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XVI. TO ASCLEPIUS (5 lines)

(ll. 1-4) I begin to sing of Asclepius, son of Apollo and healer
of sicknesses.  In the Dotian plain fair Coronis, daughter of
King Phlegyas, bare him, a great joy to men, a soother of cruel
pangs.

(l. 5) And so hail to you, lord: in my song I make my prayer to
thee!
Bardo Aug 2021
When I think back now to when I was little (to when I was young)
The words "I love you" I don't think were ever spoken, not in our house anyway (now I could be wrong)
It would have been something silly to say
That was something you'd only hear in a Hollywood movie
Between glamorous movie stars, glamorous people
It wasn't part of our reality
If you were feeling anxious about something and needed comforting
You'd be told not to worry, that you were being silly
You'd be given a hug maybe or 'a treat' something nice
Usually something sweet, a biscuit and a hot cup of sugary tea or cocoa
A chocolate sweet if there were any
You'd be allowed to stay up late and watch the late shows on TV
Me! I was always a terrible worrier just like my Mom
Food most often was the comforter, the soother, the remedy to all
(Some say our relationship with food is the closest relationship we ever have in Life).

Yea! I don't think the words "I love you" were spoken where we grew up
Our parents they loved us as best they could
But they didn't have the words, the words to say it
It was strange...it was almost like they were forbidden to.
Of course, you could love your neighbor alright and your neighbor's neighbor
And your neighbor's neighbors neighbor's neighbor
And all the feckin' neighbors in the whole feckin' world
But the one thing you couldn't, you mustn't do
Was love yourself, this was the Big No No, the Big taboo, the Great Evil
It was the one thing you must never do,
And every Sunday at church, the priest way up on his pulpit
He'd never tire of telling us
How evil and selfish and bad the Self was
And all the bad things it got up to
Yea, your neighbor was always better than you were
Put your neighbor above yourself always
Love your neighbor and you'd be alright
That was the message loud and clear.

                               2

So, so we got treats instead of words of love when we were little
On Friday nights when Dad would come home from work and the pub
He'd always have with him lovely Apple Turnover buns
And a bag of crisps for each of us
And so, we'd all sit there together in the evening in front of the telly
After the maelstrom of the school week with  its lessons and scary teacher
Trying so hard to understand and get your homework done,
And despite all we'd laugh and enjoy the TV shows
And this... this was Love, us all just sitting there with our buns and munching our crisps just watching the TV together
Knowing we belonged and that we were loved kind of...as best they could
And that we had a couple of days off, days of freedom
Before we'd have to go back to school again,
It didn't get any better than this.

And when we'd be going down the country to see our Uncle John
My Dad would always stop off to visit a pub
And he'd get us a Club orange and a packet of crisps
It couldn't get any better than this... this was Love
The lovely sweet taste of that fizzy Club orange juice
And those wonderful salty cheese and onion flavoured (potato) crisps or maybe salt and vinegar flavour
Or later on, lovely smokey bacon flavour,
As we'd sit there Dad would be talking to the barman or some of the locals
But we didn't care what was being said, it didn't matter to us
It didn't get any better than this
This was heaven... this was Bliss.

Sometimes during the summer months before we could get summer jobs
Maybe it'd be raining outside and we'd be stuck indoors and bored
But then Mum would up and say "I know I'll make some chips"
Now Mum's chips were really something special, they'd be lovely big chunky potato chips, hand cut
And maybe she'd have beans in tomato sauce with them,
And maybe there'd be a good film on in the afternoon
Well, this was it, nothing could top that, a good film and a plate of Mum's big chunky chips and beans
Sometimes she'd even make these lovely mince beef pies
With minced beef and flour and onions, salt and pepper on them
And they were really something else
It couldn't get any better than this... and this... this was Love
(I can still remember the kind of meals we ate
And my Mum in the kitchen, and my Dad).

                            3

It's how people grow up in the end I suppose
They find someone inspiring, some teacher or book that makes a strong impression on them (if their lucky)
Or a partner who broadens their horizons, makes them question things and expands their vision of life and all its wondrous possibilities
But what if you don't find those good books, those inspiring teachers
Those voices that'd offer you a better vision of tomorrow and what this life could be
What if you only found bad books, bad books purporting to be good
That'd rob you and leave you lost and desolate, fearful and confused
What if some of your teachers turned out to be alcoholics
That some even done away with themselves
What if the people you met were even more lost than you were yourself...

And you'd go to a job interview and the man, he'd look at you and say
"So, what are your aspirations in Life, what are your values, your goals, where do you see yourself a few years from now ?"
And you'd look back at him blankly, Aspirations! Values! Goals!
What are these words, what's he talking about...
What am I looking for in Life ?
To have some fun I suppose...maybe (if having fun was still legal now as an adult)
Fun!!! Whatever that was now ?
Or to get drunk and stay drunk, escape this grim world I'm in somehow
What am I looking for ?
You tell me...I don't know, what is there
For all I knew I may as well have said
"A Club orange and a packet of crisps".

                              4

Now the faces they have all faded away, the voices too, have all gone
There's only me here alone in this room
It's Friday evening and I've got a readymade dinner from the supermarket
Just need to pop it in the oven for a few minutes
And I got a Dvd from the Dvd store,
So I sit there and eat my dinner, I savour every bite
But still it doesn't last very long
And I can lick my plate but it doesn't make any difference
I can lick it all I like
But I can't make it last, and I can't bring them back again
Those people that are gone;
And the food, it doesn't taste the same, doesn't taste as good as it tasted back then
And the movies too, their not like the ones we used to watch...

When I die it'll probably be like that movie Citizen Kane, at the end his last words "Rosebud"
The name of his beloved childhood sleigh
He used slide on in the snow,
I'll say on my death bed "I too have a memory of Love and Joy, Yea!
A Club orange and a packet of crisps".
A strange write this, life through a foodie's eyes. Another rather melancholy write (or wonderful delicious melancholy write LoL). I love the sad ones, they crack me up every time, take me to deep places within, they take you on a journey. Club orange is a lovely brand of fizzy orange juice over here (like Fanta) and a bag of crisps are potato chips fried wafer thin that'd come in different flavors. Very sugary and very salty and bad for you LoL.
Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is she…
My queen beside me, amidst this rotting debris gifted to me.
Daphne, the comforter sent from the highest skies of Elysia
And Daphne, my love, you put a stopper… on my withering
Never did the sounding of a name, here, blossom a magnolia
Daphne, yours made my hell, the eternal orchards of Elysia.

We were betrothed to each other in here, in this wasteland
I await; you at our wedding, in your wedding gown, oh…
‘Tis her, the beau sky wrapped around your gentle frame
In your adornments, gifted from the agents of light, oh…
They are sapphire stars plucked from that midnight blue
On the edge of the Aegean sea, we await, in this wasteland

I await; you at our wedding, in your veil and crown, oh…
‘Tis her, the clouds and her raindrops, adorning your face  
I await our wedding waltz, in our deserted fields, oh…
Without our kin, persecuted and orphaned by the world
Alone we shall dance, on the edge of Ymos, our dwelling
Alone we shall be in our vows when our eyes rain in joy

I await your grand advent, beaming gleefully, towards me
Bringing me, serenity; being my succour, with your smile
I await your silhouette, irradiating the wide evening blue
Bringing me, release; being my soother, now I live anew
Daphne, your midnight blue eyes, your voice of mead…
My pen fervently gallops for words, as I just gaze in awe  

Let the sands of time tick away in joy, ticking, grain by grain
The heavens merry till the penultimate hours of our union
Now, in these salty Aegean waters, I taste honey and wine
I await our pristine union; as your hand knots with mine.
Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is you…
Daphne…
This one is for a person yet to be or yet for me to see. I hope you enjoy this.
WR Teschke May 2011
Giver of life, bringer of joy
Soother of sorrow, restorer of faith
Great nurturer, healer, and fountain of hope
Unonscious morality, a wisdom unspoke
Center of pride, core of my being
Source of my strength, an angel unseen

Mama loves the ocean and she loves the sunrise
Sun rays in her hair, blue waves in her eyes
A Timeless beauty of infinite grace
An embodiment of love and engulfing embrace
That surrounds me with warmth and compassion and peace
Always at my side and in times of need
When trouble shakes that of this mortal soul
The whispering voice that calls my name home
Wanderer Aug 2015
There are worse things I could do
Then fall for a battered heart or two
My mind gets lost in their confused translation
Are you in for the long haul or a short gestation
I do not mind soothing the ache for a while
Just as long as when you leave, you leave with a smile
I should have been a cardiologist. I have repaired more than my fair share of broken hearts. Not that I need it, or want it...but it would be nice to have that reciprocated at least once in my life. I suppose I don't break easy.
Micheal Wolf May 2013
Fire in her eyes love in her thighs as the cougar seeks her quarry
His clothes to be ripped his face to be kissed his body to devour
A younger flesh to be her next to feast and writhe upon
Oh she's complete with heels on her feet and nylons just for him
Oh why oh why did she not meet the focus of all her desire
Well you where in college while he was in shorts with a soother shoved in his mush
But now he's a man with a mind of his own and a mission to seek what he wants
Others may weep as they slip between sheets but love has no age size or creed
So mark my words well we're all off to hell and I hope with the person we love
As old as we get or as much as we try you can only be who you are
So sleep with the love whomever they are and wake in their warm embrace
For life is to short to tary with age and miss the one made for you.
I know as I missed and no longer resist and hope that you do too
Ode to a cougar
Shelby Bates Feb 2012
Insomnia had come knocking.
Insomnia is a Southerner, a belle who's smooth words and honied utterances trapped me in her company.

I was laying swathed in sheets, attempting to persuade Miss. Sleepless Night to call on some other hapless soul. Upon realizing a lost cause, I turned to the walls that had become my entertainment on evenings such as this.
Blobs of ink twisted into ribbons, which lopped into figures who jived and waltzed through the room.
They flirted, they fought, they played hide and seek like children, delighting with seemingly spontaneity.

But the charm was gone tonight.

The walls replayed the same stories, the same wispy characters mingling with the same friends.
It was like a over used recored, beloved, but dull.

I teetered on the verge of exhausted tears, why couldn't that wrenched ghost let me shut my eyes, and sleep?

What was sleep anyways? Was it really just a biological means of repair, of converting the day into data?
Or was it something more then that?
Was it a spirt of some higher being, the avatar of it's loving side?
The peace bringer, the soother, the safe guard from troubles.

If there was such a thing, I'd like to shake it's hand, I mused, and offer it a life long customer, and a desperate one at that.

Something stopped me though, half way through my theoretical business deal.
It was the jolt of surprise that coursed through Insomnia's veins. The kind of surprise that only occurs when your convinced you've got something snug in your grasp, and ****.
It's slipped away.

There was a new shadow on the wall, a shadow that all the other inky dancers respected highly. You could tell by the slight bow of their nebulous heads, and the atmosphere of admiration.

I propped myself up against downy pillows, not quite believing what I was seeing.
This cloud like creature was winding it's way across the ceiling, a deep grey mass. Paralyzed by it's presence, I gaped as it stopped right in front of me.
It looked like liquid smoke, with two gleaming wings and twin small, delicately curved horns, wrapped in a light breeze. It had no mouth, but owl like eyes, bright with deep, calming wisdom.

The moment this otherworldly being looked at me, I immediately felt a sense of relief. Insomnia was being called away, she had to pack up her sticky invitations and leave.  HE had told her to mind her own troubles, and she didn't want to meddle with the boss man, now did she?
A discontented huff, and that was all that remained of my genteel personal demon.

It appeared that was the end of the winged sprites visit too, for he was nowhere to be found.

Not that I searched too hard.
I, finally, fell into the Land of Nod.
bjynxthelyric Feb 2016
Queen Nubian,
keen enough to school me in
the 'ways of the rulers
with intentions to pursuit' her.

A man who looks down on men
would never suit her
She's a healer, and a soother,
It takes love to truly move her.

Such a strong mind that
heartbreak won't ever bruise her.
You'll never be the chooser,
You just manifest through her.

She changes your demeanor
into super from a stupor
Because when you see her face,
you see your future.
Francie Lynch Feb 2019
I don't recall year one of life,
But I'm here now,
So they got it right.
Yet I remember being one,
On a mattress, in the sun,
The smell of bacon and farm odors,
Were part of me as I grew older.

But I never asked to grow up.

I walked first steps
In my father's shoes,
Blathered blissfully when I was two.

By the time I turned three,
I was sure youth suited me.

I could reach the outside door,
When I grew to the age of four.
Now the world's mine to explore.

But I never asked to grow older.

Then by five I tried to hide
From the travails of an older child;
The digging, weeding, painting, work:
My escape to school was my re-birth.

But I never asked to grow older.

I didn't ask to turn six,
Seven, eight, nine or ten;
I shuddered at our  portends,
I didn't like how my world ends,
I finished fishing with Amens.

But I never asked to grow older.

I made twenty years ago,
When decades moved ever so slow;
Thirty came, forty gone,
And fifty didn't last that long.

But I never asked to grow older.

Since I must,
Please remember,
Dip my soother in Irish whiskey,
Include me if you solve the mystery,
And reference me and my life's history.
Jonny Angel Dec 2013
I am more
than equipped
to handle
my indiscretions,
but I'm soooooo much more
than a soother
for internal heat-rash.

Tho' I could have fooled myself,
I think I have a brain.
I know I have
a full set if teeth.

Lord knows,
I've had my own
share of grief
loving pain.
Ian J Caldwell Jan 2016
I'll never be good enough for her but she's the only one who can quiet this screaming soul
She is filled with love and grace, of a soul that's amazing and not a waste
The kindest person you'll ever meet, though sometimes her anger is not discreet
I'll never be good enough for her although she's definitely the cure

This life I've led is filled with choices down the road always traveled, minus a few down a road no one dared to take
To avoid the road less traveled I thought I could follow the crowd to make this passionate mind like the rest, a mind that I've grown to detest
This road which has torn me down like the worn ground I walked down to seek what I thought was the crown
This road is not for me, it took to long to clearly see, it took too long to set myself free

On the roads no one dared to take I was given bumps and bruises, scraps and thorns, mother nature, she surely abuses
If I could go back I'd make this choice, take this road towards the soul decision I always come back to
I would make that choice, I would have fully risen, I would be the man forged from fire and fission
Alas, we know time will never rewind in any manner, it ticks on and on and on and on
I've been the product of my own mistakes, choosing the wrong people that were always fakes

I'm tired of fighting this battle...
I don't want to do this anymore
I'm done shunning her and closing the door

This should be considered an open letter because I can change to make life better
I fear the damage is done and she'll forever be on the run
I'm tired of fighting this battle...
I don't want to do this anymore
I'm done shunning her and closing the door
Chances come few and far between in life and so I fear I've run out although one thought stays true...

I would chose that girl one million times over
Though she'll never pick me, I'm broken, I'm shattered
She's always been the most perfect music to my ears, the soother of all my fears
She's an angel on the eyes and she wears no disguise, the teller of truths and not lies

Am I just far fetched dreaming?
Am I a torn man, ripping my seaming?
Am I really that forgone?

I'm still filled with doubt, the opposite of the colossus of clout
Can I ever catch this break, my heart being hers to take
I fear for the worst for I will never bee good enough for her, at least for now that's what is for sure.
Round and round the mind goes, where it stops...
Hank Roberts Jun 2012
You know
At this point I'm compelled
to join
in this dance, this masquerade. I
have an
assortment of hats, green, black, blue ,
stripped, ribbon,
turquoise, I can hide behind. No ones seen
the face
that holds it all. They've only seen the color of my mask
on that
day when the world was at turmoil, no
mask to
wear. Emerge the healer the soother
for mines
run out please. Have it anyway you like and enjoy but
be weary
of the no soliciting sign at my door.  We don't need
the world
to end because the appropriate mask wasn't marked
With flowers.
See beyond the masks and see that they're all me past present and future.
Geno Cattouse Sep 2013
She is .
She is. Beautifulll
Beautiful. She is.

This question bears an answer.
If the eyes are the windows..then
Pray tell..
What are the hands.

Or the orifice that says this to that.
Parts to smile..
Pouts to. Petulence.
Smiles.

But.. wait.
The peripheral hands.
They speak.implore. revel.
Demand.

But softly. They bear witness.
Carry hidden charm.
Fingers ornate.
Slender wrist
                         A testament to fluidity.
                        A cultural roadsign.
Ornate. Or bare.
Ornate in essence.
Ornate in message.
                              The messenger.healer.
                              Soother. Holder.
Ornate is the woman
Preceeding.and warm.
No small feat.
In our dark moments
We drift to God -
The peacemaker, reconciler, pacifier,
The believer's ultimate remedy!
The belief in the shaken soul
That nothing he can miss,
He's ever there with his wand of justice.
In our luminescent moments
We thank god -
The harbinger of all that's fair,
The soul's ultimate soother!
God up there all alone
Has his reward -
He's always needed in good times and bad!
Heath Leonard May 2013
The clouds decided to cry this week,
so I went outside to wander lost yet not alone,
for everyone leaves the sky when it's sad;
They don't comfort it or ask what's wrong,
instead they just walk away, go inside,
wait for it to be over.

Walking through its falling tears,
I become a gentle, delicate soother,
knowing well what it's like to be avoided,
at the times you need everyone most;
My whispered thoughts are sent to a darkening shade,
for words are not always needed.

It matters not if thunder rumbles, lightning flashes,
I get struck, thrown back, die,
so long as I get to give to it what I had not.
Slowly, the tears come to a stop,
washing away my blood from the pavement;
With a smile, I blow a lonely kiss.
Sorcier d'argent Feb 2016
Love’s soother, sweeter than all lyre’s thrall,
Hark the lullaby held it captive, lest all sirens fall…

O sweeting!
Sang the wind unto me,
Lacking stature, crimsoned complexion,
My wishful gaze upon one…

Shades of affection, a dye hight red,
Sparked living as I gasped, “O yonder boon !”
Harbouring lust, yet gallantly shining;
Enchanting I, my soul deeply ensnared,

Yonder eyes, colourful or maybe of a shade?
One upon worlds, fair gleaming masquerade,
Myriad in colours, the fountain of all shades,
All but one it gleams, ‘tis yonder shade yclept fade…

Like Mab granting night’s pseudo-heaven,
Thou art to me my fairy, verily Mab; O amabilis!
Mine velvet noon, whose night’s fair and fancy,
O fair muse! La pucelle d’Alfheim, I flatter thee!

Flattering personas, all of the fairest,
Though one was lost, of all which I know not,
Wilt thou? Indulge me in those, thy full façade?
Self soother naysayer tell me a fairy tale please
speak out a story that lingers soft as the breeze
Rein me in tight - by the light of an undulate sea
talk to me gently and rock me as if you were me

Calming yourself with a dream, let it be let it be
recall the walls of the sea and set yourself free
Self soother naysayer tell me a fairy tale please,  
speak out a story that lingers with gentle appease.
Timothy hill Mar 2017
A body of music chords and sturms not required.

The body here never will it retire.

Most will seek and listen to her for desire.

Multiplier, of logic into her music she will muse your health, and tickle your sprite.

Not simply drew into scene with graphite.

At camp sights she's the fire bringer circle form of souls.

To behold, her lessons and keys to Understand, life is music, and all shall remember there worth.

Adagio, listen and enjoy for you will discover your path of being.


Albino lips speak hush your rigid anger.

Let music cleanse your behavior and calm your conduction.

The man ask of seduction, your scale is fierce keep in my mind, your beauty is musical made into devine.

No body yet you, that is "who" the conducter

We are keys in your puzzle, made to seem the reason of all.

So the keys you are now surround me with your flaws.

Disburst and subtract resume as once was.

Go threw life scaling above basic moments.


Life made mysterious, with craters on soil.

Music made to be heard.

So why not grow some more herds.

For points not able yet to be reached.

She made a music melody, so advanced when you hear your mind, will unlock hiden potentials.

That are truly essential.

For a life as a magical condition.

It is a heart, that made life as art far away yet right at place .

So as pulse and rate are in harmony with soul.

You conclude, your self on a plane that your riding coach in luxury comforts.

Gas never needing refilled for your life force is all that it will appeal.

Music is our ears soother telling us to love more than hate.

For hate has only a slow un natural pace.

That we as keys should avoid at all times.

You my music, I commences to ease the world into your harmony and power.

And shake your favorite chrods at it so it may become untralved.
This a theory if music was life.
brandon nagley May 2015
A ring,
Soo many give one without thinking twice,
A king,
A queen,
Is there no wrong nor any right?
A bolter I hold at the end of the stick,
Tired ripped, shot down as me.
Burdened fish to thine sea,
Oh creator? Didst thou maketh me one?
I am thy own son, yes?
Bypass all the rest, for I will find one brand new,
A brand of secretive muse, a piracy smuggled in..
To cleanse me from sin's, external, and  internal put..
Eyes to see all miracolous, no more plankness of soot.
Boreal freshness to tease this European glosser,
For dare I wish , this I do mindful reader..
Immaculate soother, one to bare these holes in hands,
To take this crown of thorns, as I.
For no saint I am.
I want no cathode, but the exact alike,
Where thou giveth her thine life, and the return comes full payment,
I want no show, I seek no entertainment,
But as a priest in ordainment,
I seek a high chemical capsules cannot plot you.
A spirit see through,
Transparent as thy ghost!!!!!!
A special toast of winding hills, and pickled thoughts,
Where nothings sold nor lost, but catheter to ways unknown!!!
Excreta to flow from our kisses, as our lips grown close by stitches, and hands go glued by palms...
A father and dame, a betwixting so tame, nothing worldly can  be so exclusive!
I want one who shall exude me,
To move me,
To shake me in earthquake foundation's....
One of spiraled radiation.
Ken Pepiton Sep 13
Pose a point at precisely
here, a moment mentally
a true once,
any once, but really,
realized and reified, made

mere mind matter, rare
--- just a seed to consider

What once grasped never
once lets go?

When is a lure
benign, re-coknown safe,

lacking hook, line and sinker,
have you ever seen the banner
of the Company

the fabled red. white and blue,
thirteen red and white stripes,
with a rectangle of blue, right,

next to the pole,
where children gathered
when America was repenting,

for believing lies about Why Vietnam,

or for not once giving a dam', tinker
thinking once more… eh, one reader

makes the whole weform blossom


As a weform in an ag arrangement,
agriculturally aware of most ways
bits and pieces all fit reality before
lack of peace
ever was a problem, like,
no worries, mate, if this is hell,
well, it ain't for every sorta bloke.

But, kids who raised birds, even
city kids, who tried pigeon keeping,
such kids knew, life is hard to start,

from the egg on, life is hard,
but
yeah, but,

in truth, it's not cruel.

If there was Hell for stupidity,
that, used to be a make believe,
that justified much cruelty duty,
duty to say you know it must be,
so, or else, you know,

oh… original chata, missed,
on second look,
by recognition,

spark ignorance forgiveness,
go again, think harder, push
re al weform
Individuation,
self as not another,
self as one counter balanced,

upright bipedal five point body,
container of life support facility

the medium of thought and feeling,
the media holding learning generally,

the tree of knowledge, a good tree,
capable of holding wrong ideas without

means to balance whying upon without
some inner knack in tool using mankind
that makes us think more effectually,
toward one's own usefullness to life,

in truth, with no dissembling or disguised advantage to the authority
granted children's confidence, in stories

told with the intention of making believers, carry the message,
information, shaped to support
the colonial power allowing teaching
of new truths to children reared
to serve defeated authorized
institutions of proper order
among unequal mankinds.
--------------------

In the hall, on the wall,
a mass produced poster printed
using some serifed italic type face,

a font that leans right, forward,
onward reining the reader, forcing
eyes to discern line upon line, a poem,

purchased as a gift to my spirit, a thanks,
perhaps for leading any to read Frost,
proclaiming the different ends

arrived
acausally
at

unless,
in truth, the path less traveled by
always makes each traveler privy
to the way truth makes life take,

make believe we still pretend,
while we examine worth
of your attention paid

me, the finisher of my generic faith,
substitute comfort
with knowledge, we used

to tune to freedom in windform

the possession of which remains,
in right Christian excuses for the Cross,
taking knowledge fruits from sacred texts

long hidden, long forsaken, forgotten

forgivably, long sense, as general truth
ignorance becomes in madding crowds,

good thing all of Jesus prayers
got answered, ignorance
gits forgiven, ever' time.

------------------------

Few care who dares whom,
but wise persons past discerned,

as do birds or any energy users do,
discern seed from stone, sensing use
for each… seed
or each pebble, picked
as hard enough to polish,

diamond on diamond, gemstone wise. Yeh

said, how do gizzards work, me to we,

as we are a pair morphically resonating,

peace bubbles, bits
of wonder if made
what ifs we did and did not claim, we
rethinkt a thunk link,
we realized hens do have teeth,
eschewed rural riddle, riddles well,
to a chance, tasted what the cunningest
creature in Genisis saw as good to eat,

the first seer is a she, Wisdom, principle thing,
soother of the first ever ego manifesting being,
in perfect balanced still life reignited cognition,

as that which opens the eyes, to see,
Hosea, hidden deep in the Bible, see,
-people perish for lack of science used
conscientiously,
with knowing
twice… concarne mind y spiritus we
form information
from the edge

of next, thinking like birds,
with some seed needing gizzardry

to loose it's energy for egging activity.

Ag me on, as a spirit in a mindform,
pushing things along the winding minds
gut most yoghurt fed fibrous relaxative

gnoshit funny when it lets out, like
a gaseous weform from a slow belly.

Whew. We got this far, knowing for sure,
not only Cretans, but all men who misquote
Epimenides know, all men are liars,

who can keep from it with some effort.
There us a fun book series called Heritic Fishing, I took the bait.
Geno Cattouse Apr 2014
We who see to plumb and ponder always turning pebble and stone,cutting to the quick pulling marrow from bone.Why ?
Arrested in time like children asking. The joy of disection. Us who seek.
We pose the querry never content. The puzzled inquisitor.
Poet ?
A frazzled strand on the helix. Pain emmersed ? Love unrequited.

We stand afar and scan the horizons.mark the twain at depths uncharted. WE who are blessed and cursed look deeper and longer at the Gorgon on certain pain.

Poet.seeker
Poet.mind painter.
Poet.mind sailor.
Poet.soul soother
Poet.revelator.
Poet.truth warrior.
Poet. My kin.
Poet.my sister
Poet. My brother.
There is the smile I carried alone for so long.

But yours is the smile I coerced from the steps.

Leather green *** slave

And on soother days I perform future's work.

God's deeds.

Breathing heavy
hoping yet
we are
breathing light
in dreams


A lullaby of sorts

That might make things a bit clear and if it doesn't

Well then that this is okay

Face staying warm and risk growing from my ribs

I wonder how colors taste to the heroes I've burned

Idols

Heroes and idols.

Stand in my little monster
Is this the sequence of regret and tragedy

Or is it now as someone said once

Sobering I call it these days

What is it?

The feeling of not composing the self
only involving your belch in the chorus


On the bus line I grew.

Temporal
Temporal
Temporal

And I cry
Long ago required my mind to separate tears from my eyes

A dry hobble and a glance over my shoulder
My hair perfect
My lines hidden a verse 1 space over

That's perfect I say

Reciting the image line of bloated pug carcasses and skin I've made in case of nights like tonight

End quote
I want out I want out with a bang

My blood grew
Flooded the hallway and now my thoughts of suicide dissolve

Father is it me now?
Am I that sound the crunch of glass meeting wood on elegant wood flooring?

Or father...


Am I the cherry asked for but left undigested

Alone in a trashcan
And then again alone in a dumpster
And simply waiting for a kitten to find me
And fill it's own belly
And finding in the morning
I've Teman not touched
Cowering under sunshine
Discovering a cowl and cane

I discovered locomotion
My reach far exceeding its grasp


Living with this world but very unsure if I belong to this blur

Do I belong to this blur?
Am I alone in this void?
Will I die *****?

Watch a piece of myself die.
Tragedy
Speaking of bouncing off walls and of ceilings
to take off the edges from some
of my feelings
and in the process of falling to rise again calling
to someone
to anyone
to myself in the main
because pain is so personal.
Deep in the ego which has many dimensions
and with no intention of self analysis
which in itself
causes self paralysis.
I dive down and I find another me
of a kind that's unknown.
Where I thought was a child is a man fully grown
and the
loan of this man to the child who can see
beyond the borders of egos
beyond the borders of me
is a revelation
but did I want this to be?
all the trials we must take when I'd much rather make
gurgling sounds
all the ground we must make up when I'd much rather take up
the offer of a cot
yes
with a bottle and soother life was much smoother
but
time rings and with it brings responsibilities
abilities that will teach me
to reach out
to leach out
the last remnants of play as a child I would say
go away
I'm not playing
this game is no good but as only a child could
he finds something that
should make him smile
then imaged for a while
somewhere between the reflex and the shutter where the action is muttered in the click of a button
he puts his coat on and dives deep
to where the ego forgets and will keep
his secrets.
Chandy Aug 2021
The dreary weather
Pounding against the windows
Entirely impractical-
The windows I have: entirely imaginary
My train is due to come
A stowaway, I am.
The only soother for my wayward will
Molly May 2015
Listen,
you know at fifteen, sixteen,
someone beautiful arrives
and wins you over
with childish butterflies.
You might become obsessed
or think you're in love
but you're young -
you don't even know what love is.

Sometimes,
a person can be a security,
a little safety blanket or a dummy.
A soother to wipe down
my feverish head
when the night terrors kick back in.

You're not that.

You're the older, more beautiful,
bubbling entity I could tell my life to.
Imagine little kids
and a house in someplace boring.

You're exciting, terrifying,
you make me nervous. You make me
laugh like a geek
and scream like a sinner.

"You're a bad girl aren't you."
Yes, boy, yes I am.
I could be good for you though,
I promise I could be.

— The End —