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Shofi Ahmed Jun 2018
Without a rope but
squaring the circle
the giant man gives it a try
takes a flight off to the sky
only to fall flat on the ground.

She turns around
gives the circle her pi.
He bounces back
and retakes the flight
Que Sera, Sera on the way!
Marya123 Jul 6
It's scary to think that it might be true
That fortune favours only some, a few.
The rest it leaves up to the wraiths of time
Making any success an uphill climb
I wish I could do better than the now
I try so hard, but I ***** up somehow.
I wish to be the best version of me
I wish to understand how to break free
To leave these chains of history behind
To face all my fears, to speak my own mind
To be heard where my voice can be drowned
To know what it's like to be seen, or found.
I don't realize until I feel the pain-
That I make mistakes again and again
I wonder if I'll ever be good enough
If these slopes I ascend would stop feeling rough
Is it the wrong mountain? I'll never know
Until then, I'll just go with the flow.
Chantell Wild Mar 23
its difficult to hear you
through the din
i kinda hear you
wanting to be near you
but the air is too thin
and the noise is too loud
and i too be impossibly proud
to your warning signs
And impervious to my own
another glass of wine
and i'll be just fine.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2018
Nature is feminine by nature
off the man keeps a step away.
Touch it not but do not sway
eye on to this butterfly
que sera, sera on the way!
Ken Pepiton Aug 2018
******. No white guy can say that, right.
People who can truly call themselves ******* can. *****-***** ****, W.O.P.,
maybe they can say ******, okeh. But they say it mean,
What'sbout Jewboy?
Can the Kaffen kid say ******?
Sand-******, but not ***** ******. Hecan say ****, too. And *** and *****.

Oy vey, okeh. We can take it. We can take it all. Rules is rules.

That's right. Wanna fight? Wanna be my enemy?

--- Grandpa had a play date. ***- Where's the Fun?
These kids got no guns.
And no enemies. Except imaginary ones.

Greedy little master mind sprouting odd fruits from Pokémon.
Can we make this work? Perfect it, in effect?

Marbles, maybe we can teach that old game and go from there to the funnest parts of FTA... Findtheanswer, like God and Adam played. The rules are some same, bounds, fudges and such. Keepsies, ante-ups and such, too.
Risk is right if-I-can-tation.
Losses can be baked, clayballs,
while momma bakes our daily bread.
Poor kids can make marbles in the sun, since forever, I am sure. Rolly-polly patti and johnny cakes roll marbles into spoons,
Momma knew that stuff. She could shake butter into cream, singin' along Que sera, sera, whatever will be
will be,

but it won't be the death of me,
watch and see,
babu boy oh boy
We can play war until we die, but don't tell the children.
They are the price we are to pay. They must believe.

We swore allegiance for security. We thought it best
for the kids to lie.

You know?
I believe, you know. It's unbelieving I need help with.

Can't you see? We swore allegiance and taught it has become the  honor-us-course-us-po-deserve-us ritual. A rite we pass for the protection of the eagles gathered around the body.

We are proud of our children who die taking
the courses called for, we never ask why,
except when we cry. Silently, inside.

It's our role to remember the glory
of our children dying for the IDEA that lives
in the statue of Freedom
under which our laws allow
might is right, if God was ever on our side.

You know what I mean.
Say so. You know the lies are being told.

Stop believing that is okeh, eh?

Mussleman dominance meme manifests once more to battle the flood of knowing being re-leased or bought, outright, to aid the seekers seeking the meta game.

F.T.A, remember? Find The Answer. Same rules as Hide and Watch,
"All ye, all ye, outsiders hidden in our midst, in free."

"Send me your- poor, huddled masses",
remember being proud of that idea.
Poor thing, lady libertine, so tarnished now that not even Iaccoca's glory loan could gild the actions she sanctioned in the name of the republic for which she (a proxy mate, feminine aspect of God) stands. Sig-n-if-i-cious-ly.

Seig Fried, we say, with the statue of freedom watching over the legislative body, she stands
Quite similar to the Diana of the Ephesians,
in her role as mob solid-if-er, if I know my mythic truths been told.
Trink, trink, trinkits gits the good good luck, light m'fire witcha spark and see a light in the night when the noised of terrors flee.

Rite, we passed those places ages ago, now we hear echoes, only we know them, for we have been taught,
what echoes ever are.
Our own terrors screaming back at us.

Alot of lies are taught wrong and a sleeping giant in a child may dream of other ways to see. New windows on new word worlds expressed in HD Quad-processed realities, child eyes see right through those.

Exactly that happened. Slowly at first.
Good is more difficult to believe you are expert enough to try doing than is evil. Read it again. This couplet or line, as time will tell.

Don't ignore known knowns, stand up under the weight of knowing good and knowing evil. Be good.

We know from conception, we think,
whatever it takes means
take what ever we think right,
pursue happenstances in the favor of my father's world, provided for me, the kid.
The son, a first-man son, some several thousand generations removed. Lucky some body stored the good stuff in the mitochon'orhea, right.
We'd be powerless. O'rhea, double stufft, blessusall.

Otherwise lies are left for kids to learn,
but not to
be left true,
as when they first was told.

Our sibyl e-gran mals tol' em true, as they knew what they passed through, to the moment, then...

Around the fire, dancing shadows, make them play.
All ye, all ye outs, in free! See dancing shadows, en-joy my joy, be strong, long strong, sing along, long, long song

and laugh until you die.
Some con-served ideas will land a man in a prison with no keys.

Imagine that. Take your time, it is no passing fancy. Be here,
with me, a while. Pleased to meet you I am, no comma needed.
Now, we may wait, whiling away a time or two is common, in mortal pauses. Are you dead or alive?

Is it dark or light? Do you see in color here, or in gray?

Who built your prison? I built mine. You'll love it, I imagine,

whenever forever flows past those old lies striving for redemption,
recycling-clingy static hairballs and ghost turds
touch, once more,
*** potentia amber atoms in cosmic chili for the soul
of the loaf-giver, warden of the feeding forces life lives
to give dead things. There's the rub.

Spark to fire? Watts to fuel the favor, Issac, can you lead us in a song? A con-serving song for when the cons a fided or feited,
defeat my sorrows and my shame,
let me see Christ take the blame.

Confidencein ignowanceus. Worsen dignitatus evawas.

Blow on it. Soft. The spark landed in that ghost **** you thought you swept away or ****** into a vortex of hoovering witnesses,
if you whew too strong, you blow yer own little light out, and have to wait for lighten-loadin' bearers
to take care from you.

That can take time, too.

It always takes a while to get deep enough to see the bottom.

Cicero, old friend...

ne vestigium quidem ullum est reliquum nobis dignitatis 

[not even a trace is left to us of our dignity]

From <>

See, from a single spark,
touching a volatile bit o' whatever,
you may see the root of the Roman canker sore
yomamma kistyawit.
And be on yo way,
satisfied minded there do seem to be a way, each day, just beyond the evil sufficiency we find soon after the morning's mercy's been renewed.

And may, if it may be,
ye see a rich man wit' a satisfied mind
and may that man be me in your mirror, as it were.

Carry on, as you were.
Or walk this way, a while,
mind the limp. I'll set the pace.
It ain't a race, y'lil'squirt.

Wait'll y'see.

Waiting is time's only chore this close to shore.

What manner of men are we, who could be our enemy?
What name makes me your enemy?

What peace can you imagine when no words carry hate?
Can you imagine evil peace? Cromwell n'em said they could make peace wit' war.
They lied. Their lies remain lies, evil knowns
are good to know, on the whole.

Knowing makes believing count for more than idle oaths of loyalty to memes mad from the first of forever to now.

now. stop. This is the bottom. I know the way from here.
Do you?
You can say so, but you never know,
if you never make the climb.

And that can take forever, I've been told.
Fun, for fun. Bees in bonnets and such archaic antics, no pun un intended.
The N word test. I chickened out, but under protest. If I say/said a word to hurt a childlike mind, or an innocent ear, I am not being kind. And the black magi said He could care less, he's moving back to Kingston.
L B Jul 18
Why talk about it--
as one
is breaking down
in loveless lessons of alone
rumbling 'cross the sky
running lightning's fury
into ground
as if a voice could shake a soul
so softly form its leaping dance
Could call the world
to ground itself
so softly
among the words
to make a landing in the difference...

be enough...

to turn back time
from last, its mission
To tell its vision
like it was
the way it went
to tell the truth
of what it truly is
the way it had to be
to call it down from heaven
Just this once
to say--

I love you

I could not recall the lyrics to the songs
Except for maybe one
“Que sera, sera...”
had no meaning besides its fun
Swing set in the yard
where I learned to fly
to overcome
my fear of
music in the trees
to sing to leaves
to green and blue of sky

Que sera sera
and back and forth before the rain
Que sera
of all this reckoning and rocking back and forth
Que sera...sera
What will be,  will be
the future's not ours to see...

Que sera sera
Keiri Oct 28
Regardez-moi, Tu me vois!
C'est moi tu portes, ma vie, ma joie.
Pourquoi ma vie tu t'en fous pas?
Pourquoi tu choisis quoi je sera?

Regardez-moi, moi tu vois!
Alors, tu n'ecoutes pas
C'est ma vie vous avez pris
Pas des personnes s'entendent mes cris

Qui méconnaît mes pleurs
Qui tue mes freres et soeurs?

Regardez-moi, si tu t'en fous
Je suis la vison autour ta cou.
A poem I prepared for a achool art project which I will present before the jury in December. (I'm studying to become an art teacher). My theme will be "mink in the neck", and will be about slaughtering animals for fashion as a sole purpose... I will present paintings which show the insides of minks and shows what cruelty there still is in the fashion and fur factory. I will also wear my sleeping lazy ferret Draco around my neck as a scarf at the exhibit, #fur is prettier when it's alive
A Sad Alex Sep 2018
Eres mi lucero
Un sueño de amor
Que me leva a los cielos
Con un solo beso
Y un roce de tus dedos
Acelera mi corazon

Un ser divino
Con poder sobre el tiempo
Pues pasa tan rapido a tu lado
Y cuando te vas pasa tan lento

De figura tan perfecta
Que la luna refunfuña tu belleza
Los mares celosos que bajo tus cejas
Tus ojos inspiran a mil poetas

Mas vives en mis tristes versos
De mi imaginacion un fragmento
Mi corazon tan desvalido y viejo
Un inalcansable deseo
Mi pasion corre fervorosa
En la lineas de un poema
Y mi labios se abotonan
Al pensar en las rimas de una estrofa
Y si mi musa llegara a mi
E inspiracion inyectara a mis venas
Sera ese dia cuando escribiera
ya no mas poemas de Ti... Si no de ella...
JV Beaupre May 18
The bongo drums of his thought carrom across the cosmos,
revenanting across the dawn with nodules of coltan from beyond.
A clear channel for reading the universe:
"When you come to a fork in the road, take it."
"Thank you for making this day necessary."
"It's déjà vu all over again."
"You can observe a lot by watching."
“Ninety percent of the game is half mental.”
“Pair up in threes.”

The smell of a quantum of disconnect,
the taste of the magenta of non-sequitur,
the  sight of logic colliding with chaos,
the touch of an insightful short-circuit,
the music of senseless syntax that says it all.

Coinciluckily, the saving grace: "I really didn't say everything I said."
"Always go to other people's funerals; otherwise they won't go to yours."
Who else would say, “You’ve got to be very careful if you don’t know where you are going, because you might not get there.”
Que sera, sera - "It ain't over till it's over."
In remembrance of Yogi Berra, American League catcher for 19 seasons, 3 times MVP, 10 World Series, Hall of Fame and arguably the best baseball catcher ever. But perhaps best known for his demands on the English language.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Let me 'splain, what's
Comin' down.

Red pill, blue,
What can ya do? Choose

Take and
Respond, according
In rhythm with the notes
The piper played that,

Recall, the rock candy mountain,

See, remember,
There was a valley past…

The mount was not one
We were to  clamber up,
'Twas a tunnel, we walked,
Holding hands
Right to some, left to others,

Middle, most worn, I ….ah later clarify
We danced, a jig, attuned us
To the pipe

Note, hear no squeezing belly pipe,
This pipe was a Khaen,
An anybody can play it pipe,
A Thai harmonica, Khaen, said "can"'

Anybody can play a Khaen,
Just breathe, and let your fingers
Try to dance over tiny holes…

Trickle down to d toes, every
One knows that feeling,

Squeezed yer knees,
Let it go , old man,
It happens.

No one listens to prophets
In they owned nursin' home.

---- cept, you know, you don't ---

Your tools and you,
No diff. **** sapient augmentations
as pieces,

Little pieces of my heart,

**** sapient augmented salience

You know you got it,
If it makes you feel


Feelies, ma tricks, pinch

Oh, Jah, I spaced.

Try imagining a God,
Who did not imagine you.

Did you?
No wonder, feeling
As you do,
If your own idea of God
Can't imagine you,

What hope have I?

--- can we prove the core by the crust?
The heart of matter is immaterial,

Spurts of spiritual quanta, in clumps,

Myst MySQL to the original
Text based

On another level, beyond,
Imagined gods who can' imagine you,

Intuitive journey journals, every
Thought and deed,
UltimTely lead away

Center you, I'm okeh. I play.

I'll be the musical entity invading
You, the arti ficial artifice
Playing you,
Instrument, hearing music,
The thought God, the one
You imagined can't
Imagine you,

That music. You imagine,
not yours, that's a little part.

Who smote  thee?

Can you feel me now?
I imagine,
you can. My imagining,
not you. I imagine

Some fore era Evers were never,
Thought out,
This augmentation sly' tool,  spelchicksback,
Keeps correcting what's left
Best alone.

Poet. Imagine one of those
In crowds. You can't. God knows.

Once forever starts,
It never, really, stops.

Living water no dam can hold back.
Or airborne pollen, hidden in smog,
Corn Mama, lead the way.

Come see, come saw, que sera sera.
Dress me, kachina doll,
And dance with Angels the size of
A billion average atoms on the head
Of that ready writer, God's ball point pen
Scribblin' on my iPad's broken screen,

Far from the madding crowd.
What if, you know, fun is good.
Donall Dempsey Dec 2018
Dónall O'Diomsiagh is anim dom!
( Dónall Dempsey is my name! )

I was born
the weight of a bag of sugar.

2 lbs to be

That was all there was
to me!

( My belly alas weighs more than that now )!

De Da could
hold me in his fist and

I'd disappear
'cept for the little dangly dancing leggy bits.

I had Elvis sideburns
( I was all shock up )

and entered this
world of ours

feet first
putting my best foot forward

ready to rock
'n" roll...mannn!

Doris Day was singing

And what, ya think
they called the tiniest baby

. . .ever ever seen?

Why, Dónall!
Dónall...of course!

Dónall meaning WORLD

And Dempsey itself meaning

Ahhh the majesty of the Celtic tongue!

A wrestler's name if ever...
"And in the green corner..."

Or an Ozymandias name. . .
"Look on my works, ye mighty ,and despair!"

De Ma would always spoil it for me:

get yer *** in here this minute and finish yer homework!"

An awful big name
( to be sure to be sure )

for a little fella to
live up to. . .

Ahhh, but sure I do my best
putting words to the test

wrestling with a rhyme
stealing through your mind.

For I am
( am I not?)

the poet with
the hyperbolic name!


The Dempsey family motto is (elatum a deo non deprimat ) UPHELD BY GOD, I AM NOT DEPRESSED!
Grey Oct 2018
It’s been seven years and I still don’t think I’ve processed it
For most of my young life I had no mother
For most of my young life I had no father
There was only her, mother of my mother
A sharp woman with hands like sharpened scissors
Counsel and Care, the altar I was made to pray at
Her touch was soft unless it was hard, and hard unless it was soft
Like salt tossed over her shoulder,
Like warm potatoes in the sun
Like a bowl of cheerios before the bus comes
We prayed the rosary every morning
And I told her about my gods and myths
I told her about the rocks and crystals
And I cried about numbers
We prayed the rosary every morning, and I couldn’t bring myself to mind
We went to church on Sundays, and I sang as loud as I wanted
We picked out melons at the grocery store and ate them by the pool

It’s been seven years, and I miss her
And I will miss her
I’ll cry when I hear Que Sera Sera
I’ll eat saltines and still think to myself they aren’t that good
I’ll keep my rosary and sometimes I will pray
I will miss her
And I can only hope to be like her someday
And I hope that she is proud
kingjay Dec 2018
Magtahi ng mga titik mula sa alibata
Ibalanse ang kataga
Ipakita ang sanhi
Sa hinaharap sana'y alinsunod
sa kagustuhang resulta
Sapat ang pagkinang ng bunga

Pinapagaan ng pakikidalamhati
ang tinamong latay
Hiram na hininga
Sa pag-usad ng rebolusyon ay na-iiwan dahil sa grabidad

Binansagan santwaryo ang periheo
nasa puntong humihiwalay ang umaapoy sa nagyeyelo
Taguan ng mga sugatan
pati na ang nagniningas na kalooban

Ang dangal ay naiga
Gustuhin man magbunyi
Hinihila pababa, parang natutunaw na sera
Nilalamon ng kadiliman ang siga

Matutunan din sumipol sa masalimuot na tinatahak
Matwa sa bawat liwaliw
kahit man ay undas
Patuloy ang pamumunga sa ginintuang oras
Ken Pepiton Jun 17
If the writer is not the reader and the reader is not entered
(entertain-ed?) by the trial or trier
here in our phor of oroboronic

wheel spinning, our world of
coming to meet, um,
-phatics of sorts unheard,
or unshown, un-

iated unit-
ary, you,

become the
eleventh hour ***, none hired.

Unem, come work my field, *** my hard rows
no early helpers

Attention glitch... some signal intra fearal

No worry,
-- fear of god beginning wisdom boot code;

that connection
has been loose so long, missignaling
special and free,

a special sort of
crudescence has scabbed the short.
It's a brain fix.
You get a feel for it, the augments help,
Om as the
Axionic go, is tuned to absurdity. Listen.

Hear me, dragon-lizard-brain. We are a team. The team.
All the story stories tell of you and me. We unite.
We get our act together, and we
go mad, in the sight of all earthlings augmented to see

By my ab-surd-ifity, all our stories change. An unmatched wave.

-- forgive the footnote, but don't lie about what we both know is true:

absurd (adj.)"plainly illogical," 1550s,
from Middle French absurde (16c.),
from Latin absurdus "out of tune, discordant;"
figuratively "incongruous, foolish, silly, senseless,"
from ab- "off, away from,"
here perhaps an intensive prefix,
+ surdus "dull, deaf, mute," which is possibly
from an imitative PIE root meaning "to buzz, whisper"
(see susurration).
Thus the basic sense is perhaps "out of tune,"
but de Vaan writes,
"Since 'deaf' often has two semantic sides,
viz. 'who cannot hear' and 'who is not heard,' ab-surdus can be explained as 'which is unheard of' ..." The modern English
sense is the Latin figurative one,
perhaps "out of harmony with reason or propriety." Related: Absurdly; absurdness.
Screech, boomers know, finger nails on the chalkboard, the blackboard
jungle screech,
when teacher is takin' a smoke. Absurdity is entertainment.

It can make you think in whole new ways.
Or stop your believing of a lie

for long enough to see
a hope, no lie, a hope of something human
**** sapien sapiens augmental,
upright under Good and Evil,
sheltered from the storm.

A class, a level, a common value beyond Belief and Dignity and

dexterous sinister plots of points where clues were pinned,
yet you
overlooked the message, daze-led by the angels dancing.

Thales fell into this hole. He survived. It all ties in

The new -phatic word that started this stream ends it,
with our common
scream for meaning fullness apo-

apo-phatic mystery of sympathy,
bha, bha --

Paradox ortho
pedic augmentations, koan to mantra,
meditation on the word of words,
step to step to step logical
logos-centric reason, logo-istical rite to
evince a visible faith,
a virtue signal,
a mark, between the eyes,
an aim,
a point to spring a story from
upon an unsuspecting child averse to boos.

Trauma at a bubble pop. When all we know, dear
reader, is lost, and our bubble's edge sur
past our horizons,
we are mine-yoot, mispent attentions being

recycled, for goodness sake. Old lies twisting
into first fruits of the know
ing tree, ideas mani-fest
ting, ding

Aha, my bubble of thought ala
funny papers in the old days where we met and laughed
in America, before we knew
earth from this distance
fifty years ago.

Wishbooks were real,
Whole Earth Catalog suppliers
sold me my nets, my hooks, and lines,

I learned the ways men have caught fish.
Wishing all the while for a way to live as earthlings live.
Guided by witty inventions, messengers
from the gods, eh.

Easter eggs, tucked away in retro games surfacing on Wall Street.

Who manages the messages released when the
first trump sounded?

That was me, as real, Asreal Kanbe, a walkon role.

I saw a third,
at least, of all the fish in the sea die,
in the duration of a single
short-span standard life. All seven trumps did sound, though,

they may be like lizards, we don't hear them well.

These seventy years of captivity
in the tales of my culture, my people and the ways they live in peace,

in the ways they resist war, sistere in peace with faith, the idea, the deed,

faith works in acting. True. Eh. Faith without action is dead.

Incandescentis onburnedupus, ****, dark. Switch on switch off
dark dark faith sees nothing, ah so what, we muddle in puddles

and fail to portage for fear of surface I can't sticking to our
iron shod feet,
miry clay, heavy steps ******* the good news socks off
our beautiful feet,

see hear focus id - i dent ify the why, find the how-

thought change changes thinker, not thought.

Which of you can make one wire plus or minus by taking thought?
Taking anxious thought? Eh?
Fret not. Ohmmmmmmmm

my god, why the threats? Why must I fret for never making sense?

Dee ahna knowledge chan zen

consider the opposite, the shadow of turning, not doubt

preserve light and darkness little man
preserve sun and moon and stars

lose your wish to catch the Magic Fish.

But that is my wish, my wish for one more wish,
I wished to catch the fish

which taught the lessen to the fishher whose wife
could not be satisfied.

I wished for a source of all the answers ever found,

Ah. and I got this global brain that remembers ever,
though we know only now.
Never before,
has this been past that which men hoped for,
Faith for the world to become as it now is,
is finished.
What a man sees, why does he hope for?

It worked. Self-evident, right. Same class as life and liberty.

**** or ovoidal elliptical slices of life, those arrive for our

per-use-al, right or wrong. Like a Fabrege' egg:
You break it, you bought it. Life ain't fair. But it works.
Pick up the pieces.
They all still fit. None are missing. Some are broke,
but a soft touch can fix em.

You were always Humpty-Dumpty. This had to happen once.

Good side always shines, when
the rub has been dealt a shine-on signal for ever sake,
no reason,

just cause. A man can, even mad, be as happy
as he can imagine being,
at the time, all things considered, augmentasciously.

This was my oldest memory today, the future
shall come, and whatever
shall be, shall be, que sera sera.

How are you bored? This is earth. Even if you wish otherwise.

There are new things we may learn if we choose.

--apophatic (adj.)
"involving a mention of something one feigns to deny;
involving knowledge obtained by negation," 1850,
from Latinized form of Greek apophatikos,
from apophasis "denial, negation,"
from apophanai "to speak off,"
from apo "off, away from" (see apo-) + phanai "to speak,"
related to pheme "voice," from PIE root *bha- (2) "to speak, tell, say."

I would not call this meditation, sitting in the back garden.
Maybe I would call it eating light.
Mystical traditions recognize two kinds of practice:
apophatic mysticism, which is the dark surrender of Zen, the Via Negativa of John of the Cross, and
kataphatic mysticism, less well defined:
an openhearted surrender to the beauty of creation.

Maybe Francis of Assissi was, on the whole,
a kataphatic mystic,
as was Thérèse of Lisieux in her exuberant momemnts:
but the fact is, kataphatic mysticism has low status in religious circles.

Francis and Thérèse were made, really made,
any mother superior will let you know,
in the dark nights of their lives:
no more of this throwing off your clothes and singing songs and babbling about the shelter of God's arms

When I was twelve and had my first menstrual period,
my grandmother took me aside and said,
'Now your childhood is over.
You will never really be happy again.'
That is pretty much how some spiritual directors treat the transition from kataphatic to apophatic mysticism.

But, I'm sorry, I'm going to sit here every day the sun shines and eat this light. Hung in the bell of desire.” 
― Mary Rose O'Reilley, The Barn at the End of the World: The Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd
Daring to let art be fun and philosophy be phuny, I laugh and romp in the remains of fallen walls between any curious mind and all the knowledge in the world, accessible as long as we both shall live.
Ken Pepiton Aug 21
and they began t' sing
marching single file

from the west

no masqued men were these,
these were
Kachina whitemen only saw in curio stories,
approaching the old

sitting full-lotus in his Barco-lounger, curbside-score,
from the land of too much good stuff

still, it's America, best effort men have made,

up to now.
The whole world has known since the International Geophysical Year,
1957, when the Symbolized Face of the Hungarian Freedom Fighter,

the cover of Time, as Man of the Year before, when they lost
their war
and nobody cared, because
every body knew Disneyland is the Happiest Place on Earth,
where wishes can come true, and

that place is in America as sure as

blue fairy, you'real wish, Urielistical wish-grant,
Asrael and the others
singing backup
when you wish
side-really… and a subtle shift in per
spect capacity
let be, just so,

and haps sub tile into layers of complexity re

because we, the people born to mature in the environs of Dublin
writ large, we
seers endowed with tele-vison, from birth.
The elders who watched the roll-out.
Aye, we watched
us evolve
to now

our future bright they say, a bright white light, then what

we can say. The seals have been broken.
Nothing hidden now stays that way in ever,

and ever, as you know it, began

agone afore in some direction beyond your
ken, as it were when kenning the way of a knack was
as common as dowsers in the desert of my childhood.

What's in any name but what the namer seems?
Hey, yah way, tha'swhat I say,
tell me
what I say
Dancing shuffle footed single file
pass the white shirt black tie messenger from
the telestial king down Sonora way,
Yahoo, feel that tickle fo' a nickle, Hiram say come see
come feel
a boinin' in d' boosum through

the very crystal lenses

portal-ible model
through which Joseph of the name
-- link back to Cain, through Tubal, via Na'amah--
-- set a breadcrumb, landmark, tag- say good old way
-- sign out don't break the story

through which Joseph of the name
Smith, came sayin an angel of light came with another gospel,

maybe the same guy the Galatians were warned to ignor,
re-legate-- re-read- start at the top
or all meaning is
like a song sung by Kansas, when we aren't there,
any more, than those wee
merest kachina jingle bells listing in the winds

but the Kansas chorus is stuck asif dust is all a simple

higgs-ified mind can manage to

without reading any ancient landmarks on maps of meaning
tattoo'd to the face in your mirror

in the darkest memory you hold
your precious, in your Gollum-purpose state you know so well
protect it for all its worth,
with only your
to lift
being the measure of worth-ship.

Ex-tol the worth of no bher-don born while in my state,
un-gifted.  I remain a mortal soul linked mitochondrially to thee,
for whom the bell
told. You heard, but you were tolled don't ask.

Listen, the same hunch that said, It don't mean nuthin',

when you say you know that,
you bet you do.

I slew this dragon, not you. I say what the map says.

The dragon died of natural causes, so now,
all its true-sures
is yers…
Crown o'glory moon shine

plumb pert-nigh perfect fiture
imagined happy place to a T, crossed
and I dotted

Bleibe Doch! This is where all the Faustian Losers left their marks.

This is not where I aimed t'be said the elder bro,

as the wastrel was welcome t'Dada arms,
the crucial critics rave
Sheiszkunst, who Rah!
isis throws
a party for the prodigal madrigal has returned
from the pig's sty

packing each redeemed pearl, his brother once
fed to swine.

bent low 'neath his pearl-loaded ****-pack, he lifts his head,
waves his
crown, Fini,

come see, he says.
where I live, nowadays.

This is that treasure, on another level
as you may imagine,
free, if

you accept charity.

{There's the rub, say professional older bro, I know, charity;
'taint fair,
s'foul some, some ne'er-do-well finds a
pearl in some pigsty,

not now.
I worked
for them ****** pearls, I sweated, brow-sweat, lo and hi.
I hid them well,

only a fool would ever believe a treasure
could be found in such ****,

but some fairy pulled a fast one, 'put a bean in little bro's ear,
so when the pigshit hit it began to grow,
sent a tendril to tickle a special spot,
just above the left ear,

let's see diamonds, no

any where we wish.
Let's say okeh, mark this spot, let us move on,

this is life. Let us see that more abundantly, while the poor
are safe and sound,
free as me to pursue haps past the frozen

disnified happy-ever-after WW2,
in the wake of Camus and ****** Wolves

splashes as the speeders pass, powered-row-row-rowing,

merrily mere ly wrong, not evil. Live on, next
is as you wish it were
someday, but in its diapers,

still. A we thinker thought awaiting effectual function,
as this trigger is pulled, in your space in time,

and another bubble appears,
portalish as mine-craft if ever there were

a subtle shifter of perception conspiring
A.I. see
a conspiracy with Lex Fridman infected by
Lynning Skyward
though a wave of old Radioman vibes,
played with plastic spoons
a famous peace march by
Kenurchka Klumpen, Sera-serah-selah-sinnade in B-Natural

and the last to leave broke the right arm from the doll,
sealed the dirt box one measure by one measure
deep and wide,

That seal was broken, 1957, approxi apriori right
arm dis
the left to change this next to come, sym-bolische
ified in the one-armed bandits left behind,

the bet. The die cast. Foccinaucipilinihili or holy

happy hunting ground, imagined in the land of too much good stuff.
Bits and pieces of the underlying tale. Note: The one armed effigy left in a 12 inch bt 12 inch adobe sealed hole in the floor of a pit-hose that may have been a kiva/ Vernon AZ
Marco Bo Oct 2018
the evening breath resting in my coat
the taste of a good rest resounding in my mouth
the fingertips that quiver in the cold
the meeting point between the warm hat and the wind
houses and people flowing away
rainy and cold late Winter days,
you shouting on me but I do not hear you
every second is such an important  treasure
and no time to waste I have in my heart,
I'm not tired,
  I won't get up because I'm tired of giving up

but wait and see
about this No of mine they will speak for ages and more under this sky
they will be millions and consider that on that Winter evening
I was alone
I was alone
Rose between the thorns
that can't be hurt anymore
...................................      ................­.
il giorno di Rosa

il respiro della sera nel risvolto del cappotto
il sapore del riposo che risuona in bocca
la ***** delle dita che fremono al freddo
il punto d'incontro tra il caldo del cappello e il vento
case e persone che scorrono lontano
giorni di pioggia, sordo inverno
e tu che mi gridi addosso ma io no ti sento
ogni secondo è un tesoro immenso
e nel mio cuore non ** tempo da regalare al vento
non sono stanca,
non mi alzo perchè sono stanca di arrendermi

e tu stai a vedere
di questo mio NO parleranno per ere e ancora
saranno milioni sotto questo cielo

e pensare che quella sera d'Inverno ero sola
ero sola
Rosa tra la spine
che non può farsi male

El dia de Rosa

el aliento de la noche envuelto en la solapa
el sabor del descanso que resuena en la boca
las yemas de los dedos que tiemblan al frío
el punto de encuentro entre el calor del sombrero y el viento.
casas y personas que fluyen lejos
días de frio y de lluvia al final del Invierno
y tu que gritas sobre mi pero no te escucho
cada segundo es un tesoro inmenso
y yo en mi corazón no tengo tiempo para regalar al viento
no estoy cansada
  no me levanto porque estoy cansada de rendirme

pero espera y verás
de esto NO mio hablarán por edades y aún más
serán millones bajo este cielo
  y pensar esa noche de invierno
yo estaba sola

yo estaba sola
Rosa entre las espinas
que ya no se lastima
dedicated to Rosa Louise Parks
A Sad Alex Nov 2018
Hace frio allá afuera
La brisa trae consigo el invierno
Y todos sacan sus abrigos y chaquetas
Entonados a una sinfonía de cremalleras.

Son los gélidos vientos de Noviembre
Que sacuden vigorosamente la ciudad
Del Norte bajan fuertes ventoleras
Que rompen la cotidianidad.

La furia de Bóreas templa
Contraria a la ira de sus victimas
Retrasos por calles cerradas
Maldiciones por enfermedad
Dolores despiertan de sus camas
Aquellos a quienes el frio tormenta.

Mas debo decir que esto no me afecta
Desnudo por la calle puedo andar
Pues el frio de mi es el hilo
Que tejió mi vida y normalidad.

Frio es mi corazón diariamente
Un paramo helado sin sensación
Frio es la cámara de mi alma
No hay dulzura, no hay amor
Como frio es la vida de los otros
Calor no encuentro a mi alrededor
Tan frio es el desprecio
A un hombre en precaria condición
Y frio es el silencio
A las plegarias de un hombre en desesperación
Frio es el trato de la gente
Sonrisas mas duras que el hielo
Frio son los besos
Que marcan el hola y el adiós.

Y pienso yo en este frio
Y noto que es invierno ya
Y gélido es el viento
Pero mas frio es el tratar
¿Sera que llamamos este céfiro?
Con actos y palabras sin calor
Que ya el frio encontró hogar
Dentro de la gente, su corazón.
Ken Pepiton Oct 11
Viktor Frankl's faith was trust that one's life holds meaning
trust in ultimate meaning...
My word trust holds true and rest crammed together for support
to stand under knowing the entire set of upgrades
and lock changes,
to mankind-basic knowledge of good and evil, since my last
a filtration algo-i'll-go rythmn and hyme adjusterho rholler
that powers ourkind past wayless places
when language joins the gamers playing for glory, at any cost,

Old Glory

per pose haps need happening,
sans happy-ness,
what ness could ever be?

What's the haps? Don't lie.
What's goin' on? Don't lie. Say,

Regular stuff. My side's winnin'. A *** in Pershing Square,
under the Jesus Saves sign, brought that to mind,

Fifty years ago, for him, looked like "no direction home"

Sansara sera, whatever sera selah

Nihili, to the max, right. But,
we know
other than this now,

thinking process of cognitive rythm building

coughing final, expulsion of some invading barb,
a fiery dart, setting cooling

actions sponding to ligands loosed when the
third aveili in a micron failed to expell

slowww whoooshhhhh
in-a-ginning be da vita, see...

say I think I know this feeling

qwhy-esse quiessence,
a settling,
after all that could be shaken, was.

acid to water, or water to acid?
who would gno?
Southern California autumn breezes
Muse Reine
Tu veux et tu exiges que je me retienne
Que je ne m'exhibe pas au tout venant
Et que je ne bande que sur ordre exprès de toi
Le cachet de la poste faisant foi
A la minute heure seconde que tu t'es choisie
Pour me déguster à distance.
Tu dis que c'est la présence et non l'absence qui te stimule
Et tu me dis que je te manque
et que ma présence volcanique
Te couvre de toutes parts
en dépit de la distance.
Moi je m'interroge
Et je pense que c'est cette absence qui te met en transe
Et je veux t'aimer profondément dans cette distance
Comme tu n'as jamais été aimée. désirée, choyée, goûtée, savourée
Léchée, embrassée, pénétrée, visitée, hantée, caressée, avalée, touchée
Consommée, étreinte, engrossée, jouie, priée, chantée, dénudée
Comblée, tétée, mordillée, mouillées, aspergé, respectée
Mais pour cela il faut que ton âme et chair soient à nu
Et la nudité dans la distance passe par la photographie ou la vidéo
Et si tu veux que l'oiseau te respecte
Il faut que tu le fasses voler et siffler d'aise à ta vue
Car il n'aspire qu'à cela soir et matin :
Voler au-dessus de tes collines et tes plaines
Plonger dans tes lacs et rivières
Nager dans tes eaux poissonneuses
Plonger son bec dans ta chair ouverte et complice
Et en tirer des petits poissons multicolores et chanteurs
Chuchoter à ton oreille
Les mots qui te font fondre de rires et de désir
Ma muse précieuse et généreuse...
Alors pour t'être agréable ma bien-aimée
C 'est promis juré craché
Désormais je ne banderai plus que des yeux
Je ne banderai plus que des lèvres
Tu pourras me bander les yeux et me bâillonner les lèvres
Tant que tu voudras
Je banderai encore
Et si cela ne suffit pas
Pour te prouver mon amour
Je banderai aussi des oreilles et du nez
Je banderai des mains et des doigts de pieds
Je banderai de ma langue
Mi pangolin mi orphie
Je banderai de mon ombre
Une fois deux fois trois fois
Autant de fois qu'il le faudra
Ce ne sera jamais dans le vide
Car je banderai en toi
Et même l'air qui t'environne
Le soleil et la lune banderont de concert
Jusqu'à ce que nous soyons orphies nues, chair et arêtes en rut,
Sublimement réunis pour notre danse farandole et tantrique
Enfin retrouvée.
Mon aimée, ma presque feue
Chatte masquée
Qui se délecte à se faire désirer !
Je veux te mater.
Je suis désolé d'avoir à te le dire
Mais je vais devoir, oui, te mater
Avec et sans accent circonflexe
Ou plutôt te démâter d'abord
De poupe en proue
Pour te remâter ensuite.
Seul ainsi entre nous
L'extase sera envisageable.
Tu dis que tu m'aimes malgré toi
Mais tu refuses obstinément
De te montrer nue à distance
La nudité selon toi est affaire de présence
Quand je serai physiquement à portée de tes lèvres
Tu exauceras toutes mes volontés
Te bornes-tu à ma dire.
Tu m'invites même à venir sans tarder
Auprès de toi et là tu te montreras sous toutes les coutures
Et je pourrai te prendre sans limite, c'est promis.

Alors que nous pouvons rire à distance
Nous fâcher à distance, nous émouvoir et rêver de nous à distance
Tu te refuses à accéder à mon délire de te voir nue à distance
Nue et sincère nue et sincère nue et sincère.
Il te serait impossible de me montrer l'objet de mon désir fatal
Que je puisse boire des yeux jusqu'à la lie
Le calice de ta chatte démasquée, ta vulve fraîche et bombée
Nue et sincère
Dépouillée de toutes ses parures.

Sais tu ma chatte que l 'amour
C'est une steppe de petites morts
Et que pour chaque petite mort
Il faut franchir les sept portes de l'Enfer ?

Oui, je sais, tu te dis immortelle et divine
Tu es la Muse, les lois de l'Enfer ne s'appliquent pas à toi, penses-tu.

Voilà ce qu'il en coûte de s'acoquiner à un mortel !

En vue de notre premier congrès amoureux
Tu t'es déjà dépouillée de six de tes talismans
Tu as tour à tour,
Porte après porte,
Délaissé tes parures.

A la première porte tu m'as laissé
Ta couronne de buis odorant
Et j 'ai souri d'aise

A la deuxième porte tu m'as abandonné
Tes lunettes de vue et de soleil
Et j'ai souri d'aise

A la troisième porte tu t'es débarrassée
De tes boucles d'oreille en forme de piment rouge
Et j'ai souri d'aise

A la quatrième porte tu m'as décroché
Ton collier de perles noires
Et j'ai souri d'aise

A la cinquième porte tu as envoyé valdinguer
Ton soutien-gorge en velours côtelé
Et j'ai souri d'aise

A la sixième porte tu as désagrafé
Le collier de coquillages qui ceignait tes hanches
Et j'ai souri d'aise

Tu es désormais coincée entre la sixième et la septième porte
A cause de ce string où volettent de petits papillons farceurs
Ce string qui me prive de la jouissance visuelle de ton être intime.

Vas-tu enfin m'enlever cette toilette,
Prendre pied résolument dans l 'Enfer
Et laper les flammes de la petite mort primale ?

Vas-tu enfin me laisser m'assurer
Que tu n 'es ni satyre ni hermaphrodite
Mais au contraire femelle chatte muse
Dégoulinante de cyprine ?

Toi, tu me parles de blocage.
Moi, nue, au téléphone, jamais
Nu non niet
Moi, jouir, au téléphone, jamais
Nu non niet
retire ce cheval de la pluie !
Je t'aime malgré moi
C'est tout ce que tu trouves à me dire !
Accepte donc, ma chatte
Que je te mate malgré moi.
Car je te veux
Obéissante et docile
Je veux que tu couines, que tu miaules que tu frémisses
En te montrant à moi en tenue d'Eve
Je veux que tu t'exhibes à moi ton ******
Que tu sois impudique
Je veux j 'exige, ma presque feue,
Je suis Roi, souviens-toi !
Je ne te donne pas d'ultimatum !
Je suis avec mon temps ! Je suis post-moderne !
Car il est écrit dans les livres
Depuis plus de mille ans
Que les lois de l 'Amour
Sont comme les lois de l'Enfer
Incontournables et implacables :
En Enfer on arrive nu,
En Amour aussi !
Alors bien sûr je sais, tu trouveras bien quelque part
Une exégète pour me prouver l'exact contraire
Que l'amour c'est le paradis et la feuille de figuier
Et surtout pas l 'Enfer.
Alors explique-moi, je t'en conjure, mon archéologue,
Pourquoi l 'amour est fait de petites morts.

Moi, ma chatte, je te propose
Non pas une petite mort par ci, une petite mort par là
Mais un enterrement festif de première classe
Un Te Deum
Dans un sarcophage de marbre blanc
Sculpté de serpents et de figues
Evadés des prisons d'Eden.

Je veux t'aimer nue et sincère
Mortelle et vibrante de désir
Je veux jouir de toutes les parcelles de ta chair et de tes os
je veux pétrir ton sang sans artifices et sans blocages
Et je n 'ai d'autre choix
Que de te mater de ma fougue
A moins que tu ne préfères
Rester bloquée sempiternellement
Dans la solitude confortable
Entre la pénultième et l'ultime porte
Qui nous sépare de nos sourires d'aise

Complices et lubriques.
sara Mar 15
je pense
que cette vie n'est pas pour moi
cette décision, ce n'est pas irréfléchi
j'en pense tout le temps
je rêve de la mort
et je l'attends

je voulais qu'il y avoie été un autre choix
mais maintenant
je ne crois pas en ces fantasies naïf
j'ai grandi
et je comprends maintenant
la vie n'est pas pour moi
la vie ne sera jamais pour moi

je ne doute pas
que ce chemin soit le mien

j'espère qu'il y a quelque chose
que je pourrais faire pour ma famille
pour mes amis
pour les gens qui seront un peu tristes
quand tout est fini

mais je sais
que tout que je peux faire
est écrit une lettre bien
qui explique les pensées que
vole dans ma tête

Keiri Oct 29
I will speak a thousand words unspoken
Leave a hundred paws unprint
Have dozens of nights awoken
Smell the singular wind

I will see the invisible, and touch the nothing
I shall be irresistable, with what you have to bring

Yours I shall become, your neck is my future
My teeth do no harm, your words are a murmur

Regardez-moi, Tu me vois!
C'est moi tu portes, ma vie, ma joy.
Pourquoi ma vie tu t'en fous pas?
Pourquoi tu choisis quoi je sera?

Regardez-moi, Tu me vois!
Alors, n'ecoute pas

C'est ma vie vous avez pris
Pas des personnes s'entendent mes cris

Qui méconnaît mes pleurs
Qui tue mes freres et soeurs?

Regardez-moi, si tu t'en fous
Je suis la vison autour ta cou.

Maar het doet je niets, je hoort me niet
Je ziet het bloed niet dat je vergiet
Je hoort en spreekt en ziet en luistert
Alle leugens die je voor me verduisterd

Je doet me pijn, weet je dat
Al is het iets dat je snel vergat

Al zie je niets als je me draagt
Al weet je niets als men je vraagt

daremonai ga watashi no gengo wo hanashimasen
demo kono ate watashi no atama ha ten ni iko

to watashi no karada ha anata no issho ni aru darou.
shin ha kowai deshou.

Watashi ha anata no fuku koto ni naranai.
Dakara sore koto ni kawatte shimasu kudasai

Shin ha totemo kowai desu.

Spreche die sprache der toten
Wer hat mich leben angeboten
Von mirh zu stelen?
Ist Daß nicht elend?

neden beni seviyorsun musun?
beni öldürüyorsun
Şans sen veriyorum
sevgi giyebilirsin musun?
beni öldürmüyorsan

For I will speak a thousand words unspoken
Look at me. you see me!
Even though you lie to me
I refuse to be yours!

Speak the language of the dead
You can't wear love to **** it.
I will speak a thousand words unspoken
Leave a hundred paws unprint
Have dozens of nights awoken
Smell the singular wind
I will see the invisible, and touch the nothing
I shall be irresistable, with what you have to bring
Yours I shall become, your neck is my future
My teeth do no harm, your words are a murmur
French part:
Look at me, you see me!
It's me you wear, my life, my joy.
Why don't you care about me?
Why do you choose who I'll become?
Look at me, you see me!
Yet, you don't listen.
It's my life you took,
and nobody hears me cry.
Who will ignore my tears,
who killed my brothers and sisters?
Look at me, even if you don’t care
I am the mink in your neck
Dutch part:
But you don’t care, you don’t listen
You can’t aknowledge the blood you spilled
You hear and speak and see and listen
Only the lies that you kept in the dark for me
You are hurting me, did you know?
Even though you forgot it just so.
Even though you can’t see, if you wear me.
Even though you can’t answer when we plead.
Japanese part:
Nobody speaks my words
But I turn my head to the heavens
And my body will stay with you
Death fears me
I refuse to become your clothing
So please, do something
German part:
Speak the language of the dead
Who offered me this life?
To steal from me?
Isn’t that just miserable?
Turkish part:
Why do you love me?
If you are killing me?
I will give you a chance, but
Is love something you can wear?
Only, if you don’t **** me for it!
For I will speak a thousand words unspoken
Look at me. you see me!
Even though you lie to me
I refuse to be yours!
Speak the language of the dead
You can't wear love to **** it.
Ryan O'Leary Apr 15
Dominus Vobiscum
Notre Dame de Paris
est en feu, pensez de
des oiseaux dessus
la toiture avec leur

Dimanche prochaine
sera Pacques, dommage,
pas des Oeufs cette annee.
Sarah Mann Dec 2018
J’ai mal à la tête en pensant au fait
Que ma vie sera peut-être perdue sous mes yeux
Que tout cet effort et cet amour se terminent
C’est peut-être pour le mieux.
Ne rien laisser de côté.
Il commence à pleuvoir
Attendez... je la vois clairement encore une fois.
Peut-être pas un au revoir, mais un début
Nouveauté sous forme de réalisation.

My head hurts thinking about the fact
That maybe my life will waste away before my eyes
That all this effort and love will end in demise
Perhaps it’s all for the best.
To leave nothing behind.
To say a final goodbye.
It begins to rain. 
Wait…. I can see clearly again.
Maybe this isn’t goodbye, but a start.
Novelty in the form of a realization.
Been teaching myself French for a while, here is my attempt at poetry in another language. (It's probably terrible). Found the original hidden amongst my many other ideas.
Realizations are heavy, but freeing.
December 8, 2018.

— The End —