I don’t think I cared anymore
Wide opened sectional
With a standby plotter
A flight computer
And a pencil

But no line was drawn
My plotter became useless
I let my Cessna flew by his own
And he followed where the wind blew

I noticed
The wind pushed me to that same airport
The same runway I tried to avoid
It's like faith
The further I go
The stronger the wind blows
Or it's just my crazy theory
Or maybe my mind plays tricks on me

I’m lost in the nowhere’s skies
And I still found her
No matter how far I fly
The wind leads me to her
The next part from the poem titled "Divert" by me.
Yes, to be really honest I'm still having a problem moving on from her.
Renard Jackson Mar 2016
Night lingers with constant ravaging through the kitchen and impatiently flickering channels because of commercials
In spite of the fatigue feelings mixed with the funny noises coming from hunger pains
I am not In a bad mood cause I am broke, in distraught or because I can only afford rent due to my minimum wage job washing dishes stationed in a one room shack apartment
Stuck in the house need to get out more wanting issues without discussions fascinated by what I can't have enclosing my day with a infested bus ride back to my urban sectional neighborhood  what am accustomed to living a lifestyle fighting more than rats and roaches
Survival is the most important part of the breakfast next to acknowledgement that nothing can become something cherishing food and shelter because walking on the streets and pockets on empty force decision to do hand-to-hand work predicaments leaves you in a state of unravelling thinking of your next move or not thinking
Questioning the obvious Wishing though there is nothing wrong with wanting
A Christian, but broke, and a 5th of gin will make a Man sin
Becoming a product of my environment leaving it to be a statistic in this society as a black man in poverty
#realistic #thoughts #initiatives #citric
Lucas Jul 2018
Extra-skeletal
slamming by the railyard
we aren't *****
just ghosts
doing what ghosts will do

Intro to shell-walking
tramping into frontal sectional lobes
like clean seats found on Craigslist
we aren't *****
just taking the moves given

Find it
and there's no getting shook
we aren't *****
just wanted by the love
Brookyln Nine-Nine flashes across the screen of my laptop
I wonder if this show makes you  think about me

Because even the obnoxious theme song reminds me of

That oversized, purple couch I will never sit on again ,
The Christmas tree you hosted in your living room until March,
Or the pictures that your daughter drew, strung up on the wall next to the sign you bought reading
“You Are My Sunshine”

I wonder if you ever bought that gray sectional,
Or put the tree up extra early this year
Or moved that sign to your daughter’s bedroom door

Every cheesy one-liner Andy Samberg says
Leaves the words you left lonely
In the back of my head.

You were right, that night
When I drove south to a familiar nowhere
To see an open door with your lopsided grin.
You were right,
I think I did love you.

I promised myself I would not let the memory of you ruin this television show.

But I find it hard to watch,
I find it hard to think,
I find it hard to know that I must coincide with the inability to know
how you are
or who you are
Anymore.

Rumors tell me about the weight you’ve lost,
And how the speckled gray now covers nearly all of your freshly shaven head.

I know that your skin would not have slowed to wrinkle with mine,
but I cannot help but roam around the unknown of you and I.




Our episodes did not end
With a bittersweet goodbye or a tragic farewell,
The cliffhanger too skewed to draw conclusions from
A forgettable ending to a promising pilot.

We were not a series.
I did not make the finale.
Life is not a network sitcom
I cannot watch the scenes of your life that proceed without me

As much as I want,
Your existence didn’t cease when your credits rolled to me.
And with every memorable scene we did share,
I am thankful that it did not broadcast on NBC.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
orthography implies: a word, yet diacritics implies letters, and ιota is the perfect example of an unnecessary diacritical misapplication, notably observed in a language that observes orthography: which is non-existent in english: which is still to untangle from the latin graphemes ae & oe; english hasn't untangled itself from the grapheme modus operandi: which is why LL TT NN OO GG PP: pull fattening manner pool bigger popping - invite the stutter!

- a word is worth is its orthography -
    yet there is absolutely no need to indicate
the letters I & J with a lower-case diacritical branding:
because suddenly one of the letters disappears!

                        i.e. with i = ι, j = ī

  a letter disappears!
             and people thought that quantum
physics was bewildering...
         because there is no ****** reason
to apply diacritical marking on a phonetic
mark that's already a "solipsistic" unit...
         a saying revealed by:

                     ιota = ιgrek in the north...
               | = . because what is 1 squared?
1... what's 1 cubed? 1. what's 1 to the power
            of 10? 1.

glitches glitches glitches glitches
glitches glitches glitches glitches
twitching twitching twitching twitching
glitches glitches glitches glitches

- only yesterday i was in a supermarket
      and met a fellow traveller:
a distant kin, whom i might have
    shared a native conversation with...
point being: i could spot a language
behind the "faςade" of accent...
   call that quasi s?
   a word sprang to mind -
                  
ziomek,
a slang among immigrants denoting:
a fellow of shared roots.
yet that morphed into an:
orthographic anomaly -
      why does the i and j need diacritical
marks when there are
exceptions to be made: otherwise?
   you know how easily
  you can write *ziomek

   differently while still retaining
the word and it's meaning?
                        źomek:
because the diacritical mark ****
of ιota is just that...
              the unholy umlaut of
i & j...
               | and .
                          are already synonymous:
they're not inter-sectional akin
to the illiterate signature of X...
why was it so hard to make a mark by
a mere I... instead marking
a count to 10? ah... in Kantian terms:
0 = negation...
                well: the 1 is to be denied.
Leftward within the thoracic cavity, above where the bad guts are, I
see your fat heart pumping like the dickens because it is fatigued &
thickened from pork chops, greasy burgers & finger-lickin' chicken.
A feminist is a lesbian who hates men & worships chronic vaginitis
& final-trimester aborticide & cross-sectional infanticide & she has
cheap dentures after losing her green teeth to third-world gingivitis.

— The End —