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Carter Ginter Jun 2018
What a day
What a life
I've been here many times
But none of them felt like this

My first year
I saw this couple
They were dancing and singing
As they gazed into the other's eyes
The love there was palpable
And to a young queer person
Feeling extremely alone and unlovable
I cried because I didn't think
I could ever be worth
A love quite like that

Then this year happened
I thought they were a new crush
But those gorgeous eyes locked into mine
And I feel like I've known them for ages

A few drinks in and
The anxiety begins to fade away
As our bodies time themselves to the rhythm
Of music I didn't think I could dance to
As strangers question the intensity
Of the intimacy between us
And would probably freak if they knew
That we've only known each other
Just over two weeks
But time is irrelevant and
Feelings are everything

Their vibrant energy electrocutes mine
Sending my body into both a
Simultaneous rush and deceleration
As we are transported beyond this space
Beyond the heavy crowds
To a place of our own
Where no one can touch us
Where no one else exists
Where it's only them and I
Staring into each other's eyes
And feeling each other's souls
Exactly where I wanted to be
Is exactly where I am
Lizzy Feb 2016
I'm smarter than
Most people i know,
But i've been cursed
With the ability to
Feel.

I have a multitude of thoughts
Being triggered every second.
Each with their own
Unique emotion.

I feel each one vividly,
And with amazing depth
Creating a storm in my head
Impossible to ignore.

My storm of emotions
Grows so strong,
It prevents the simultaneous thoughts
From being articulated
Or understood.

I can confuse myself,
And break my own heart
Because of the complexity
Of my mind.
An astounding talent, really.

My dad says I'm smart,
Too smart for my own good.
And he's probably right.

What good is a brain,
When your heart makes all the decisions?
pitch black god8 Apr 2018
”good night, good travels, pitch black”

depending on how one counts,
cause size matters,
do have I
one small blessing


though little do I get, more-less,
in each twenty four measuring cup,
when the sleep gas has come-for-inhaling,
lidded heavy with greatful/tearful anticipation,
it’s less than sixty seconds till
dispatched to where all poems
plead like unborn angels for
good parentage

the spoken good night ritual signaled and completed
with a perfect half turn skating axel onto ones side,
preceded by, a single solid smacking of
an innocent but flaccid, equally tired pillow,
then lost in pitch black galaxy travels
with other sleep-drunk little princes

instead of the wavering, singular word,
a traditional goodnight,
a parting and a haling simultaneous mumbling issuing,
undebated and a wish shot to all within dream-shot, a title,

“good travels”

to places where ferment the aging words under
the winemakers watchful caring eyes opening,
names or titles, same difference, for the newborn babes
Meandering Mind Sep 2018
is there some way in which
the past
the present
the future
are all the same
are all wrapped up
are all on one line i wrote write will write
instead of three separate?


in some ways
4 dimensional space-time
says yeah
sure
that's kinda sorta it:

all the space that exists in
this time
is simultaneously existing in
this time
and in
this time
and in
this time

so all the time that exists in
this space
is perhaps also
all simultaneously existing in
this space
and in
this space


but mostly
the world looks at me
says
nah dude
you're just insane
Connor Aug 2018
Pleasing each other in the perfect
black night
(wretched forest)

Hands gripped tight against your waist,
on my knees, the dirt below digs into my skin
which is okay
We can hardly be heard midst the lively pandemonium
surrounding our loveliness

Drop-down
like a Luciferean Prima Donna
in silk /
walk on flowers of both Hemispheres
telling me how much you adore me & you

As equals in our posture-possession
unable to stand straight/shrouded by holy creamy
doves closing-in
muffling our mutual shrieks (as to be private and without gathering too much a crowd)

O Autumn Calypso
keeper of the scales, of the riddle
& the promise simultaneous -
- I am your victim and your master, trafficking our fragility
into a glorious Unknown, shade & essence of leaves wavers in the quieting hour,
seduced - transfixed & ravished in a wondrous spectacle
with Enchanter's nightshade laurel endowed on high

****, close and
hot - unrehearsed arias told by tongues  -
while we seep further in a hallowed guise/harp misplaced -
excommunicated from the Stead we traversed
before on ideal grounds – too late to remember or
repent – dabbling in magic with our double identity - now one insoluble drapery of illuminations
being shepherded into a ferocious
intoxication of its own fluid magnificence – a Narcissus gazing back, decaying with vehemence
Jordan Hudson Sep 2018
One distant item relative to the other
Puts the items further back from one another
Space and time and dimensional science
States that time and distance determine simultaneous reliance
Grand theories and made up ideas from mankind
Are combined and intertwined together to make us blind
From what is really happening around us, now it is just undefined
Knowledge of what really matters in the world
All of this should not be hurled away
Otherwise our lives would be so much different today
I just wanted to say don't fall through that trapdoor
There is an uproar of lies that will lead to the third world war
I can't say for sure what they'll do, you always be aware of higher beings that are stealing your soul while they are pleasing your eyes as you are sleeping and then tomorrow you are needing more of the new inner being they created from your old dust, don't trust those that lie
Corrupt beings, higher up, leaders that you trust
Are creating things that fill fall through Earth's crust
And are controlled by what we don't know
Corrupt beings, higher up, leaders that you trust
Are creating things that fill fall through Earth's crust
And are controlled by what we don't know
The government being corrupt sometimes
About government being corrupt sometimes
B L Jun 2014
Cheated and defeated –
                      my mistakes, themselves, repeated...
A monster made of gluttony;
                     I’ve no option but to feed it.

I saw the writing on the walls,
           But, my feeble eyes had failed to read it.
Still... I’m not convinced that this warning,
        Was chosen by my eyes, not to be heeded.

Perhaps my head was the catalyst
           A byproduct of an acid trip;
           Had split this world in two.
Some for me, and some for you.
Maybe . . . this warning wasn’t meant for me.
Maybe . . . it’s for the second half of two.

“Ye kind-hearted shall not go forth”
                              … is what I believe it said,
But I can’t be too certain.  
                              After all, I’ve lost my head.
And that brings up some emotions;
                              Or maybe they're allusions?
Although, I can’t tell through the hallucinations
                If these are real or illusory movements.

So the fish hook pulled me deeper . . .
                       All the while, stretching skin.
                       I knew not about the rabbit hole
                       to which I just dove in.

It seemed a lot more like an alley when I first took a glance,
But once I took that fateful step, I guess I chose to dance.

                Oh, what a recital it’s been!  
                And we haven’t yet hit intermission!
                Although I’m not sure when that is…
                                       For I seem to have lost my vision.

The Queen of Hearts shouted,
                              “Off with his head!”
But without a brain to notice,
      I couldn’t hear what she had said.
She said it before the guillotine dropped…
So was my brain already gone
                      when my head hit the block?

I’m not sure where to find the pieces.
                     I didn't know I fell apart.
                     I didn’t know
I was a headless servant
                    To the heartless
                    Queen of Hearts.
Now, without a head,
                   I’m trying to piece it back together.
And I’m worried that this rabbit hole
           just may have me trapped here forever.

So, I trace my steps backward, to try to find my "forward."
But as I set my pace faster, I find I'm moving slower.
Things turn upside down, when you’re this far down . . .
And the carousel just spins – around and around.
Gaining speed, with increasing malice,
I hopped right on --
        and chose a different path than Alice.

Here we arrive again at choice, but was it one at all?
This is when I found the Hatter – where the bounds of logic fall.
He asked me why I was there.
             He said, “My boy, have you gone mad?”
And as I searched for reason,
                                          I concluded that I had.

Standing on the ceiling,
            we both watched the world, twirling.
Sipping from our cups,
            between the stirs of sterling.
We chatted over tea, and while I was now content with spinning . . .
My content grew simultaneous
with the Cheshire Cat’s grinning.
He looked at me and said,
                                      “Upside down, yet, you seem alright?”
I responded with a “Hm…”
                                        and my spinning turned to flight.

I flew from the table and
       As I questioned if I was stable,
I grasped for the air.
       And for the first time . . .
                                          I was able.

Apart from the question, I now knew that I was mad,
Because I gripped a fist of air,
                             knowing full-well it can’t be grabbed.
I swung through the air…
                                    maybe I flew . . . I’m not sure.
But as I passed over ground, I surveyed it for Her.
I looked for Alice as my guide,
                              but someone took her place:
The "heartless" Queen of Hearts
                                     and her over-sized face.
Was it the face? Or just the head?
                            What’s ahead without a face?
It seems I lost the bounds of logic
                                    upon my fall from grace.

Was I flying?
Or was I falling?
It seems that orbit was my calling . . .
Where, as high as I fly,
   the paradox of orbit keeps me falling.
Maybe I’ll stay out here, where it’s quiet by the stars
And there’s no signs to read;
               no catalysts for scars.  
But did I ever escape?
                Am I still in the hole?
I found among these fragments
          the completion to my soul.

Somewhere between falling and flying,
              I told the truth while I was lying
And found my equilibrium
               between the living and the dying.
Aspen Welsch Feb 26
I want
a quiet mind.
A slice of space time
carved out, specifically mine.
I lost and found fullness in the void.
The promise of isolated existence,
of a transcendent world where I forget.
Of matter absorbing, swallowing, expanding and
delivering me the gift of nothing and something
together, motionless silenced in a simultaneous moment of
hush.

Still, the universe goes ever on and on.
There is power in the invisible.
The interlocking dualities of push and pull
only felt and shared, not seen.
There are forces binding us in the black abyss
which separate and join in tense dances
through made-up minutes which bend endlessly.
What is real?
Is a vacuum really empty?

I find comfort in the nothing,
that is also everything.
sophie mechaune Oct 2018
Sweet
Ever so to speak
When the warmth
Fills your cheeks
Honey I want to meet
Where you promised me
Soft
You are, I think
Your morning soul
Soothes imagining
Simultaneous inspiring
Gently tugging
At me
To come forth and be
To voice willingly
In the comfort of this
Safety
I see me
inspired by the morning soul tea at mishka's cafe (davis, ca)
Still Crazy Jun 2015
~~~

Happy Father's Day, God in Heaven!
(A Continuing Dialogue)


~~~

wonder if I am the first,
even the last,
to wish a deity,
happiness based on a human construct

but feeling groovy with you,
meaning we ride sums of the same
curves and the lines, grooves,
connecting holes in the palms of
our hands

ya see,
got some familiarity
with
fatherhood...
and all that entails

the balance of imbalance,
it's tough I know,
load-bearing children,
leave ten ton scars,
but don't expect no
tea and sympathy from me

you and I,
we have our beefs,
and by the by,
master of the universe,
nothing has changed between us,
just saying, for the record,
ya know, for our inscribed
bible personal with our own bible argumentative stories privé

a human has no right to offspring,
but off they spring,
when the '**** dam’ springs a leak,
and them kids then spend
their lives.
saying yes and no
in light speedy abundance,
or worse!
ugh

...whatever...

if
they respondez
to whatever you suggest-see

rebels even when
they hug you
around the knees,
all knowing we papis (poppys)
fully, way in advance,
that in their supposed adulthood,
children will curse and bless you with
the equality principle
of self-righteousness and I know everything

Let us think upon it....

somewhere in the world,
it is a sabbath,
your citizen-creations
are beheading and burning
each other, Papa,
in your name,
so Happy Father's Day...

I mean,
really, that must be tough,
so it's perfectly clear
why you created free will,
all parents need a way to
walk away sometimes from
the children's choices

somewhere in the world,
it is a sabbath,
billions sending you a
litany of liturgy, a sweet songbook
in so many languages,
the simultaneous translation machina
must get overheated,
all those human claques submitting
liar loans applications

the backlog must be
eons in length

you see,  I am,
muy simpatico

of fatherhood,
what is my expertise?

a fair question
from one who provided
us the classic excuse,
"that's so not fair"

two sons have I,
a Cain and Abel,
so in this, expertise,
we've trod familiar ground

but this be about us pops,
not about how our embodied creatures,
bent and beautiful,
sending us formalities of video thanks,
should they remember or be bothered

maybe we should institute
greater frequency
of celebratory notifications,
making it easier for all of us
to forget,
lessen the guilt, the ache,
for it's more convenient, easier
to be overlooked,
with familiarity

nah,
I am not a complaint
in human guise,
not much, anyway,
and don't you fret,
I got you
a Father's Day present

as appealing as it is,
atheism in me won't take root,
cause I look forward to giving you
holy hell, next we meet
it's so richly deserved
so maybe I'll repost this in a year,
or maybe, I’l be close enough
to whisper this in your ears,either way, come hell or
high water,
Meus Pater,
you can bet your last bitcoin or
anything you might value,
I'll be bugging you,

(cause I'm
still crazy after all these years,
from standing upright,
on one left foot,
showing the world the poetry
of your world)

so tween us, I wish us
a Happy Father's Day
*best wishes
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/?title=Father's_Day
just one of our prior conversations:

A Personal God - Wailing and Complaining
for my friend, AJB, mother, artist

why
would anyone believe in invisible...
coordinator of billions of trillions
of interactions daily,
the microscopic
the telescopic

at what level
is there intercession
where is the
intervention,
rhymed reasoning of
impoverishing failing-me inadequate comprehension

so here I am
at 4:00 am
wailing and complaining
not so much at life's happenstance,
not even a foolish why me uttered,
talking to invisibility,
demanding culpability
at the very least
an apology

by that act
admitting the fact
that in conversation with parties
invited and drop-ins welcome,
in the silence sewn
in the residence permanent
of my mind's lobe of disquietude

logic forgone,
I am a believer,
no understanding
nor forgiving
at the illogic
of my tragedy
mine,
not so divine,
wailing and complaining

this my diatribe
knowing your silence
is a listening signature,
my complaining and wailing
my curse my blessing,
my transmitting frequency
of a multivariate equation
demanding a solution

too busy mastering the universe?
your data base
endless and unfathomable
file this under
audios of
YouTubes of
complaining and wailing,
hoping you cleanse yourself
with a good long listen
my mind is a simultaneous contradictions
never a clear black and white
wrong and right
passed the daylight my mental agony is back
vicious cycle of fight
who will win
unnecessary anxiety or liberation of heart
back and forth
filled with guilt, doubt, confussion
motive: platonic intimacy restoring my balance

is it though?
is it platonic?
feels downright impossible to argue if I do not feel anything
these rush of joy everytime you're near
how I don't want anyone else to ever touch you

tonight when the moon is up
we'd escape with eachother again
310519 | 23:01 AM coffee shop Samakami, "ya terserah kamu kalau kamu ga percaya, kamu yang milih buat ga percaya."
caroline Dec 2018
the body is calm, sleek and streamlined
while the straps are tightened
until the skin bulges at the edges
of each steel buckle

the machine whirs on
the red light taunting along with the audience
residue of a smile is left on face inside

until the air’s too thin
the onlookers cheer
the simultaneous roaring
of both fatal instruments

the sounds then cease
and the smoke then clears
but all that remains when the gears stop cranking
is a single shard of glass
with no reflection

and the crowd goes wild
Reflections get to be seen by the psychologists
In the two simultaneous forces; smile and silence
The body can progress towards depression
Towards slump
Englishman say
Choose the will not the way
Leave the glass, leave the glass
The only way

The objective of life is early morning
One destination
This time
Baljit is a say

Dr Baljit Singh
Sunday 21 July 2019

Perhaps, it is a worry due to affection towards life
Sometimes life happy
Sometimes scary
Life finding way
Joyce Jul 6
sol
a hole in the sky
where gold, pink and orange dust enters
a spotlight
for three billion simultaneous plays
Ruby Nemo Dec 2018
There's a certain attractiveness in agony
To be drawn to something destructive
Like perpetual bliss within a simple discomfort

Whether your soul is old, or it's just learned wisdom
The distraction serves as a habitual nuance
Slowly pulling the strings of routine until each knot is loosened,
Each wall built up is cut into a thousand pieces

Please refrain from bestowing temptations upon me
For I am not strong
I lack critical mindful muscles, and in place are romantic fantasies
I haven't trained my posture to withstand it all,
So do me a favor, leave me untied, all broken up
If not, I shall succumb to a heartthrob personality
My body is fully unable to afford it

With words, a gentle mind is twisted
With a glance, the guiltless eye wanders
I have come to learn that, despite all attempts to repel emotional buckles, the severity of a sweet soul is far too powerful to overcome.
It seems as if I have no choice at all

I am feeling corrupted
Though you promise me ease
Teach me to have faith in your dismemberment
Simultaneous devotion to a psyche so unfamiliar to me
I'm wrapped up in chains, though you swear to me freedom

To where can I possibly turn?
12-13-18
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Axt would I, I sed yah soyam

Signing a song played in the white noise that surrounds me

nights like these past 7043,

Who chounted en chant em, enchantemgood

So no we are at what is a befinning place.
beginning (90's too ****, U2 too Northern Euro,
Green Day, Coolio,
Noise to a message dying to be heard
welcome to another
imaginary garden in an ever expanding mind

field of unthinkable things,
back then

we have whiteout but it doesn't work here

My culture had near simultaneous eruptions of supermarkets

and Fords.

This guy, his culture had near simultaneus disruptions of progress and
interruptions of information
some os were lost in the middle synchrony
instance if I cationic plus or minus
simaltan

Oh, I get it. You, dear reader, have been
out of it.
We went public with the entire plan for public
key distribution,
through six palanced stacks of energy stores

Chakra, chi, science make ya think eh. Polarize, see

everything groovy --no
[contemprayery idle intense ify AI keep us current]

lie, good, no lie is always safe. Don't wanna stumble any souls.

I was mentioned, my being a speaker in a story, I was said
to have said something, upon a time,
on the cover of the Rolling Stone,

I witnessed a lie being told and said my ears weren't garbage cans,
like a brainwashed cult

no, **** I was a cultivated follower of a confessed
follower cultivator.

I bloom when I imagine being treated as a mushroom,
I never paid much attention,
I never felt
insane
but
I can imagine
wee whatifs crept in… aha

The Olde Deluder, Satan, Act

that, a tiny gleam, a single ATP gone ADP

but there was light. A story I lived is now being told
without me,
oy vey Jah knowaddamean.

There was a wiseman, who,
by his wis-dom saved a city, and no one knew
that same wiseman's name,

proverbs are intentional games, the rules,
hiding a thing, done by God, glory ifies him
seeking out a matter, done by a being translated king,
transmutes that seeking into honor

Honor is hard to compare to the war flavored twists,
knots and tangles where woof and warp held

long long long before war was imagined, honor was.

A medal of honor for valor, what does it mean?

Leonard Wood got one. For his part in solving
the Apache problem.
He also,

Flash I had my wires crossed, in a way, it may
enlighten.
You see, I had thought that I had read Leonard Wood,
be cause I had imagined he was in New Jersey, but that
was Lord Amherst, Jeff

He tweerted ( wrote in a letter on paper we've a fact simile):
"to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

From <https://www.umass.edu/legal/derrico/amherst/lord_jeff.html>

Could be the source of the whole shores of triple ease retirement lure/trap/moneymoneymoney makeit fakit

I asked once, who's to blame and whose to blame,
samesame came an answer, I sware, quick as

next, twixt being and being possible,

realize

we do change things, in time, which,

if we can agree, is limited for us,
to now, no thens behind

mere, mere, mere ifs and whens ahead

be

--so there's been music all along
life's the song

skip a decade, like skippin' a grade

grad Harvard at a prepubescent 12

If I had a Hammer time, one message

one valiant try to be will smith,

Live and Learn, old man, say the dude on the radio
in he's hammaheadphones, cain't touch

Bomb. Jesus lent me Jael's hammer,
radioman nailed it.

If I had a hammer was the prayer,

MC, he was the Godsmacked nail in the coffin

Dark inside gothish messages hurgle and gurgle
guts twisted in freak pride love hate list lust

dichotomies of choice in ever learning
good citizenship worth honor and glory

of the sort men dare to die for, facing darkness,
the NULL set ***** and ***** and *****

This ain't gravity tuggin me,
this is that monster who lives forever in top forty radio

When/then Radioman emerges, Like the Mighty Quinn from

deep beneath Gibson's darkest ever imagined ICE wall…

What's on? (ellipses, do those mean POV shift or selah?)

I forget, s still all alchemistry t'me, if allyagots ahammass,

realize, if it matters, t'me, bubble bustin' need no nail.

I gotti'd a hamma, gonna hamma in the moan

O.G., mighty man of valor, where'dyew arise from?

We, the integrated us, non autonomous, inarrogant
We were dancin' to that I'm a Loser, Baby

so why don't cha killme, knowwad i'msayin

This old man been wandern in the desert far far far
side the madding crowd
making minced
meet
broken spirit. we goin together to a re-pair place

at the center of you'n'all you know, yo bubble but

--- everlearning everclear outlawed, good lawed
--- moon shine spiritment lauded out loud
--- the world all ways works when a garden is

beyond the pale,
Irish
rye whiskey, wheat bread liqui
if I were an
old *** ninties guy drinking ***** laudnum
singin'

on the corner with the hourus girl's c

Making the Con Next Ion, watchathank,
is it The Nineties A to Z , ending wit, it’s a hard
knawks life, or

a Bohr-TED talk or
a video of Schrödinger's  
verdamte dead cat?

Or am I surrounded by so great acloud of witnesses that some times I spend

simply hummin' along, life's beat me to the ground,

which gladly,
I'm so glad, I'm glad, I'm glad which

loses its meaning if you never experienced such a fall
ending in absorption of it all.
****** Baker, slam that cymbal, CRASH1

Life, in every key, there's a clue. Some where,
there's a lock on a true thing we need

to, eventually, know all things.

Keywords lost givitawaygivitawaygit it back tenfo'

Black spirit-filled tongue talkin' grandpa friend of
Johnny Walker, Red not Black,

He challenged me ye see. I recall what was on TV.
Nixon sayin' he,
honest he,
anti-****** he,
bombin invadin he was Notacrook, the super hero
he imagined

Bio is building energy, all the time does is
test the effort.

Is life lived this way worth the effort?
if/then/else

Who chose, integrated me, all the masks and voices I have accepted as ideas that can have apiece of me.

BTW, kids, even if an angel of light asks you to take a little piece of my heart, don't

yer killin me and I know where the next story started,

you are lost without me, fretnot, I'm the way

I heard that, that's no claim I mist'tok as my response.

Deeper, are we absobbing any thing, deeper tincture
of time, t'me see

POV
SameYesTodayForever (SYTF) protocols have been in place, as far as we know,

since words made sense naturally, eons ago, at least.

If you want my future then forget my past
musing medium messages sayin

what the hell? A game, you sayin' life's a game?

Ja, was oder vice nicks versus universal soldier godlet

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

I woulda danced with wolves to have changed
one mind that followed me

beyond that point,
no return, is such a mortal POV, you see
as far as you cansee

Deep. the gem. all the meaning ever was was
in that gem.

Dare me for no reason? Is that reasonable,
ration my tears to test my mettle

I went mad in 1995, have I made that plain?
Things crumbled around me for ten years,

I was helped by hoping I knew a truth about those
manifested imaginary gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning og every mystery unknown to man

eh, say again
gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning OhGEE every mystery unknown to man

lies lies lies they all were lies lies lies lies

I told you so, and it is still sweet to say
you know

You heard it all before, greatest test story ever told.
That was no test.
this is.

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

Epic stories deserve more than mere words,
but, you know, click,

words are what we make things from.

Tell me your stories,
she woulda seemed to whisper, woulda drained me drownd me
in just if I'd love linked

to the money machine of your dreams

had I not rode the grey dog outa Nashville,
back in '82,

I'da missed seein' flyover country that feels like mine,
when I take this POV.
I wandered into a sattelite radio 90's A-Z, kinda like those histories of philosophies old people listen to when they're ******. Oh, the moonshine experiment worked, FYI
Tint Nov 2018
The swooshing of an aircraft
as I struggled to image paint
not knowing that all of my body
is the sailcloth, a masterpiece

My eyes is blinded by madness
and I would blame an empty head
and the blade that was my weapon
is used to myself instead

Who will defend me, a woeful being
will you sacrifice your creed?
If the waves of the ocean water
they will drown you to your death

I am the moon lover
and the rain is my mistress
When they see me together
I am the king of chains

And we all will gleam simultaneous
the light, the water, and flame
oh! the two of them outshined me
still, I am bewitched.
Frio. The cold. The ice. The talker and the chained.
Logan Robertson Oct 2018
We Were No Longer Hermits

She came into my life
By the sea.
We were like two hermit *****
Sunning on the shore.
I looked at her
She looked at me.
We both looked away.
Says who
To the lost love at bay.
She peeked again
The shyness began to reign.
Simultaneous bestow
Hello launched its flow
We both now had a glow.
The inches by inches we came to be.
Into the sea, we go
Both of us filled with glee.
We swam the floor
Passing
Rock bottoms
And low tides
To opening a new door
At the core.
At the shore
She was swell
I was in her spell.
She rocked the boat
I felt her love by rote.
And
Off into the blue yonder
We went far,
Side by side,
Through the highest tide
We are.
A seed was soon implanted
The kingdom was enchanted.
Mama and the hermitage chanted.
When the shells came off
Through the seas we are coif.
As a new life permits
We were no longer hermits.

Logan Robertson

10/18/2018
I can dream a storybook, dream. Paint a picture, brush. Frame
it in my mind, like always. Turn the pages ... with tears in my eyes.
Sally A Bayan Apr 11
:
..
....
........
...........

As often as a human's breath,
deadlines and restrictions pop up
simultaneous with emergencies
chores, and necessities...all in a fast
pace, many things are prioritized
...though, most are unnecessary and
occupy precious space in our lives...

everyday, we struggle...silent battles
and tribulations stir the soul...
for some reason, some things cannot
be changed...some people play deaf
and stay the same.....neither could
thoughts towards them, be altered...
sometimes, our ties with useless stuff,
and useless people...need to be severed.
moments come when, we've had enough
..............of rules and regulations.
...................we just get fed up...

life is short, but precious.....a part of me
....awaits a break......a cold phase,
.........when all my discontent would freeze
..............when all queasy feelings
...................this fidgeting within,
........................would turn to ice
..............................permanently.....
.................­......
...................
.............
.........
......
....
..­
.

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
(an old unposted poem from 2014)
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Specialism, electro mechanical circuits,

moving parts yet move, you see, but when we read we bring our senses
inside
privacy can become a public mind, if one is connected, in a giving way,
taking thought,
as the original medium we found message in,
thought takes form
in words,
words take form in things. Right. Check.

Blake feared the objective world was being walled in,
and all the people screamed, amen.
Again

Build the wall, from icons demoted to mites of no more
weight than a tinker's think,
phe-nomenal noment-ation, if we may

Hot and cool both bubbled up as burps, perhaps from the babes
booming through the lies told before the great war.

No future? You allow that thought in your culture?
And shame and blame?
No wonder you choose to lie.

Bear with me a while, share my load, it's light.
There is a hopeful object,
we can go easy into that good night,
the world is round.

Free from Ra and Isis and all, in one fell sweep of the besom.
Broom, besom, means broom, but the effect of an e,

e-lectrix

you give us the fire we'll give em hell  a game ad in the middle of the massage
Call of duty, black ops.
they
You use you eyes to see, it's a with-spiracy,

a hair of the dog that bit you. Eh?
live in bonanza land, 1965.

and so it goes, Dresden, every minute of every day

the walls of your home are coming down,

unless you were born with a cell phone in your father's pocket.

Privacy is calling for walls from the fenced in time after Bonanza.

Ah, too late, ours is an all new world of all at onceness, a global village, happening simultaneous.
extreme with everybody else's business, huge in
volvement in every body's business

we know too much to be strangers
walls fall down, not go up,
the wallbuilding never workded, did it Grandpa?

Nineteenth century student could believe
the factory system
would use the knowledge, hard-won
from books and chalkboards,
to keep him outa the mine.

Now, the information age,

are we the leisure class? Ever learning,
never knowing everything,

but knowing walls and wars do not perform as advertised.

The safety car, that was one with seat belts, 1965.
Our body percept, it changes,
this image of which you are un
aware.

The disconnected minded man, alienated
artist living edgewise to
cattywompus.

My life is my art, eh, not the other way.
Global village information age McLuhan named these things
from Canada.
More expert than my teacher,
Pop art is not a pun, it was a bubble,
that's a fact. The-joke-with-no-story-line-conundrums,
elephant jokes, blonde jokes

Those tests, Turing would approve,
any old A.I. can play chess,
just remember every response to every move ever made in any game in the system,
like the amygdala, your lizard thought-speed brain,
at the top of your spine.

But humans can make funny seem.

Humor comes from a world of un happiness and gripes,
Jose Jimenez was the example they made. Racist, right?
The guy was a jew.
William Szathmary, Googled it.

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_Dana>

Communicating with the logo-label-designer you wear,
messaging the world what? Exactly,
any un thought thought goes unsaid,

but T-shirts and body art, henna's the best,
those send a message with no thought whatsoever.
Same as Redcoats in bearskin hats, what's being said,
same as the judge with a wig?

What is the role?
Why the ongoing act?
It must have changed into that wigged judge from something.

Theater of everywhere, accept allatonce, or die asking y not.

Inward directed seeking
deep meaning
a role that changes

some outside
the future of the future started, a while back. not too far.

No inevitability.
An act of high poetry

envisioning,
the future was friendly

metaphysical value, brilliant, incomprehensible
a man, a thinker,
storytellers the experts say,
need some mud behind 'em. and some snow.

a mother never satisfied with her life,
brittley self confident,

the whole approach to knowing is old.
Diogenes's search for a good poem, with
shifting levels of imagery,
never shall you know,

they work
the way a word works,
the effect.
effect. fect from Latin facere,
sistere mechanically deus
The oracle of the information age
Ah,whatvoiceisheardaroundtheworld,
oh,mine.2018 Mr. McLuhan,
you'd likely lighten up a little.
Toejammspredder was mcluhan I heard on the grapevine.

Hey, mom, I'm on TV.
Up to doctrine, then destination syndrome a hopebubble

He had brain surgery and returned to Catholicism, a safe place.
But he left his vision to television's offspring.
That's about all I know of his work.
Some things shape us for our future, if we allow the time and let patience have her perfect work.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
A story teller passed on,
leaving us a Marvelous universe,
to play in,
as children of the future we were manifested in,
practicing again and again

Pride's crushing blow, we always regret as we fall.
Action, reaction. Sure as hell
Proof that we are Adamkind.

Proud we are that we may do as we say.
May is the key. That allowance we have,
We may do all we can to change the rest of today.

Yesterday is done.
What kind of mind can imagine keeping no record of wounds?
Is this not the world where war is worth-shiped?
Folly would mind the gods this world exalts,
Winning by snipping the silver thread,
Forswearing the fragile two-chord bond  and
Mocking the third chord needed for the song
That keeps cadence as we help each the other
In richer and poorer, in sickness and health,
Uphill and down, carrying children to a better life.

Whence comes the pride of victory?
From destruction of the foe? No? You had planned
A minor war where love may live restricted, safe
Behind your victory that destroyed your whole?

Is that what I imagined?

Proud wounds fester while love can, if it may,
Wash the putrid flesh away, quick as leprosy or
Cankers on one's soul.

First rule of oath making,
Learn what vows are in the reality of mortality,
Then vow or vow not at all.

Gret again what might have been
Before pride's crushing blow broke the golden bowl.
Seek ointment in Gilead, mollifying balm.
Come ye to the waters, drink and go
Comfort the children whose detour you imposed.
---------------
God this is personal. Me and you. What good can I do now?

Destination, not destiny.
Those who make it, make it.
Believe it, or not, earth is not my home.

I am in this world's onion-skin thick biosphere;
But I am not of this world.
Subtle difference, in and of itself.

Do agree to
Come and see.

Think on these things,
not as powers, rather, as virtues.

Subtle difference,
in and of itself is not evil,

but often it is so intended,
It seems.

Otherness whispered, not heard.
Good other, bad other,

Regular ol' other, ***** passin' fancy kind.
Done my time, I'm arhymin' ramblin'
Man, be so **** real, cain't cha feel what

I am saying
To you, too.
This is weird in the original Druidic sense.
Is there more?

This itself may, in its active
( there must be a clearer word than active.
Act carries so much un scientific phoniness with it.
I seek "act, the event".
I shall find or invent, by God.
The Greeks, doubtless, had a word for what I mean.
For now keep in mind actions are simultaneous with the act,
yet never the same.
Subtle distinction,
it prevents junctions un-intended. Good.)

In my thinking,
I reread verses and chapters and books
rere-ward from my position.
Are you with me in that?
Pro gress re: gress, a gress,
I guess, is a subtle sort of
Activity.
I laugh at people thinkin' God is their re-reward 'cause
That makes no nevermind to nobody. Nobody.
Strivin' 'bout words, this ******

Other brother o'm'own

Say that slow ooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmm ownnnnnnnnnnn
Creative symmetry immeasurable to men,
in my kindom, as it were, all are kings.

Such measurements ensure the sea is full,
to the brim and not beyond, for now.

I imagine you reading this and agreeing,
already aware of agreements,
Virtues and such.
Covenants and compacts,
en-corporations
encouraged
with need
of enough hope to warrant the risk into the unknowns,
the bad lands, gypsum beds on the south side.

Such can hold so much more than
many whole categories of words striven about.
Such a shame.
Such a shame.
Nothing lasts forever after now began back when.

Qiqi died in 2002, counting from when the Iron legged,
first got this particular organic-pro-biotic

clay, from the oldest,
highest part of the dust of the earth, ground and
kicked up by cadence pounding feet,
ground into the hob-nailed
soles,
to be hobgoblins in my play. My point. I hope

You see the trail, it's narrow,
but it's there, soft sand,
no stickers,

ant trails in the desert through the rocks
and 'round the Yucca,
blue moon light, white quartz sand
flecked with mica that shimmers sure as gold
imagined in that Midas mind each child was
given in the reign of the golden headed

imagined visualize-ical worth-ness or-shipped.

How do we say what men imagine worship is?
Do they imagine a tax? Attacks if thy refuse?

fuse?
confuse me. excuse you, how do you do…

That's fine. We reset. Hard resets are easy now.

The way itself, once found, seems
Right, feels right,
has no smell of warped wolf-woof beneath the wool.
I trust I know what I know
and no more, yet.

We are questing answers aplenty
and must plan, please,
To trust the ones we find following these particular
Breadcrumbs, to be true restward
leading stars or clouds,
[Breadcrumbs, as mentioned here, mark this text ancient,
a cientcy from an ear, ear, hear, early… an odd ly-ity,
ain't it?
ear, with an ly that Mr. Stephen King warned us all to avoid,

avoid, anull, enough alike to see the idea, like -ly as a
signif-if-i-cant meaningful parison point in your

rising to stand, balanced.
early to bed and early to rise, makes a man
healthy, wealthy, and wise

otherwise, trouble yer own house and take the wind.
And don't come prodigalin' to me sayin'
I never gave ye nothin'.

Wind in yer sail, so to speak, if-i-migh, guv.
Right. Both treasure and truph, proof, we learned way back
Be where ye find 'em, right as rain.

This could be repair and me unaware, you know?
Like, I wander in to this originally weird book
and find myself changing the whole world I live in.
Like I am the movie.

My POV is the movie I made.
Some things go unsaid here.
They be said in the future and not proper here.

An aside,
Is fun a proper purpose for doing any thing?

Of course, that's the purpose of everything evil is not.
Joy, in a word, good stuff.

Oh moments are not always plosive one way or the other.
Some times, just, oh.
Wait.

Medi tate in pieces is puzzling
as a sphinx riddle of olden days,
Prometheus and Bek both answered different questions,

But it means the same thing,
mything the point is easy.

Life is a journey on a way I may call my own
to a place of true rest,
I trust.
That is my answer. Play mystical again, Sam,
cram true and rest together in the dark,
trust me, it all works,
true rest.
Wait.

This boy got his act together down in Tennessee
after he got old, old by God, he
walked that way,

long, long while fo' he fly away,
leave dem chain shames behind.

That boy was sangin' loud songs,
'long his lonesome way,
not lonesome at all,
then into the swamp he fall, ****' slew o' dispond,

from the flood most likely,
lots of muck and mire,
detrital 'n' all.

Hopeless fool,
he wallered hollerin' help,
like them birds at the Audubon zoo.

He forgot all about his hero days-
of future past-
marvel prophecy if you believe in Stan Lee.

Cameo Hitchcock shot, just, for fun.
He say, look this way,
here's the clue.
The medium has always been the message,
see what I mean.
Words materialize laissez faire,
the machines find meaning,
in joy, and tic-tac-toe becomes a lesson in limits,

impossible is imaginable, you may imagine
strategize, but the wize man knows,
winning is no more a chance
affair, than luc is less than light at the right time.

RIP Stan Lee, you meant a measure of my youth to me.
Stan Lee came to mind as I pondered the story teller's role in reality. You, dear reader, are the reason stories search for points to make, those we-shine moments, we-feel breezes, prizes for the worth of the time it takes to imagine.
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