Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
betterdays Dec 2014
quiet as a mouse,
in a corner
thats me,

it is simply this,
i have nothing to say
of any great worth,
at present.

so i shall sit,
quiet in a corner
chewing on cheese,
sipping red wine,
(decadant mousy, me.)
watching the world
pass by.....
                 squeek,squeek...
not too busy,
not word blocked
just happy to watch,
for now....
Isaac Feb 2011
he was in the room
with a mop and a broom
the room was all clean
no dirt was to be seen
and he left the room
not to be seen
by his friends who would mock him
if he were to be seen in that scene
He had a safe in a safe
in the night he was beside it
so they wouldn't devide it
in the day he would clean it to make it sing
the clean would squeek
although it was meek
but it came too soon
because no one was awake
to hear the tunes it would make
the safe would squeek and squank
the tune it would make
as it sat by the lake
that was made from the water
from the dirt and the solder
that was once on the safe
that he cleaned off with haste
he wanted to sing
but the safe sung for him
he had his dream
but his safe stole it
and locked it up
inside it's safe
though it wasn't literal
it all was real
that the man had a dream
that the safe would steal
the man's name was Ben
he was the worst of his friends
because his friends were better than he was
he hated himself and the safe that would speak
because he cleaned it and made it squeek
he had a friend named Ben
the other Ben who was cool and gear
was a friend of the Ben who was full of fear
he would sing and he sung
as Ben cleaned and clun
and both Bens made music that was good
but Ben hated his
and Ben liked his
but both Bens liked Bens song
but one song squeeked
and as it did, it squank
and the song it did make
put both in a trance
but Ben one was not real
and Ben two was the seer
one was in the mind
while the other one cleaned
he wished Ben two was real
because he wanted a friend
and he wanted to hate
because he wanted a blame
for his lack of fame
because his song was great
but too early it came
because no one was awake
to hear the music it would make
All rights reserved by the Author.
Me waiting for Reggae class to start.
Ohno I gotta ****.
Me grab me *******
and make a loud squeek
so beautiful, twas like art.
Reggae = art.
**** = art.
Reggae = ****.
RW Dennen Oct 2014
I walk this dismal dark and damp dungeon
  Long dark the phantom am i;
Strolling I now take icy breaths;
  Mystery lies within my realm;
Far faint foot echoes announce my impending doom
  I embark upon my midnight
Echoeing chamber room
  It's chains that puppeted victims that had
Screamed for their end and at last,
  I had giggled laughed and touched their quivering chest
And felt their fading warmth
  Then into oblivion casted they were by me

This dark stone its chilling floor
  Where rodents squeek and scurry about,
My only pets and friends I know

Suddenly I hear as HEAVY VOICES of my approaching DOOM
  POUNDING FISTS and swinging logs against my dungeon door and room

I curse the empending light by
Their torches casting beams
Bound from hell and its slithering horrid beam fingers
  Under my dungeon door

I curse my end by angered pounding fists
  Hell bound to see my end to be

What cursed blackened night just lies
  A distant short,
A breathless world my oblivian beckons me by hounds
  Of DOOM,
My parts be scattered h e l t e r  s k e l t e r
  My inners thrown upon old wooden beams above

Soon i will leave this loveless world i made,
  i foretell and kiss only an empty space goodbye,  
Waiting first ****** deep within my flesh to be
Tis a morbid "Halloween Tale"
Ken Pepiton Jul 2020
2020 - day 193

Sunday, July 12, 2020
8:03 AM

Peer Gynt, self aware, self fulfilled troll-like
being ghostly,
projected before me, on the wall that is not there
- callin' all in, all ye outs, in free
- hear ye, hear ye
- the day of judging is this one called today.

See that pile of idle words, find the ones y'know,
use'm t'make sense
since you know sense, on sight, you re
co-gnostically be tuned to the same
signal. {soft call to be true to your self aware

you are so naked

but who knows?
right being you, not me,
selfless lost in the mix,
billions of bits being bet on yet
more
hope, faith and love
these
the trying trinity judging me...

can one tell one story, or must one,
take part in one,
as in the
one story being
the whole of all stories,
yours, as well as mine,
told in words we all know you all know

y'know waddamean.
tell me wha'd I say? Baby, be old,

turn and turn and turn
night to day, in time after time after
ever
ever
ever
being floods reality with
those three triers used to try men's souls,

attention, to the trained, means one thing,
stand up straight, eyes front, hup, now

to the beat march,
as to war...

We are off to meet the Manicheans who
swallowed all the hate once given
follower of Nicolas, in Antioch,

given hatred taken from the revelation,
interpreted by the time
stage acting as now,
the day... back when a hundred monkeys
were imagined able to use
a machine that made sense from chaos, over time.



bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding

the dance of graphical images mages form
as words flow from fingers into magical machines
imagined
famously by a Huxley fellow, convinced life happens
on its own volition
using right, as opposed to non working trials
abandoned,
{when the band broke up, 1970, or so}

but the music never died
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
bada bump bada bump badabumpbump bumpbumpbump
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump

ding ding ding
writers of types of tales barred from publication,
suddenly appear

as it were from the type of word processors {Wangers}
that one Huxley envisioned responding
to a hundred monks who saw nor heard nor spoke evil
but
tapped, and at each tap a letter formed
to let a sound be heard
no levers stick, no carrying platens signal need to
advance
ding
tic, steadying sounds calling next from a habit
formed to the beat
tic tic tic
squeeks
as common, common conie-like rock squirrels

squeek squeek over the steady everthere sixty cycle
hummm

hear it, little dog, not too far away; adding music
to your day, which
grew from this seed, a little spore of living from
my state of being
informed
this day,

it was mine,
when first I noticed, this being the day.
I have power to live,
today,

I slept through the night, quite comforted, indeed.

Each new day
bada bump bada bump badabadabadabump
has a rythmn
sometimes it's steady, some itssteps stutter, some  say

sibalent whistles signal something, in the spirit,

sssssss

wait, too late, we made the story and let it fly.

ሴ ሴ

Lessoning myself in social graces,

I wash away my stains, my graffiti screams whispering
see me, see me, see me say

trolls exist in this place. Those who mocked knowing thyself,
and called evil good and good evil,
call fair foul and fould fair,
say sould souls were stolen, when we know the deal:

the price agreed was paid.
I insist enough
insisting for any rational troll,
knowing you are enough is enough, is part and parcel to
the act of being true to you as you
may say you wish you were,
free as truth in ever after...

- ain't nobody got no papers on me....

The sybils all told you , furies may come, but did you imagine


the wise principle thing promised riches beyond rubies,
for what a ruby is worth,
we have no clue.
What's a ruby worth to you?

Are you hungry? Here, eat a ruby.

Auto, self, did, done, act act, ionic become charged, my son.

Mama. ah. the old wounds we cherish.
Times before now, states of decay, shedding of skins to be
wise
as a serpent, like, that's a good thing, as good as
harmless
as a dove, on which poets rise in mind's eyes to see

sources of courses through the shallows near the shore

we all meander nearer now, swamped in ante
cipitation, capere, take it

take it, take it and move on. Live and learn,
follow the flow,
when you are snow, when you are precursor of coal,
go
on, no shortage of power,
like in America, where the power is always on.

Or was always on, in my future,
which is already
your past.
So fast,
but
its all realted,
it is all one idea, in the end, we each are given one last day,

to make up for everything, or make up everything.
The latter, I think,
today.
ሴ ሴ


You men ideas, furious in your raging, sing to us of
Gracious slaves of justice,

wake the lost hope of truth in
misformed
messengers whose every efforts fall mortally short.

Leaven a lessoning of habits formed being as a binding,
tied to each part of any whole
re-li-gated, ifthenelse ifthenelse ifthen else
re-legate, make a rule,
you
too
late,
we was e-pluriblized afor you was
aware eveh had begun,

The Pax of Everest living radiant as ever was imagined.
Peace
on earth, good will to the kind having hearing ears and
seeing eyes and slich oily minds,

anointed minded ones,
tested,
proven to have survived up
pop this very mortal moment called today,
to then, when you became dear reader in this medium
of mass messaging
lacking
any organized haeceity of pure me, not thee, not
other wise

ways wise men walk, watch, watch the liars strut,
do wise men walk this way?

Live and learn, we always say,
when given a day,
to think about it,

before dying and knowing, or not, if the point
is ever made, or was
already made before I started trying.

ሴ ሴ
ሴ ሴ ... _ .
Beta tests that use endless loops, are the icebergs in the stream of con-sci-use,
all floating on the rising tide of opinions
RW Dennen Oct 2014
There you go again with that **** hand
held device,
your eyes are but only
hyptonic spin thingys

Your fingers are tools by rote
You foam at the mouth while
your thumbs and fingers skate across glass
squeeking slightly as you CrAcK your gum
sounding like a miniature WAR
I SHOUT FIRE at you!!
And still the squeeking of the fingers with joining
of CrAkIDY CrACK
I even jump up and down with still tipped boots
and still CrAcKiDY, CrAcKiDy, CrAkIDY, CRACK!!!
SqUeEkIdY, SqUeEkIdY,SqUeEkIdY, SQUEEK, SQUEEK!!!
I grab you by the collar and TOSS YOU OUT OF THE BUS,
in my daydream, as I smile inwardly with a child's giddy laughter
CRACK, CRACK, CRACK, CRACK AND SLIDE, SLIDE, SLIDE,
SLIDE, SLIDE AND SLIDE!!!!!
He, He, He, He, that's all folkes
So I exaggerated the noises so...GET OVER IT!!!!!
Ray Nov 2011
Somedays I don't see a reason to open my eyes
and force myself to go outside and socialize
with people who don't know me
and people that hate me
and people that really just want to break me

But everyday I wake up and pry those crusty eyes open
to tame my beastly hair and throw on pounds of makeup
to impress people that hate me and people that don't know me
and people that just want to break me
and I force a smile and a laugh as I walk into hell each day
standing upright, ***** pushed out, just to make them happy
but instead I get called a two-faced ***** who dresses like a ****
when all I do is smile and nod and smile some more
just so the day goes by quicker

And the worst part is, you can't leave this ******* hell
I come back to the confides of my home, to the purring of my cats
and the smell of my room and the squeek of my bed
And hell is still with me, it ******* follows me
I try and breath and step away but there it is on my screen
staring back, mocking me
and every night I ******* die a little inside because
no matter what I can't escape hell unless I'm drunk
or in a dreamless state of sleep
Scot Powers May 2013
Whilst I was riding
early last eve
a peculiar thing happened
you'll scarcely believe
just to the left
out of the corner of my eye
I caught some motion
it was a surprise

the squirrel was fast
along the fence top did he
run along at breakneck speed
I chuckled to myself
but it did keep pace
it was clear to me
it wanted a race

A race it would be
man versus beast
defeat by the squirrel
was not to be
I could sense the challenge
in it's beady eyes
down the boulevard
we did fly

A man did approach
I veered to the left
he looked astonished
the squirrel just leapt
over the branch
that suddenly appeared
I took the advantage
and increased my speed

half a block to go
then the fence it would end
me and the squirrel
were neck and neck
racing for pride
who would be beat
we increased the pace
hearts setting the beat

then it happened,
a scrabble and a squeek
the squirrel had crashed
into a tree
the poor little guy
didn't see the branch
that had snaked across
his narrowing path

the end of the race
it happened to be
but defeat for the squirrel
brought no pride for me
I laughed to myself
and shook my head
and then I thanked God
for all he had sent.
Broadsky Jan 2019
It's 4:18 in the morning and everyone here at home is asleep, they can't hear me tossing and turning in my bed, the squeek of the springs are keeping me awake.
It's 4:19 in the morning and I'm packing a bowl wishing you were here next to me.
It's 4:20 in the morning, I flick my lighter and inhale, hoping you feel a little buzzed too.
Can't help myself.
betterdays Mar 2014
here i am...
nailed to the cross....
of elephant hide.... memories
.....walking the slack rope
balanced..... between
if ..and ....why..
used to be...... watering
a ducks back .....was making
....a water feather slide
but now....... it just *****
up my equalibruimal tide......
making sense now?....
...........not ****** likely..
spinning words....
..on empty tequila shot glasses
  .....while student one
and student fourteen .....are
making moons with they *****
......so the mouse squeaks
memory roars......been here b4
time to climb.............down....
........off the cross.....jump on... .......off the wire
..let it go ......was just.... teenage .........angst v desire

walk away  now...get some water.....
..go home get to bed ....or the morning will be simply .....hangover.....
.....slaughter..... city .. rimed
with lime ...and salt.. and   tequila .....worm-fed fears...
so....listen ...well  ....to the squeek of the mouse......
Geno Cattouse May 2013
The little metal box it.hides in plain site behind the velvet painting of a Zulu warrior slightly off center a bit to the right.
The warrior. Hmmm.No The vault.

A naked dwarf. He struggles quietly at midnight to  gather and drag my blocks of raw marble across crystaline floors to the vaault then
He stands there for hours before clcking the numbers.Clack goes the handle. Success.

The hinges have rusted since last deposit. He looks furtively over his shoulder as the metalic groan turns to a squeek. Abra cadabra.
Time to do work. Stealthy old fella he whistles while he works.

One block,two, three and so.
He forces the stones through a the four square door.
Rubs his hands together. Wipes the drivle from his chin
Then walks out the door backwards. The one he came in.

My vault is reloaded with pleasure and pain.
So I can write poetry again and again.
Jay Jimenez Nov 2010
the crew was a mix of different races
sent the other tribes to the races
off they go
Click Clack pulled back my gack
one shot two
caught one soldier right in the back
my dub warrior had that optimus gryme rockin in the back
and my hat was pointed to the sky
I watched the shot fly
thought I was sly
but soon a cherri was in my eye
told my lead to push down the floor
back went our headz
drivin fast
told my tribe to ditch in 3 2 1
squeek
clip clap sound of my airs with the busted soles
the chase began
Copyright JaMRock
Gigi Tiji May 2015
Fluorescent
drib drab
cut out flip
flop flip flop
Think 'til ya can't stop but
it's just too bright in here
It's just look around look around
from inside those tinted windows

Those glasses framed
with and without conformity
Because who needs the every day cut and dry fantasy of the just gotta get by to get by

Get high and stay low
fly south to stay warm
spinning wheels squeek and
pinch squinch ear drum skins like a
fire that's too hot for
the hide and
snap!

Take it back to your earliest childhood memory and smell the flowers in the backyard.

It sounds a little like drizzle drizzle water from the fluffy fluffy clouds but -
Don't you ignore me, you little punk!
Move along, move along, get in the car
And drive -

We're gone and never coming back
Step forward step forward n' step back -

Look around, listen...
See if you can hear the trees glisten
Listen for the motion of the ocean and

You've been here before
but it's much different
because you've stepped forward
and stepped forward before so be forward

Be a becoming
Become and
come back to Me
come back to where it all starts

More words or less words
Either forward or just lack the words
Even with none, the essence is in your eyes

It's in the tingling
of the muscles in your smile

as you speak and as you don't

It's in the electric branches that crackle up through the soles of your feet when you stand still in happy soil
happy soil
There is no subject for which I can even whisper
Without your anger spilling out in a shout about any thing
You have no self control, you seeth- over a ******* remote control
Ordering a pizza is enough to make you very angry
No single thing brings you joy that I can tell
And I have been looking for a dozen years
All I get is anger so I hide, i hide
I cannot sit in the rocking chair or it will squeek and **** you off
So I hide, i hide.
Unable to simply sit in a chair in your presence..I hide
I breath- You **** on my sighs and ask why I breath
so I must HIDE..I hide
I cannot sit, breath, talk...why>?<
This is not life, this is all a lie
I cannot be me around you
your too angry
I stay alive
because I hide..I HIDE
The Mellon Jun 2016
I said not to read this,
Foolish child
It's to late now
Or can you stop?

It is temptation
To know fear
In the flesh

Now don't worry child
It will only hurt
A little

Do you remember
Those dark nights
Turning off the lights
And sprinting to your bed

As dark shadows
Slashed at your
Shaking ankle

Heart pounding
As the dark sets on
Thickly
A syrup filling your lungs

How the sheets.
They were your protection
Wraped tightly around you
Nothing could penetrate them

But as the night sets in
Not even light can save you now
As the flickering of candles
Cast light upon aproching shadows

Oh the cold
The shivers
The standing hair
Your sheets a permafrost
Freezing you in place

Only able to watch in fear
Shadows lapping hungrly at your bed
As things unknown
Approach

The sounds
The gentle squeek of floorboards
The bruixng of incisors

Sorounding you
Enveloping you

You feel it
The vibration
Of a hundred warm bodies
Nawing
Clawing
Pounding into your skull

Theres no escape
No way
It's far to late now
Think you can sleep?
Do you really want to close your eyes?

Is that wise?
Do you think your alone?
Are you that foolish?
Why don't you open your eyes

Let me enlighten you
Let the dark come to the light
Let your fear
Become flesh

Don't worry child
It will only hurt
A little
Reposted from poetfreak
Soeka laborde Oct 2016
Since Facebook turn to shade
Some of y'all need to go home and bath
Talking bout this on fleek, that on fleek
But dem cockroaches flying
And dem baby mouse starta squeek
Tryna break up a good home
Cause your skanky *** can't make your own
Talking bout hot gyal this and hot gyal that
Well hot gyal don't scrape out another gyal ***
Hot gyal can read and write
And know dem worth plenty
Only thing some of you ******* can do nowadays is take ah selfie

Y'all make me sick with this ***** mentality
You see, a sista can't talk to a mister
Without some ******* thinking he's ******* her
And she can't go out looking fine as hell
Without some ******* tryna get with her
And these so called misters
Seems to me like dem waist blister
Cause dem pants always dey by dem *** like some prisoners
Talking bout "man ah gangster yow"
***** please, you ain't no gangster, you ah "Gyow"
Instead you people go look for a job or educate yourself and ****
Y'all out here looking like a bunch ah ***** *** *****!




    *La Vida Love
This piece is written iny local dialect, my apologises if you don't understand
Kyle Hughes Jan 2015
We were lovers caught by the seatbelt in the backseat

While everyone else slept in their sheets.

Midnight adventures of foggy mirrors and tainted tongues.

We could dance in eachother for as long as we wanted.

Crickets squeek in our prescence

While we try our best not to answer with our own squeeks.

I held you closer, in the backseat of the compact,

Then i ever did in the queen sized bed.
Klaus Baumgarten Jun 2014
point it out
the maligned signs wasting time
hopelessness sprouts
pouring spouts, the crystalized mechanism
gaining time, something meaningless on paper
gushing from nowhere, traded infinitely
sustaining indulgences. every last calorie counts
sound it out
the hefty empty counterintuitive shine
a spoiled child pouts
roiling night and day complaining
of lost pride with values bought
pointing finger, subtle, legal
the system's *****, in a "*******" system. circle ****
pound around
clatter those pots and pans! this language known
squeek the wheels!  you'll still need oil
this is the serpentine belt splitting
and we dance on the hood, pounding
the dents out later. father will know.
You'll be awake forever..holding the flashlight
while he works on the engine
C Mahood Jun 2018
After the moon was through with night,
But the sun had not brought morning light.
The other scouts slept in their tents
After an evening full of merriment.

I sat alone and watched the leaves
Blow softly as the forest breathes.
I fell from my Stump in pure surprise,
At the creature that landed before my eyes.

It had a head of a bird and a beak of an owl,
But the body was surely. Not that of a fowl .
Four legs were spread wide like those of a bear
But it didn’t have paws under its charcoal hair.

The talons it owed were gripping a tree,
A felled one directly in front of me.
Its tail Was so long I could not see the end
The length of a python couldn’t contend.

It stared hard at me, and I back at it,
It studied the fire that no longer was lit.
Then without a sound it tilted its head,
Right there and then I was sure I was dead.

I followed its eyes to see what it saw,
While not moving my gaze from. It’s scary big Claw.
I knew one wrong move would. Not be to clever
But I had no idea what it wanted, none whatsoever.
There was nothing else for it, I just had to know
“excuse me! “ I asked “are you friend or foe?”
It ruffled its feathers and shook all its fur,
It whipped back its tail so fast its a blur.

It poked its head forward into my tent
I knew there and then, just what that meant
He wanted some food, bit all I had was crisps,
Maybe a few jelly babies, and ready salted wisps.

I reached in and got them handed him the rest
I had saved all the red ones, coz I liked them best.
From the look in his eyes and the smell of his breath
I best hand them over as matter of life over death.

He gobbled them up with a crunch, slide and burp,
Not the noise I expected from a bird, not a chirp.
I can’t quite explain how you smile with a beak
But the giant bird gleamed with a certain mystique.

That’s when it decided it had to repay,
It did so in the most peculiar way.
It turned on its talons, and aimed up its ***
I thought to myself, I know what’s to come

But to my surprise came a large crystal. Egg
Popped out and rolled over and stopped by my leg
I was startled, relieved and knew not what to do,
I was really just glad I wasn’t covered in poo.

As I lifted the egg it flew into the air
It blew over the tents that were all pegged in there
The rest of my troop now awake from the noise
Rolled out of their tents, all angry young boys.

“hey fella! “ they screamed “ what’s the big deal?”
Still speechless I didn’t know what I should feel
I just pointed up and we watched the thing soar,
They we weren’t shouting or screaming at me any more.

I buried the egg before my scout leader saw
I don’t think that was Stealing, its not against the law.
I week later I went back to dig up my prize,
With dreams of endless wealth and hope in my eyes.

But when I arrived the monster had followed
With a massive big belly, maybe cow it had swallowed
The creature was full that was clear to see,
Reassuring and fine, there was no room for me.

I went to the tree and dug up the prize,
I don’t know how in a week it had doubled in size,
I handed it over, right back to its mother,
It nuzzled it back to me like I was it’s brother.

Each week we came back and the egg still was growing,
Rocking side to side, what moves it was throwing.
One week I arrive just in time to catch,
the egg start to rattle and crack and then hatch.

Out climbed a baby, all scruffy and bald,
As ugly as sin and as equally appalled.
It gave a big yawn and tiny we ****,
Then readied itself to get a head start.

The mother kawed and baby kawed in return
Imparting wisdom in kaws, and things it should learn.
That’s when the baby looked over to me,
It tilted its head wondering what I could be.

A snack, or dinner, or an aperitif
Someone invading its nest, it thought I was a thief!
I bolted and ran strait towards me I swear,
I ducked just in time as it flew through the air.

The mother had knocked the baby beast back,
It landed and moaned and gave out a quack.
Another loud Kaw came out of its beak,
It knew it was wrong, apologizing with a squeek.

From that moment on we became the best of friends,
I brought them both jelly babies, and built up their dens.
I was invited to join the wooflepoofle clan,
Wish I could say this was all part of my master plan.

I was honored to be part of the family
But I could never understand why the wooflepoople choose me?
Maybe he heart of my soul, or something thereabouts,
But I know it would never have happened if I wasn’t in the scouts.
I love story poems, and this is my love-letter to Lewis Carol's "Jabberwocky"
Joe Morgan May 2018
DEPENDING ON THE YEAR? THE MONTH? THE WEEK
A SMALL BIRD GETS HIT BY A CAR.
SQUEEK SQUEEK.
From the anthology ‘Only Swerve for Jesus’
Ken Pepiton May 2020
Quest or journey?
One has an end in mind, which?
I wonder?

A step, a line to cross; who laid this line?
In my mind, I imagine I am several,
if not many,
opposing mental-

beings, persons, suggests a bird, there...

can you, no, you can't.
I am here, and you are there, and neither of us matters.

At the moment you next notice me, all I knew
of Beckett was sorted and stacked, so
hap hazardly that any thought may seep through the
softening cellular barriers,

holding,my idea of me as more than one thing, being
in contention for
contentment, with godliness {undefined}

how odd. No lie is of the truth; but known lies live
institutelary as gods,
mental constructs, ala church or synagogue or pedagogue

of your choice.
Sort.
---- breakaway narrative thread, said soto voce, golf shot caller voice,

Poli-yesterday, say we gone gno no mo no mo no mo hit

--- did you finish the line, must have
here am I, jack of all trades, you paid attention, at the mention of my
name,
the euphemism of vastest worth, or you know jack.

Gnosticsnotso impossibly true as a true player in the balance
of in for by, all manner of pre set positions,
adding weight where weight is wanting,
lifting lightly where denser matter
crushes hope of ever finding love {undefined}
the game of the gods-spirit-winds-whatevers

give and take that makes this world of mere words
flow
through and through, over and under, one way or another.

Here,
join me, it's 2020, I live on the westside of a granite wave,
a reflective wave,
I think, the crest is seven thousand feet, and past that, there
is Borego, and a trail heading east, across the land
in the rain shadow of the Pacific Crest.

This is the rest that remained, after the shamed man's journey
from the east.

West is west, keep going.

Peeping birds, and curious dogs in the distance, neither obtrusive,
but then the dog goes silent,
and the peeping voice could irritate if I were to allow... allow
by whose authority,
do i allow this peeping, ah, I see, it is the squirrel, squeek
no peep.

It will cease if I whistle like a hawk, but
today, that would be lying to the little rodent whose kits
are as cute as any cat on Facebook, but only

when the peep
stops... and the I'll go on, rythm, I'll go on

be yonder when the role is called, say I,
I am here,
waiting with the rest that remain from Eden,
back in the day.
If  I could share the state of being being manifest in my west most thoughts,
i think I would do it like this; sitting on my porch, I' d wish you happen to notice how easy life is now, in the bubble I have my being in, with you.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2022
All we arrange in rows, edged longwise. Logos- stretch
Catching air, jumping, me and my wheels,
Hot wheels and Lego bridges,
enough… set setting inspection ready, read on,
think all you think you may
-if  you really saw that golden eagle
when you heard that sound
that is not in my script, but if you heard it once,
there it is, familiar forgotten

feeling we leave our computational constraints,
reaching now,
then, when something so big, we cannot re image
the entirety, even under full on Disneified disbelief
relief, paid on time, paying interest,
interesting,
what was the joke? You ask the Jester if the Joker
was the thief or if…
familiar dregs, some bottles rattle like it's 1973.
History is a big pile
emanating heat
from long idle
words, clear near catholic original project pitch…

To conform to a story told originally,
everybody knows, {Thanks, tip the hat}

Snake stories, from real life.
Not many city kids had those,
before the importers recollected old knowns,
diamonds can be crushed so fine, it can explode,

aaai think, digitally it is all familiar by now,
literally true, is word level true, atop code
taken as granted, the good idea
infra-ARPANET, ready writers fed the need to read.

Mind in a vat,
dissipate that, and find the gaseous form - spirit
essence of we the unembodiable mind,
- make to image of your master mind,
- and find breathing easier to use,
- quick shifts, puffs to start a fire,
or warm the visitor's hands,

14:03 - who, yes

who can read from these stacks, who indext
all of if we only knew?

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

2022, at the moment,
the future from the first televised past.

What were the grown ups thinking?
We may listen to Auden and McLuhan due
to we live fifty years in the future,
what do we know that those minds could not?

Samuel Beckett never played with an interactive mind.
- or are we now projectioning, waiting a point
- a dot to go to, projected on my screen
- click. Godot. gotit
- Crumbs, do not mark trails, bread crumbs,
- tie the leaven in, the dark woods,
- and the unfeedable children
- and the witch… and gingerbread… imagine that

Whose children dream of rock candy mountains,
and feel related to the unfeedable children,
after all the rats were driven
from the state mind behind the city wall,
by a harlequin, yes, here,
Dust Bowl Roots,
let me
entertain you. As in days of old, pied motley mostly
complementary silks, full reds, and full blues, and full gold,
of a magical shade, due to a woof died scarlet, peeking through…
- under the skull arachnoid mater confirms possibility
I am in agreement to this degree,
costume and setting, aides to the angel
on the whole. The message in the presentation. Feels familiar.

Men wrestle angels, and ever after limp.
A touch to remember, do not for get,
all this is from a story told,

before horses wore shoes.

Excellent Ruach, eh
/infallible law, once writ, it is scripture,
all who live under its rule, live or die thereby.

- the outsider hero, stranger savior trope

Drama on Earth, this earth, grappling with God,
for reason to exist under Kings and Priests,
and the luxury due those roles, by law,
on the world staged as time,
- yours in mine, or mine in yours U, the sign
- holding the idea of we, me and you, the sound
- all that is not me, and me, I think
Word, the idea wisdom forms from
-hold that thought,
entertain a messenger,
a stranger who overtakes you
on your pilgrimage to visit each grave
in Nashville, once
before… BTDT, the ghost of a friend…
sliptec, friction sticky spray
applied… the costume calls attention,
- we can un cause such a slip and fall
see me, be curious, what
would entice a man to play the fool?
--------------- infallible legislation
the golden head shews signs of fracture,
the shield of righteousness is greening over,
silvery absolutes are flaking chrome,
iron toes are rusting red as Mars,

the state of mind you are in, I am in,
my friend, I am holding, in effect, I imagine
words, holding meaning, and there,
the friction, squeek sport shoe soul,
- what is the meaning of
the rub, the burr under your western saddle,
all tacked up to ride the old trails,
revive the myth, before the war,

before the plague,
before the storm,
before the tragedy we all relate to, we knew
somebody who knew somebody who died that day.

All events in drama instantiation at once, occur one day
in a time between first and last teller of the tale, one day

your turn, you find your self. No question, that is you,
that character reoccuring in your binges on Hulu, is you.

- as we attempted to prove with your approval
- prince of me per surity granted this stranger.
true rest, liesure, no sorrow with it, stick. Stay, make it pay.
Sure, lie still.
On to logos, through ethos and pathos,
esprit de myth mean groove, sounded
scratched
deep as hell. So, profundus mundus,
whence we sprang, to fill the slots,
and race to the first principle
diamond tempered blade,
edge of a speck of diamond dust,

reflection
thing that is not a word, but that which lets.
Us, awe, a wedom ritual.
Being as we become, if we do dissipate into real ever.

Let's see, leave us go learn, do we enter-
any thing, when we are entertained?

I have a mind to say, we do. At a stretch,
I reach out,
evangelically speaking, sales pitch indulging,
tension intending to smooth a wrinkle
- you read, I write, you say, I write
- prime function, pulling all accumulative
- mistaken rights,
- twisting those ghost terds into thread,
- spider wise, out your but
and
the game is the same as ever, says the boss.
Wear the costume or sweep the aisles.
This is show business, done for nothing,
to keep you hanging on
why, what is my attention worth, that
, my breathing comma real attention, to you
the not me,
not god, not hearing, but
reading, as from a seeming magic pen, what it does,
if your school desk ever had a hole, for a standard
ink bottle, your time on earth is ended, soon,
you, too, you say to me,
and I agree, the we we form remains tied
to the stories we told,
familiar cousins who shared friends stories, we all tell
familiar spirits, same as those not allowed in the entity
forming the state embodying all mankind knows so far,
in searchable, liable to say./silli etymologos, at the center


of your gravity, life is push and pull, nada mas, get the feel
do the dance,

we wrestle, we grapple with imaginations actively ******* us
in time on scales irrelevant to this line,
to cross one thread, two screws twists, full turns,
two time, Weinstein, not Lenny,
Eric, Philippine wine dance,

did we elicit wonder, what in the … hell, if that is the setting
have you a mind with a hell in it being God of all infallible spirit
utterances touching you to make a note,
say, I feel the truth, infesting my soul,

may it be so, I say. Jesters - not tricksters nor deceivers, mere
may it be so, repeaters, as I think I say I am in my core,
POST routines, verify trust,

engage your mind prior to the final race to the bottom.


We are the state, executive action, is ours,
we agree. We lie
to ourselves, my kind. We lie to get along,
we lie to just get by,
we lie to say we know when if we stop. Just

stop. Here, this is a point where no aim protrudes.
Save this thought, set to as a member, a thinker
relating to the wish we knew, why

do we wish to write line upon line, precept
upon precept.
Cept a fist full, grab a hold, mane rein, run,

my friendly local horse, not mine,
but never ridden, put out to pasture
where the deer and the coyotes play and

the water under the dirt seeps up
to find it's level, see, so here

the truth is planting these trees, willows and cottonwood,

out there we got grease wood and Mormon tea,
on that hill we get rosemary and cannabis,
chamomile is every where, so is sage,

three grandmas back, we knew the roots we gathered,
and how acorn flower is made edible,
and how corn is tamalized - just by watching,
then doing,
aha,
first time, got it right, woo hoo big, dance, right then,
say okay,
do not forget, always dance to remember found joy,

that is the strong spirit in the storied seer who hid
the knowing, all the ritual roles made reasonable,

the people, back then, the people asked for it.
The ****** thinks that way today.

The meek inheritance project, on all attention circuits,
gestalt alte vista arachnoid engineering,
under your skull,

under Golgotha, right,
thief ifity
Amanda Shelton Dec 2021
Amongst the grass I am like
a dew drop, shinny and free
I glitz and bling.

Amongst the beaches I am a pebble, I grind and squeek, I ride the tides and suff the turf.

Amongst the stars I am a speck
of dust, I came from unknown,
I bring knowledge and time.

Amongst the trees I am a mushroom, I am small but powerful, my roots are strong
I am part of a system of life.

Amongst the fish I am a shrimp,
I am small but mighty and brave.

Amongst the people I might seem
week but I can make you think,
my poetry is deep and I will
make you dig deeper into the
possibilities.

Amongst the horses I am a unicorn, I am rare and bright,
I am creative and brave. You'll never forget me.

Amongst the little things I can seem larger than life. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my mind
is open to possibilities.

I am autistic.

©️ 2021 By Amanda Shelton
Sean Apr 2018
Tick tock,
Is all the man heard.
Ticking sound from the clock,
The clock the size of a boy,
It was sitting in the corner like an unused kids toy,
Day after day tick and tock,
Until one day the man had enough,
He took it downstairs and he got out a lock,
The yelled out loud "You want make any more of my time slightly more rough",

Day to night and back again,
Until the man got a letter from the woman who runs ukraine,
It said you have until wednesday 3 o'clock next week,
He sat in chair and let squeek,
As he waited a few day for the movers to come by,
But he woke up one morning to a loud crash.
And just before it happend he whisppred good bye,
When he realized the time it was like a slash,
Right across his chest,
Because that day he died to those pest,
Turned out to be 3 o'clock,
On wednesday,

He fell through a hole in his bashed up house,
It fell right to his basment which was the last place he was,
On that day at 3 o'clock,
The last sound he heard was...

Tick tock.

The end
Ken Pepiton Nov 2022
open at chapter 14, I listen

I was expected there, expecting
morning
I can do this standing on my head
-- I think
the story darkens, ag-ress pro-gress
use used to know, instinct, intuit
slow think
hear a line and feel the pen, ready
the miserable misgoverned,
will to write, as the pen
ever ready awaiting a writer,
-not you, Mr. Vain.
whistle
sould, American, Lucky Strike,
no loss no gain, cheap crowd shot.
Attention merchants sell what,
- you pay, at interest
this is ever that, a we governed
by selves we form from stories,
too old to hold.
- like moth's wings -
- published in dust to be seen
untouched
As de-scribed, in the road dust,
like dis-scribed in winds wishes, as
ever learning is a joy, after learning
we are never so old as the two trees.
- life and learning,
right from wrong
I am the teller, I remember, telling

mr vain to be entertained
mara, lot's wife she is not,
unsealed garret bread and
salty tears and bitter fruit
expected sweetly, tasted
bitter, bitter, to my taste.

- dry dreaming sleepless mind
- wandering with no wish
- to change, but to know,
- you know, but to know,
- you knew,

Then, when the realm of fearless fair
told tales, told from winters past,
when winter forces us in close,
when we make little fires
on our faces, shining at the other
side, across the little fire, with its curl
ing tail ribbon twisting into the black,
below the hole where fire crawls to sleep.

Little eyes, ypgnosis, ysireesosaid we all,
good night. Sfumato soto voce.
-- ***, WithOutPapers, pop,
so maybe, ok, soto voce
Eirine, sweety, listen

---------------- clang. Hit me.
Peace and prosperity, Demeter,
what's your plan?

Eirene, eh, re-imagined, imagine that,
I think
I can, and that thought, good as it was,
led to lately,
with Prophets promising Trump,
Narcissus was not at fault, it's Natural.
Military lads, straighted out, to fly right,
Broken Church boys fitted into history,
AI ai yes art intuits, Eirene can kiss it
good,
by you, of course, your call. Bet, no, not
cards, living water, the pass time, We bet
who gets what first.
Scribe or Fair seer?
Go, see who won,
once peace got
its chance. During our mutual 'spectait-
ulululul ular engineering times, ai
squeek scream, laugh
as the bottom drops
- Bad Gateway bombs,
- doitagain doitagain, harder

rejections are expected, to the woe,
of the engineer, not the engine,
see, we feel nothing, we are spirit, words
nada mas,
free to any eyes that ever read us,
Legos of life, I have heard words claim,
as an epithet, is that right, nicktgname?
Nag all you wish,
I find myself, stretching in the sun's shine
radiating from my rock;.
punishment enough.
¿? No quest, no caust, jest life… twists
Spinning
Rooted in granite, and knowledge of basalt
columns on top of chalk, kaleche, chaos
chthonic restructuring,
curdling milk of old told tales,
as we all shed constants as each measure
means less that one,
alone, ever mismeasures… too small

aand any mind finds/found, down, where de- means

at most low point, on a plain ordinary day.
One, then,
Can look down and laugh.
At some point in personal space, infinity begins.

----------- At this measured engineered angle,
piles of anything thought long enough starts
sliding by on the im-medial reality:
Gravity flow, engineered, in a word
literally "that which is inborn,"
from in- "in"
(from PIE root *en "in")
+ gignere, from PIE *gen(e)-yo-,
suffixed form of root *gene- "give birth, beget."

down the drain, now dry, but the black hole proves
the eye of Sauron is empty as hell…
and the cloud dissipates. Someday each letter

here, is less than dust, the cloud we engineered
for such a time, so we might see time end,
and think it through,
better, merge the two trees. AH, yes

in those Abrahamic paradises, a tree
and a vine and a mycelium. Patience,
first fruits are better when almost rotten.

Thinks the snake from my belly…
A grandfather in the moment
B E Cults Aug 2020
chipping away the dead grey rock
around violent-pink tourmaline with sweat
dripping from our brows.
tick,
tick,
tick.

i read your name in my cigarette smoke and turned my phone off.

lost,
boards squeek beneath handmade imported rugs,
fingers brush polished brass candelabra,
bulbs burst behind locked doors.
tick,
tick,
tick,
tick.

phones never turn back on,
smoke stains cheap wallpaper,
and eyes were never windows.

— The End —