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Ken Pepiton Aug 2018
A pocket of thought, ideas.
Impulses, has beens

epi-phenom-enal-con-currencies-synchron-icity
sorting places, thens and nows vying for attention

you see
we till stories in search of true tomorrows
not true
yesterdays (till, I said, not tell)
we **** the hard rows no one else will ***
so seed lies sown are never lies told, if the lies are never taught
or if the liars are caught before convincing the
intended crop to lie and swear a common liege Lord,
or die
for lack of knowing. Non-nascence, simplest
symptom to not see.
Whose death is yours to respond responsibly
to? My child's, or yourn?
In the early days, we knew less than we know now
about how knowing and growing were all
intended
to cost time. Ticks, ono motto whatever, the sound
gears and spiral springs pushing cogs
tick, one tooth tick at atime make

this rough, un polished, un glossed, is it wrong or

as I imagine a diamond in the rough must seem to a share cropper
experienced in diamond hunting, diamond prospecting,

prospecting expecting inspection to permit
seeing a 3.2 specific gravity,
specific
specify

species or spectacles,
spectators or special-if-eye-cation
value-en-abled. Weigh your mind in balance
with mine. I claim the mind of Christ.
What are the odds?

A wandering path, injoyable enable if-i-abble,
pacing is

everything, timing is everything, time is the test.

Time is the metagame.
Take your time. One word formed sylabble at a time.
Babble on, your confusion makes you mortal, to my mind.
Tick.
A quanta of time. Does time come in bits and pieces cernible,
but undiscernible from reality?

Babble.

Of course, time will tell. We learned that in our sleep, did we not?

Aesop taught us more than Moses, no,
Aesop taught us less than Moses.

But, we could learn to walk bearing the weight of knowing what
Aesop taught,
while we could not stand under the weight
Moses was said
to have taught.

Caught you, Jewboy. Whatchewknow?
The moral of the story.

THE IDEA is to win.
Beware the concision decision.
incisive devices, witty inventions.

Flip the shell, roll the bones, cast the runes and,
as luck might have it, die before your time.

Why factors are lies more oft than how factors.
Benefactors rule malefactors or
how or why would we invest our time in seeking reasons
to believe?

Is this the polished piece, the gemstone of specific gravity
(which currently means nothing to you. Here, you find too light
or too heavy, too weighty on the scale of specific value.)

Hard. Value hard, diamond hard, on Mr. Moore's scaled model of
Knowing exploding for reason's sake, raison d'etre, eh?
Too hard?
Not Mohr,
don't get me wrong.
We been Moore's law breaker all along.
We be manifested destinatory stories of heroes gone wrong.

Outlawed
knowing exploding to be reasoned with, by kind
children destined to become
written in stone, scarred by lies

Diamonds cutting diamonds, iron whetting iron
on eternity's edge.

Babylon, was it Bel's gate or fusion from below rising?

Magma fountains with diamond claws tearing the lands asunder
Is asunder still a word?, let me, allow me to define...
"into a position apart, separate,
into separate parts,"
mid-12c., contraction of Old English on sundran 
Middle English used to know asunder for
"distinguish, tell apart."
From <https://www.etymonline.com/word/asunder>
----

mumbler's humbler PIE, bowing before the knowers who
know nothing of my work.
Set apart, art thou holy aware?

Hermit me, meet the rest of me. The true rest that remained.
We live, you and I. Trust me, next is worth the wait.

Suffer needs no pain to make its point. Waiting is.

Grokk. WHO would believe that idea could live
through telegraphese to be tweet meets for the
Cosplay clans. How never grokked a rock,  why even less.

Strange, not be long in this
place. if
place this be. Odd
set aside
torn asunder
blown away.
Awake, little birdie, tell me true,
what's a man like me to do?

Did you meet the famous Mr. Blake?
I cleaned his chimney, way back when, chimbly's whut
we called em. Smoke stacks belchin' black
makin' black moths invisible to voracious
gulls.
Now the peppered moths are free
to be white-ish, for better or worse.

----

right, now, do right or

miss the mark,
the specific mark you made, maybe,
imagining, abstract obstructions missed
by the skin on Job's teeth as you run past

right now to more. You know?

----=

Story telling was the same as lying when I was a child, to me.

Telling stories was my gift I never took. Or am I lying? or mad,
in the old way.
Chailot's rag picker was my best friend.

No noble thought ever found it's home in my head, once
I thunk it, it stunk to high heaven, for me stinkin' thinkin' it.

Po' ems sang sour to fiddles wit' one strang and drums with no
cymbals
Screamin' he owed m' soul the comp'ny sto' bang bang thud.

I died, he lied, and lived to tell this story, ****** if I know,
****** if I don't.

True as true can be. I am lost, but once was found,
lyin' rough, uncut in acres of unseen gems.
----
* Voltaire refused to teach me any thing I could not define:
late 14c., deffinen, diffinen, "to specify; to fix or establish authoritatively;" of words, phrases, etc., "state the signification of, explain what is meant by, describe in detail," from Old French defenir, definir "to finish, conclude, come to an end; bring to an end; define, determine with precision," and directly from Medieval Latin diffinire, definire, from Latin definire "to limit, determine, explain," from de "completely" (see de-) + finire "to bound, limit," from finis "boundary, end" (see finish (v.)). From c. 1400 as "determine, declare, or mark the limit of." Related: Defined; defining.

So, imagine facets unseen, I am at least a meme, a bubble rising on the tide. Think, as you will. Amen?
Incorporating radical (root-related) definitions via cut and paste is my way of acknowledging that I have no ex-uses left for using words in a wrong, thus lying, way.
L B Jul 2018
For my cousin, Chris Goldrick

Lacing my skates
after walking two miles
in girl-strictured delight
Mom's stories of Sonja Henie--
No, not ever

Lacing my skates
with  snow-ball pompoms
felt skirt
and nylon tights
Cute little hat with matching scarf
My thighs and fingers
already freezing
icy burn
from miles on foot

to get there
the lake where--

I must get out
I must get OUT!

Knowing what
to expect from my body
the quick-twitch of muscle
Could always sense
specific--
gravity of water    
at 22 degrees

Desiring to feel
the motion between ice and steel
Read speed's vibrations through my body
The brain registers relation
to weather's effect
Tell of velocity
possibility of fall
Feel the slash of the blades beneath me
Throw my weight sideways, sudden
to hear that furious hiss
An object in motion tending, dire
to stay in motion

Threatening to stay there
always
in its heights-- of speed
away--

from the crowds of skaters
swirling distant in the lights

Seeking instead
the farthest reaches of Porter Lake
speed and speed and more
to overcome
inertia
of what it is to become
undone

at the outer edges, of humanity
A force  
centrifugal unto myself

Avoiding

Pregnant and slow
with years and babes....

The best
must be broken and tamed
of what it takes to stay free

catching the edges with every stride
catching my toe in the quick
180
spray of frost
to the sudden still

Listen to the frigid chill

and the heave of my breath
tumbling into evidence

Gliding
Once

Forever--

on, into darkness
of woods on frozen water

The wildness of it all

So infatuated with flight
so full of grace

I forgot Sonja

The moon rose
from her seat in the treetops
and applauded
Wrote this immediately from a dream a couple months ago.  With all the heat and humidity, it sounded good to go today.

This dream was an actual relived memory of being 12 years old and skating at Porter Lake in Forest Park of Springfield, Massachusetts.  22 degrees F is minus 5.5 C --Just a reference
onlylovepoetry Feb 2018
you can’t right the same poem twice

hell, yes I can
in pointy fact,
only got one,
which gets re-righted
morning noon and evening-tide

substitute a variant spelling
wright vs write vs right
and the meaning changes thrice

the only thing i can’t not duplicate is those **** love poems
each unique and writ for the woman specific,
each love one, custom jiggered,
each poem, crafted, to her pulse
each drafted, to her scent
none alike, and that’s why I believe
in the god who commanded "create him"
to make love poems in his way,
gave me millions of veins
of inspiration to pray to...
my heart altered, modified, daily


**** poems
**** love poems
**** love
2/2/2018   10:14pm
Poetria Jul 2015
Her eyes so bright;
Do you ever wonder where the sun goes at night?

The rain, dancing on the pavement
in no specific arrangement.

Luminous flames eat away at sharp skewers,
Her eyes silver-grey, clashing with the tables of steel.

Barbecue roasting, impaled through the middle
The pain paled in comparison to watching you smile.

A toast to me, myself and I, a glass of sweet solitude.
I watch tall wine glasses clang drunkenly together, alone.

A pin drops in the distance; no silence to accompany it.
Unnoticed it goes, by the arrogant lords and goddesses.

Pick a flower, compliment her hair; devil may care.
She's walking away, I tell her 'Ma'am, have a nice day'

Left alone to stumble back home,
sipping champagne royally; Mockery.

Spilling champagne and it swirls down the drain
I tilt my head back, laughing carelessly all the way.
What is a Father?
Is he a Person?
A Thing?
Or a Feather?
What is his Life?
Is it Carefree and Spontaneous
Or Tormenting and Strife?

Who is he in which a Person could know?
What are his Abilities which only he could show?
Does he Work, for the sake of a Family?
Or sleeps and pigs around, being a Menace and Lazy?

Who could this man be, to the Eyes of Children,
A Hard Rock or a Soft Leaven?

Does he Pile over Everyone
And takes Control?

Is he the Eagle, the Head of the Nest,
Playing a very important Role?

Does he impersonate Father Christmas
With all his Treats and Gifts?

Is he a Lover, with a Strong Heart for *******
Hugging greatly and giving Love-Lifts?

Does he Pray,
Or Face-Religious?

Or a Braver,
Or Spontaneous?

Is he a Disciplinarian
Wherewithin all Members under him
Are tuned to his Command?

Or a Freester,
Who gives his Kids their darling Freedom
Without any Demand?

Does he care,
For the People and Loved Ones around him?

Is he Provocative,
Uncaring for Anyone behind his Dim?

Mostly, he is the Grass,
Herding the Future for his Offspring?

Or the Lamb,
Stubborn and very Unwilling?

And so, whatever he is,
Or does,
A Father is a Father,
Anonymous or Specific
I wouldn't mind.

Just as long as he has
HEART, STRENGTH, FREEDOM and PROSPERITY,
KINDNESS, BRAVE, PROTECTIVE
And RELIABILITY.

I'll be Glad and Content. As any Son should be.
Carter Ginter Dec 2012
The roar of the wheels upon solid concrete.
Suppressed by the music blaring in my ears.
Vibrations running through the wood and to my feet.
This feeling is unreal.

There's no time for thinking.
The music muting all thoughts.
Eyes staring, quickly blinking
Into the night, on the road ahead.

No destination in mind
Nowhere specific to go
Never looking behind
Only moving forward, deeper into the dark.

For a moment it is quiet
An intersection and a choice
Within my mind, a slowly building riot.
As I debate between left and right.

I give up on the decision.
Now only feeling my way
My heart leads my fate
And I continue out into the night.
onlylovepoetry Aug 2018
who
would cry
being loved,
when even such tinkling
comes of the loving?


Grasses” by Alfred Kreymborg

<•>
we all make lots of love
in the same way as billions of others

grunting huffing noises of neural tissues torn and reborn

but the notes and noises we make, keep, unique no one else’s

the bored and the low thinkers saying “honey, you just wrong,”

the tinkling sounds are the silent mitosis of cells splitting
and then rejoicing rejoining, definable only as unique

so we both weeping, side by side, only we together can
hear the sounds of our life becoming and being,
no one else quite can be so specific
you could be there and still not hear the heat of our love making


who
would cry
being loved,
by the creative silences we have just written?

we would.  we do.  we are the noisiest lovers ever.  tinkling laughter. creating.

____________
http://academyofamericanpoets.cmail19.com/t/ViewEmail/y/8D7DB5963FD3CE00/98E58011B0AFF2EF20B193FBA00ED1DB
Dan Filcek Apr 2015
consciousness conceived as complex matrices
patterns contained within patterns.
magnetic anomaly brainwave synchronization
unrecognized vortex activity locations.
correlation amplification phenomena resonance.
measurable parameter brain wave activity
highly sensitive field fluctuations.
transducer low frequency geomagnetic pulsations
electromagnetic patterns: their associated chemical changes.
Weak intensity complex magnetic fields
generated earth hum technology affect
flux-gate sample collapsing fields
amplifier filter stages couples into analog digital converter.
experiments correlating local geophysical anomalies
earth's magnetic field changes consciousness.
single electromagnetic coupling mechanism
including spin-mediated neurons.
upsurge solar activity alters brain rhythms, hormonal levels
healing nature mystic experiences
anomalous cognition ******-physical phenomena.
internal model reality - subjective consciousness
addition computational capacity
existential status may need exotic physics
quantum entanglement and new forms of physical interaction
magnetic sensory cells induced meditative states
direct correlation shifts magnetic flux.
No active effort required.
Magnetic mineral aligned crystal chains
embedded biological membranes.
atomic sublattices of ferrimagnetic material
plausible theoretical mechanisms
mechanosensitive membrane ion gates
specific synergetic properties for transduction.
cuboctahedral morphology properties
jitterbugging vector equilibrium matrix basis tensegrity.
basic geometrical biological building blocks.
mystical red rock temples
Tracing disjunctive dislocations
Mother Earth speaks
Questions remain.
This year for Poetry Month, I decided to post a "found poem" every day. If writing a poem is like painting, a "found poem" is like sculpting. source - https://jcer.com/index.php/jcj/article/viewFile/318/343 - The Sedona Effect
thelemonpolice Jul 2018
You are you.
And I am me.
if I'm not enough
Please just leave me be
You'll always find
A lack within me
You'll always hate
What you can't be
And all these words
Relate to me
Relate to you
Like family
But you don't know
How much I do
Every day
all you see is you

And I wish I were simple
I wish I did less
I wish I could come home
And lie on my bed
But I have to be moving
It's a kind of stress
But I use it to motivate,
not get depressed
And I know explanations
Don't ever quite fit it
I am late, I am messy
For no obvious reasons
Maybe I can't pinpoint
Where I was in thought
Delirious messages
Translate too fast
I can think very clearly
I can't think at all
I have a million lists
Hanging on my wall
Priority one, two
How can you subject
My mind to choose
What I should do best
it's important to me
I'm passionate now
But it tires me greatly
I can't even bow
I can't accept praise
I'd rather your hate
But no that is wrong
I deserve something great
I keep telling myself
That the worst of it's over
But I think the worst part
Will continue moreover
Not specific things
A patient, a feeling
Collecting ideas
And thoughts
and breathing.
Andrew Sep 2017
The loneliness I'm keeping
But my sanity is leaking
When my past is speaking
Of the mistakes I'm reaping
I walk an uneasy line
Between shame and pride
But I travel in the wrong direction
And feel I have lost my connection
To myself
To my wealth
Of knowledge I have gained
For now it is stained
Because of my shame
Others see my game
Because I have lied
For the sake of pride
And they start playing
By happily filleting
My dignity
Into infinity
Pieces and desires
Until my mind retires

So I travel from the horrific
To the terrific
Near the Pacific
To be specific
A place
Where people don't wear a scarlet letter
For being as light as a feather
Where there are psychologists
Who understand my ****** logic
Who help me with my vice versus
And the sulfur beneath my surface

Now I'm back in the crowd
I cut through the shroud
And make there here
Through love and tears
I become a spokesman
And speak for myself
Leila The Kiwi Jan 2017
Fresh wounds
Begin to fester
Tearing inward
Scars  deepen
Transported from flesh
To the soul of a victim,

Specific pain
Catered to the controller
An intimate bond of blood to emotion
Crimson Consumption
Pristine Flagellation
Perfect Punishment

With each step
My youth deteriorates
Enticing me deeper into the void
To which I am held captive

l.v.s and z.w.b
False Poets Apr 3
words conveyed with a mutual clarity parity for communication
will end only when the world ends first
and the communitas is no more,and words, exist purposelessly  
for there is no left with whom to communicate, precisely

but now, of this moment,
write words, sentences multiplied but circumscribed,
verses with mystical aura,
whose utility so suspect and multiple meanings hidden within,
taken by you for the specific utility you uncover and create

ah, to write of things clearly visible to all,
but possessed differently, by each reader, this is the greatest commonsensical commonwealth useful
for and of humans indexed by unique word tendons tenderly

when this passes, when literature no longer
can be messengered to 127 Persian provinces,
each the message same,
yet given up in 127 different languages^

when you understand my poems perfectly then,
their utility is inutile,
the usefulness is in the
nth reinterpretation,
a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth wired inner construct,
being pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
a lives paired wine tasting, together believing
in the greatness of joyous frustration

some say, I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our armed embrace at last




p.s. Pradip, be careful what you wish for....a poet false...


9:15am  April 3, 2019
^ Book of Esther 1:22 For he (the King) sent letters into all the king's 127 provinces, into every province according to the writing thereof, and to every people after their language, that every man should bear rule in his own house, and that it should be published according to the language of every people.
Matthias Aug 2013
Intro:
Start with a hook sharp enough to catch many fish.
Move into a broad outline of topic.
Add some examples to peek the interest.
End with a sentence that captures your thoughts.
(Start the way you feel it should be).

Body:
Flavorful topic sentence to open paragraph one.
State in detail specific examples and definitions.
Follow with a reference or two,
This keeps suspicion off you.
Keep same format for paragraph two and three.
(Continue on the feel that increases how you started).
(Or retrograde and start a new direction).

Conclusion:
Wake the reader back up with thesaurus found words.
State again the reason for your thoughts.
Honing specifically on what you want to say,
Without of course bringing in new info.
End with a memorable sign off.
(End with completing your thoughts).
(Or start a new idea entirely),
(Not leaving enough room for explanation).
Purcy Flaherty Jan 2018
My sociopathic mistress ~
Initially she began contacting me over the course of a year or so and increasingly over the last few months she started visiting me, helping me, caring for me and occasionally employing me in different ways.

She’d just had a break up a few weeks before, explaining that things hadn’t been right in the relationship for some time!

She presents herself as respectful, thoughtful, gentle, kind and considerate and after what seemed to be a very short length of time; unexpectedly declared that she had feelings for me; regarding love, admiration, desire and some other adventures.

She then began to bombarded me with love talk; occupying around 70% of my time gaining my trust, I was swept off my feet; as she took a great deal of interest in me, learning everything about me, what I liked, where I would go, always asking what I was thinking feeling, how she could help and I was flattered and she was charming, though a little awkward at times.

As our friendship grew she started sharing her "back story" ~including some tragic life experiences; she vilified her past lovers, and ex-partners and branded them as crazy or bitter liars and troubled souls; gaining my sympathy, whilst securing my allegiance, and keeping me on side; keeping me close. ~ drawing on my compassion loyalty & trust!

During intimate moments she would sometimes seem a little awkward, false or acting a little insincere and I made allowances for this given my knowledge of her backstory. Re~ (The tragic life events & experiences)

She began to chose and buy me clothes outfits, take me shopping gradually altering my outward image and appearance.

She introduced me to her friends but was careful to keep me and them at arms-length, I realise now that she was building an alternative profile of me in their minds.

She soon started to embroil me in her own rituals and compulsive behaviour’s, explaining that tasks needed to be performing in very specific ways to prevent her getting distressed!

She made many promises :
"The hook"
It was my expectation i.e. waiting for some of those promises to materialise that kept me hanging on; This increased her control and exited her too. (None of her promises came to fruition!)

She gradually had a hand in almost every aspect of my life i.e. my home, my work, my friends, family, my finances, the way i dressed, the food i ate and many other things besides, much of which I didn’t realise until our relationship was finally over.

“Dupers delight!” ~ She often took immense pleasure in duping, individuals or a companies out of something through theft, shoplifting, or getting something for nothing, a profiteer, a chancer!
To question or challenge her authority would result in seeing her façade slip and I’d watch her decline into meltdown.
It's at that point, she would lose control of her emotion, lose composure and rational and I would see her irrationality come to the fore revealing the real person underneath ~ childish, contrived and fragile ~ It’s as if control is the glue that holds her together, without it she just falls apart , she can’t be consoled and it’s impossible to calm this situation; and it’s this point she would attempt to regain control by “Gas lighting” me, she would distort the truth in an attempt to damage my self-esteem, to make me question my own mind, my words and any actions , apportioning blame, pointing fingers making me feel guilty, or using hurt, sorrow, shame or *** to pacify or regain control over me and my actions!

These episodes would appear often though irregular and I would always be deemed at fault! ~ She “never” took responsibility or made any apologies for her conduct; she would also go out a lot and lie or bend the truth as to where she had been; I never challenged this behaviour!

When the relationship was finally deemed over! ~
I began to see my new position in the cycle ~ she immediately begin to vilify me in order to give credence to her “New backstory”, I felt very confused, disorientated and emotionally fraught ~“Shell shocked” questioning, how much of our relationship was true and how much was a lie? For everything I thought I knew was now knitted together with a very complex web of loyalties, lies and half-truths.

Her pattern of repetitive and controlling behaviours have seemingly remained unchanging thoughout all her relationships!

Within two weeks of being apart she told me that she had fallen in love (My replacement) someone she’d had her eye on for some time, some-one she admires, someone kept in the background, a friend a mutual acquaintance, and thanked me for bringing them together.
The grooming of her new lover would have come about in exactly the same way as previously described. It's her "MO"!
(Her pattern of behaviours, her techniques are fixed.)

Her parting statement to me was ~ just a playful stab at my heart; in the hope of provoking a negative response which would then serve to validate her new "back story".

She’s incredibly self-conscious, her biggest fear is that other people will find out about her true demeanour, her image and appearance is everything to her.
(She's afraid that people will shun her for being so very different)

Full circle~
I too must join the ranks of the discredited; labelled a liar, troubled, bitter and crazy.

She then secretly contacted my friends, family, fellow musicians.

I suspect that she may even attempt to vilify me with authorities or threaten some form of legal action as she has to others in the past!

I'm still drawn to her despite my knowledge of her sociopathic nature, and all the things that go with it ~ her constant need for attention, her lies, her infidelity and her deceit and I feel no malice towards her.
I'm intrigued  bewitched by the person hiding underneath the façade!
I know that person is far more interesting, beguiling and attractive than the façade!

Now the dust has settled ~
I’ve somehow remained sound of mind, I don’t feel guilty and I’m aware that I’ve been manipulated into thinking and acting in ways that don’t truly represent my character and that I’m just one of many people seduced by a sociopath! ~ Just another natural human variant , a person devoid of true empathy (for others) and that has developed a narrow set of skills and mirroring behaviours, which allow her to blend into mainstream society in order to feel safe, secure and in control!

She would have preferred to add me to the hareem a bank of beguiled individuals that are occasionally called upon,; kept on the back burner in order for her to use in the future or simply to monitor and re-assess her handwork and power over me.

The last time i saw her she began with nervous politeness and finished with veiled cruelty, I left this experience feeling drained, uncomfortable and quite fazed.

I hoped this incite would help myself and others to understand whats transpired once they're hooked; though i'm sure the next person will ignore any pre-warnings as just ramblings.

Individuals are driven by the natural pursuit of love, *** and romance rather than following advice of seemingly bitter ex...

One reason you and I might attract the attention of a sociopath is because we shine like stars !
Stars are both attractive and enhance the image and status of the people around them.

A  sociopath will orbit a shiny star draining its energy until its a done before slingshoting to a larger more attractive orbit!
*** is simply a tool for manipulation or pleasure;
There is no love or empathy only stepping stones!

Good luck brothers & sisters.
She loves to watch you ***!
Andrew Nov 2017
Here comes The Change
That has the range
Of emotions
And demotions
And devotions
Of a perilous populous
That likes to raise a fuss
When they eventually learn who I am
And treat me like I'm the Son of Sam

To be specific
They discover I'm ***
And begin to filet
My mentality
In totality
For fatality
Merely by acting differently

If my sexuality isn't the first thing people know about me
I get to witness The Change
Like a dog with mange
I am shedding my hair
While screaming no fair
Because of the shift I see
Because of the **** I need
To make my heart bleed

There is a steady bellowing burdensome baggage
From those that want to ****** some *******
So I search for weight lifters
But only find shapeshifters
That become great grifters
When The Change occurs
And The Change burns
So The Change turned
Me into an interdimensional changeling
And an unintentional rage king
After they use words like flaming
Because the results are so draining
It becomes hard not to hate people
Who are inspired by hate steeples

They say I'm going to Hell
While I notice the smell
Of being buried in their banal ****
While they play their greatest hits
That are as unoriginal
As they are cynical
They say I'm a degenerate
An embarrassment
A parent's lament

I want to change into a carefree bird
Instead I stay in Hell with the herd
Wanting to escape like Lupin the Third
Rather than be oppressed like the Kurds
But there is no relief
Only re-grief
When changes aren't permanent
But The Change is

There's an illustration of my life
That will change your perspective
The picture is in my words
When the painting is what I choose to say
And the canvas is your mind
Whose textures I could never imagine
So I jump off a cliff blindfolded
Expecting to be changed once I land
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2017
all I've learned from love


<•>

for the fedora man, 10/29/17 10:34am

<•>

another song done me wrong on a Sunday morn,
so much due to do, a list not for compilation/publication,
including poems promised and weighty deadlines overdue,
for its tedium would still be lbs. heavy in weightless space

instead a lyric plucks my attention, of course beeping,
insistent chirping a chorus of, write me right now,
immédiatement dans son français de Montréal,
this is the item that needs to be list topping,
now whispering a messenger-angel name dropping
a request formal from the fedora man dressed in black

all I've learned from love,  
a listing doomed to comprehensible incompletion,
a listing to the right as new reasons in-come
constantly from the left, each heart beat a
remarkable reminder that the list grows longer

every day, the repeating seasons, proffer suggestions,
disguised as a newly revised ten commandments,
obedience to which is a wish list for
attaining grace

all I've learned from love is its duality, essential quality,
a human single cannot attain the commingling required
for the visioning a peak season of life colorful,
its sad corollary, leaves falling exposing the body bare-****** of the soul linear alone

all I've learned from love is its shining skin is an agreed upon
indefinable nature, other than we all recognize how our
definition personal exists in that Ven diagrams space where
our circles intersect, when A breaks the skin of B, creating
{A,B}

all I've learned from love is without it no matter what
somewhere inside is a desperation pocket that is
an inquisitive irritant, a brain burr, a pea under the mattress,
a high and mighty 1% of disarmament incompetence that rules the imbalanced balance of my bottom line on the top of my head

all I've learned from love that it appears on its own timetable,
in surprising trains and planes and baseball games, sitting
alone in a theater or in front of a Rubens, on crazy disastrous
first dates in foreign countries at cafes or non gender
specific bathrooms amidst alternating currents of
this is crazy and this is infinite and ever so sobering
wondrous possible


all I've learned from love is it never shoots straight,
but will always end in a holy bullseye


*Tout ce que j'ai appris de l'amour, c'est qu'elle ne tire jamais directement,
mais se terminera toujours dans une sainte bullseye
ryn Aug 2014
There are many different masks that adorn my wall
Always at the ready for such time they would be needed
Each one of them summoned to answer a specific call
Each one of them used so that the truth can't be uncovered

With time and wear these masks grow all the more necessary
They protect me from situations that render me vulnerable
Kept contained all the emotions that I wish to bury
Kept in check all of my thoughts so I stay capable

I've had these masks for as long as I can remember
Afraid if they have begun to redefine the true me
They assume their roles seamlessly as if it's second nature
Their roles they would assume without fail, ever so diligently

But as much as they would protect from my own naivety
They also would protect others from the words that I wield
These poison-laden words fueled by my poor misguided sanity
Could easily stab and wound if not for the masks that shield

Often wondered these masks if I've ever taken them off
And function as is without hiding behind bolted doors
Would I be able to walk the line without temptation to scoff
Will I be compassionate yet honest; without causing new-found sores

Such a tough questions to which the answers I know not
Despite having pondered till my head grew sore and weary
Something I should have done before delving in deep thought
Is to now remove the mask that my face does carry
Lily Sep 2
Rainbows that appear out of nowhere
Cozy sweatshirts
Hot chocolate on a cold winter night
Musicals so good they give you chills
Movie marathons
Books that make you cry, make you feel
“I miss you” texts
Laughing so hard you can’t breathe
Pens that are full of ink
The smell of pancakes
A baby’s grin when you pinch it’s cheeks
Teachers who make their class enjoyable
Inside jokes that you laugh about for years afterward
Smiles from that specific person
Butterflies that land on your finger
A cat’s purr
When a piece of music you’re rehearsing finally sounds perfect
Hairties that don’t break
That perfect gift from that specific person
Receiving a letter
The smell of Christmas trees
Long, meaningful hugs
That happy baby sound
Creating memories with friends
The leaps and twists of talented dancers
Realizing you are early to the meeting
Your favorite TV shows
Adorable baby clothes
When you finally find a pair of jeans that fit
The relief of jumping into the cool lake on a blistering day
The smell of a new box of Crayolas
Feeling inspired
Writing poetry
feel free to put your own additions in the comments! :) For anyone going through a rough time; you are loved, and you will get through it. Stay strong <3
Martin Dove Oct 2018
Amor Fati!
Sayed Nietzsche and wiped the tears from his face
But did he know the gravity of this insight with heavy clarity?
The grandiose, wishful celebration of life with the acceptance of faith
is but a mask that's too light to stand in the way of the actuality of reality,
We don't choose our faith, we can just accept it and try to love it
But can you truly love something that is staring you in the eye while pulling the trigger of oblivion?
I doubt it.

If you are lucky,
the face of faith is a loving, caring young women
with the future in her eyes,
giving you slight signs about how great it will be when tomorrow comes.

But back to the executor,
what about Him, huh?
How can you take the Ultimate Dismissal with pride and love??
How can you see the mechanics of evolution,
the generation of many different individuals,
with a wide distribution of traits.
Of which just a few golden combinations
are well suited for the specific moment
Understanding, that the rest of the beings,
who have feelings (especially those of suffering)
Will prove themselves unworthy to enter the Gates of the next stage of selection?
I don’t know.

But I do hope you are the one who will enter
I do hope I will too
But my hope is of no effect
We will just see what life shows to be correct
Until then let’s not spoil the moment and save the regret
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