"stances" poems
I though he carried the light
where words would illuminate
driving me to a euphoric ******
a man without a face or a trace
unhindered in a double live and lies
a bubble of psychotic psychic surety
his passion was an addiction
my reservations moved a notch
addicted to a body of ideology
the stances of philosophical terms
uncovering ancient possibilities
the unfelt mysteries of history
veiled in icicles of pretence and lies
as if a Marxist, a closet bourgeoise
The stoicism of present bargains
questioning Socrates and morality reasons
a fatal dose ,examining the unexamined
as colourful as his mind blew my inner glow
he was lost in sad and low dialogues
afraid to face the earthly shallow shadows
yet his spirits moved deep within mine
and it paralysed and fed on my energy
and his delusion became my seduction
but he woke my inner poetic tongue
letting it caress all his inner wounds
A shadow hiding behind Frankenstein’s
a sly monster who lied to my eyes
ghosting in with the a pen that weakens
romancing with letters of a fiery doom
a penpal whom I met within my lowest
but whose words lay in a deep unending quarry
his warmth I could never ever tell
his kiss only a draft on the dewy grass
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
Snow fell deeply on the graves that night,
falling on both the wealthy and not so,
coating with cleanliness and purity all who
do not deserve and the very few who may.
The snow descended coldly and quietly,
blanketing gravestones and statues alike.
Distinguishable only by their shadows
and heavenward thrusts and stances,
they continue to designate where bodies
lay and bright hopes are finished.
Despite the softness and the silence,
above the solitude and endless white,
the boundless rage of ended dreams
seems to penetrate upward, to shriek.
--
Sep 10, 2011
Sep 10, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
#
*River running..
That rushing sound in these parts
spell out the words, crystal-clear..
Tree-lined banks, giving way
to the Dark Hills, upslope
Giving way, to
granite-rocked outcroppings
giving way to elk-hidden quakeys
Surrendering their holy-huddle's
pristine stances
to tall prairie-grass, waving
wild raspberries and tall pines
And I, myself..
am surrendering also
She is watching the water, believing
That as it flows,
she will not lose herself in it
That it will not steal, but heal
That I will not rage again
within my fear
I am watching her,
watch the water
I am watching the water-- believing
That as I give of myself
further into the flow
that I will not become diffused
by humanity
By the love of man
and all of its dishonesty
and all of its diabolical treachery
Of its lack of concern,
or understanding
Or ability to break through
its own, self-centeredness
Or its need to swallow me up
into the mundane.
Her hands are in the air now,
praising..
Worshipping
the true nature of the flow,
Believing..
that I will let all of this, go
And as she wades in
I ease, back--
Retreating
up the Dark Hills, slope
Clutching tightly..
To granite-rocked outcroppings,
weeping.
Hiding in the quakeys,
among the majestic elk
Begging for the tallgrass, cover
among the wild raspberries.
Now, fully concealed
in tall pines.
Her hands
are stretched out, now..
as if hovering over the waters,
participating
While I hide from it all
While I hide, from humanity;
From the fallen, love of man
She is wading in,
Believing
.
As I am leaving;
Believing
As the cloud-hidden sky,
starts raining--
playing the most incredible, of tunes.*
#
Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 8:01 PM UTC
I sought satisfaction in stupid sheepishly and shallow strides.
Scared subconsciously, I swallow and sustain substance for pseudo self esteem strengthening.
I seemed of in service to slumber and stinging sadness, shots sank like ships, submerging into the sea of my swarthy stomach in seconds.
I somewhat sympathies as a sailor, sweating, struggling and swimming in slipping sobriety saturated in my sulking style.
Scanning swarms of serial swindlers, striking sculptures stances of self-doubt.
I stammer in a storm of slurs, ******* down my safety, stopping myself at the stoop of the saloon I see a seductive silhouette staging the space.
She stroke my sight, standing sanguine in scarlet, soul sold in high heels.
The smoothest sculptures in seven square miles were subjugated into scree and I was ****** in submission.
Stubborn staggering suitors, stand shaking silently as she is stopped by sharks stalking and snarling sycophantics.
So straightforward in suggesting their secret starvation to strip sensations, seem by seem, like a sub-par **** cinema scene.
They step and speak short.
She smokes off, stranding the scree in smoldering slaughter.
Its sad this soul-less sanctuary soaking up sorrows.
So self inflicting, and so satisfyingly side splitting.
She sported her spurned, scorned off into sadistic solitude and stained sticky stigma, sobbing to sleep.
So spent from simple stocked, stored and supported senescence of ceremonial subjection of ****** status.
I savior my sincerity, and stretched out of this strange stadium of stooges.
So long scarlet sanguine I sang softly, as she stole my sight suspiciously in sync with hers.
Sacrificial seconds split from smearing stolidity to sharing a smile.
That's simple satisfaction, so I seen scripted in sitcoms and shows.
Supporting sapiens in stasis to see sappy stunners on screen, to stare snoopy, as stabs and slashes strike socially into socialites of so called sanity and sovereignty.
To sweetly pay salvage as slaves of soppy studio slander.
Such is this sorry Saturday night, I am solidified in sedation.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 12:00 PM UTC
Spill some wine on the season--
He's walking home at 1 am
And full of well gin and reasons
for both staying and leaving
and dripping orange lamplight
He thinks he'll try and dry out
(sure)
Try sinking in ideas and a couch
on his back lawn
Same old thoughts just circle
overhead in lazy patterns
Synced with beats made by cars passing
on the street at 2 am.
It's a passion play he's caught in
Passing days with failing stances
Whilst the nights keep passing faster
into blue-black blurs like bruises.
Open lids to empty coffins
With those thoughts' befuddled movements
--And he's introduced again
And it gets a little lonely
sitting on that couch with only
empty bottles and neuroses
for to break that pattern up
with another worn out pattern--
For to keep him in cold company.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, dreaming is my official drug;}
some wound some abuse came to an ache a demand
things I wont suppose an understand
ought for them to ****
brought to me bruised with arms no one to fill
why does it make me mad
quickly to the rush if your eyes I hand
corner stances of broken promises landing to your palm
scratches I seem to beg my lips to kiss to calm
I hate to admit it but
I got it bad to that devilish sword
whispers of magic into my mind taste of words
cutting my limbs in crap
drowning my heavens in a trap
cause maybe then I dream
on the moment unpast unseen
think your feels would come to me
horror of a real I disbelieve
or not come to the sleeping nights I don't need
or not embrace the lots adore me in free
fly my stars to a miraculous scene
so resented so loved
yet so hard to redeem
-------ravenfeels
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 4:13 PM UTC
Lobsters
@2014 Linda Barrett
They sit in the cramped corners
of the water tank
face each other
armored claws bound
with thick rubber bands
These shelled warriors
take on boxer’s stances
wait their chance
to attack each other
in impromptu bouts
They step over one another
pick fights for dominance
of their watery ring
Some desperate crustaceans
decide to make their escape
reach out for the tank’s top
but fall over backwards
onto each other
Those lucky ones
usually win
when the Seafood man
in his white coat
pulls them out
makes the champions
of someone’s dinner.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
*I fall in love with blonde hair and glasses,
Awkward stances and quick glances;
He is temporary and thus impacting,
His voice is all that is lasting.
And though my chances are impeded,
Distance seems all so fleeting;
Such as is in the one-time summer dare
Of two strangers’ love affair.*
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
sunshine seeps through blue dresses
and laughing echoes via open windows
with rays on my shoulders
and caresses on my nose.
splashes of rainwater glisten in the sun
with camisoles and lingerie above.
fulfilling stances of smiles and buoyancy
as i sway in my mary janes.
my snow-white blouse feels loose.
i inhale with ease
as the humidity offers a veil
over my bare shoulders.
the bitter moon has inched over
the prospect; the blue skies
have twisted and crooked to black.
dust lynches off disgusting, damp garments.
the moon hits the violet vests,
and cries are blocked by closed doors.
there is artificial light on my skeleton
and slaps printed across my face.
this deceitful place.
with obscure deceptions on every corner.
this circle of life really is bittersweet.
day is kind and night is not.
when the gangsters come out.
when mommy and daddy aren’t so ecstatic.
when brooklyn is authentic.
and your snow-white blouse feels tight.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
(G)
Life as a burden is decent
Treading in hatched up waterways
Swimming in the green brine ebbing tides
Drowned in emotive stances
A being intensified in rapid torrents
Ohh my…fickleness soaked in curiosity
(J)
Decent sounds pretty substantial
I lay acquainted to swampy lowlands
My footsteps have tasted salty waters
Stepped, wadding inside the muddy landscape
Inch by inch, halfway, fully submerged
Overloaded by the tide gasping for oxygen
(G)
Populaces catwalk with intellectual deficit
Footsteps bereft of creativity and eloquence
The grounds lay dry strangling the in-between
The desert begging to lose their sandy dry skin
The forest whispers with a revolt of transformation
The luscious green splash life sparking drones
(J)
Your analogy sways the natured array of trees
The inspiration stings the sun to radiate warmth
All patched in the blueness of bellowing skies
My lungs deflate even on intense inhalation
I tarmac on the passage of time, differently wired
Intermittently cyanosed in faded lived moments
(G)
For poetry and art scaffolds and shapes reality
It sparks life and eliminates the drone mentality
Artists arouse inspiration and boost human nature
It bridges the narrowing ledge of ( human diversity/ instead of/ diverse species)
It drives conversation and deepens basic pleasantries
Rotating notions, promoted to a present and active human
(J)
I object not, for human essence is essential
A foundation of humanity that inspires and frees
A deed that dips in the depth of a lush oasis
Most sunk and waving “a celebration of celebrities”
Falsified lionization, a control of master puppeteer
Amused by insight, the reciprocal contract of empathy
G= Graff1980
J=SassyJ
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Tell ‘em how you feel
Keep it real
Ya know the deal
Never mind mass appeal
Man your battle station
Get in formation
Tell the nation
You’re losing patience
The Black Panthers
Wanted answers
Now exotic dancers
Take their stances
And behold
They broke the mold
When the story was told
At the Super Bowl
Gimme, gimme
That shake and shimmy
Hotter than a chimney
In Papua New Guinea
Cuz no judgment’s passed
When you just shake that ***
Instead they raise a glass
And give you a free pass
Now they dissect you
Take it to the press too
Then refuse to protect you
FOI to the rescue
Long as you speak your mind
They can be unkind
But they can’t take your shine
Beyonce it’s your time
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2016. All rights reserved.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 7:49 AM UTC
SuzAnne, nee Christine
Irascible, Incorrigible, Indefatigable, Affable
Adopted sister of Doug and Mike and sort of Jill
Lover of ideas and stances
Who fears laryngitis and deafness
Who needs music and malleability
Who gives grades and advice
Who would like to see Firenze and the Pyramids of Giza
Who lives in Hot Water
Wilson, nee Doe
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Its nefarious arrogance, that's scaring grandparents, but its in the air and I'm airing it, as we are seeing all the signs, but just staring at them.
Somehow there is safety as an arian, where we are safely alien to Americans made in sapient sanitariums, shooting you first for glaring at em.
So what if i'm Dolling up my delirium for a serum to cure them all.
I am awol, from my call to duty, recreating movies, for serial groupies, suiting up to slither a delivery of a soothing sour piece.
I am stalling to clean the secretions from hostel sheets from the screamers being eaten, by Cretans, with beaten dogs at bay, staring blank at the fanfare from a cage.
Im burning white sage, under pages of poetry anointed by a stoical spleen, tuning out the dreams, of lesser beings, until complete.
A zoo within a zoo within a zoo, i barely know you now
Barely know how, to know you as a model citizen with baller trimmins, fixins, and a life with others wives, in the rough diamonds of the bluff, before the door opens just enough, to look through and confirm what you already knew.
Love is the stuff dreams are made of.
And through you..
Im through.
Pleading, to seed the need for repentance and with reduced sentences, bleeding the demands on stances of chance, in costly cants.
I am convulsing in the congruence, in which I am influenced, by my afflictions of depictions in my head
I might be addicted to the dread of previously said decor, in my adorable horror show afloat, deplorably denoting the nopes of logic, and the slippery slopes of khangi, that spring off me when i'm coughing on my green tea.
You are wrong to stop me in my dislogic, dodging the narcotic mocking of toxic strong arming, in proxy alarms, setting barns ablaze.
I praise the poetry pushed on me, dauntingly haunting me with savant like ambiance, from the have nots, having things as far as the eyes can see.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 12:51 AM UTC
He is like those grains in the sand
those that disperse and get blown away
in unsteady stances, unfair hunches
and the point is.... "you don't turn my mind"
in the caskets of your stored emotional
where a connection is jarred and jammed
such a physical distaste and stirred responses
and besides that, the gods must be in the know
ohh...may be the wind that turn into the spring
will turn me on to a mountain of dreams
then the rains will wash and touch me deep
until my feelings tickle me to the flow
that’s the time I would be free to make love
holding hands by the dimmed candle lights
kissing under the bloom of the weeping willow tree
beside other lovers who will be mesmerized
by the flight of the need, the fight as agreed
and the season will capture the realness of love
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
perturbations of aliveness
animated sensual arousal
the world is full of beauty
bleeding colour into edges
the soul is on it's knees
in constant reverence
as the body postulates
with many varied stances
the heart's tide is roaring
with cryptic coalescence
symphonic sounds wave
from an unstruck core
swallowed in a resonance
undulating both ways
all ways,
always.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:22 PM UTC
War is so romantic,
Don't you think?
The women swooning for the strong men,
The uniforms and stubborn stances.
Their confidence in the rightness of their ways,
Turns the hearts of ladies soft.
The young eyes and naïveté of those lily white boy soldiers who believe in their invincibility,
Is so appealing to the women on the sidelines
The day dreams of nursing the men back to health,
And having one fall deep, deep in love with you.
Their nurse, caretaker as you have become
Appeals to that hopeless romantic..
But what happens when they return?
The innocence gone,
A haunted look in the beautiful broken eyes.
When their bodies are shaken-
And their minds aren't quite right.
Who has the strength to cradle their fragile forms,
And stand there beside them in the night?
To hush them when they cry at the horrors they have seen.
So many hundreds of thousands of wars;
Where the boys come back as shattered men,
Where they come back without their friends
And they can't quite cope with their new reality.
Yes there is romanticism in war,
But when does it stop being a novel
And start identifying as a horror story?
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
i sometimes watch a cooking show and feed myself, finding old italians very funny with everything simple being a milanese delicacy, ambrosia of a doubly baked bread, sprinkled with water, a juicy tomato and some olive oil... mmm, yeah, am bro sia... where’s the salt? if this is ambrosia please give me a haggis in a bagpipe. by the way... the best sarcasm is found in a hangover.
i still don’t know how a cat managed
to knock on my bedroom door
while slayer’s seasons in the abyss
stopped me munching on violins and cellos:
i got paranoid being the only person in the house
with that eerie sound of knock knock...
but i guess greeting him in the morning
with a head-butt utilised his head for the ‘being human’
initiation... only yesterday he managed to open
the door to the kitchen using the handle -
and like any man with his middle finger outstretched
in defiance... he did the same, but with a thumb.
p.s. poetry and collage have a lot in common,
as does poetry and music, i still don't know
why philosophy started the fight, poetry has
nothing in common with philosophy to be
even remotely related for a boxing match,
it's poetry as music and collage, the classical stances
of philosophy are becoming more and more obsolete;
i guess someone had to point that out and side
with plato rather than socrates, but i have to add
one blatant innovation i'm working on,
no not the plagiarism of tristan tzara by william burroughs
of the famed 'cut up' method of writing poetry,
i'm talking Bach, yes, BACH, polyphony, multilayering,
spontaneity, and everything that tzara attempted
picking out bingo ball snippets of newspaper
articles from a bag like some ****** doing the same,
writing a abduction-ransom letter to a rich girl's family
enigmatically... also enclosing a portrait of the girl
done with crude pointillism in cartoon shock colours
with a signature that ræd: antoinette warhol -
yep, and some people will be famous for 15minutes in
a repetitive loop.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC
a dream was never held
within the heart like this;
to caress and mimic make
the metamorphic yields
no image to allure, on swell of
blissing ribcage breathing:
field-horizons seethe for
gaze to set upon a focus-fix,
a cough subsides to utter sweetness
in the air, the intake of a blanket joy
to sweep the skin entire me
for being free, electric nexus-winds
to soften stances, slowly vibrate
perspectival nodes, and deeper nests
of echoed intertwinement
through the hall of gathered newness
breathed, breathing insight
sounds beyond the worlds imagined--
to sing the choice in serpentine,
throat cascades galactic chirping
carved flight of nimble-cover quickening
shines higher, pitching lust and thought
behind my ears revealing awe
ambrosia waves from sigh-blown
relics of a leafy launching,
spinning dust of nebulaeic tones
on ancient sprout-soul holding
true for humble new beginnings green and blue.
heave this newfound beauty
axis wing upon that giant
spiral booming where
imagined whims are gentlest
of all transearthly greatnesses--
simply sphotal sounds
on winds of changing colorflow--
sending quivers in the dark,
a smile-fire scree of charms
i've known along
us even while alone
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
From the life on earth we draw a current.
Electrical energy can pass right through us.
From opposing points we are bearing the weight.
Also from opposing sides we hate.
All we know comes from the current inside every living thing.
If we are damaged in some way do you know what hate that would bring?
All the seasons brought from different stances of the earth.
We should all appreciate every little nuance from birth.
How some things are treated is no laughing matter.
In fact what is matter but a fabric in time that does not seem significant enough to cater.
If we pay attention to all the earth current’s we have a better understanding.
We will have no more sorrow, grief, or misunderstanding.
We can save ourselves if you lend me your attention.
From the earth and water we have grown with no apprehension.
Although somehow we have let that slip through the cracks.
Now we must bear the weight of the world on our backs.
We all must stand together to save our home.
Without it we have no hope.
If we find another place, a distant world.
That would be great, but the same rules would soon unfurl.
So, we must understand what has made us on the inside to understand how to save the earth.
I hope I am not the only one whatever it is worth.
Electrical currents and other currents of the earth must be understood.
This is just me saying what I feel is right if you would.
Passing through time for anyone should set them at ease.
Just be on point and life is a breeze.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
You know that in the silence there is a volume of sound,
A whisper of the decadent falling to the ground,
Their jewels and their poise,
The china faces and steady stances crumbling to the floor of marble like broken toys,
A weeping victim now laughs at the corrupt as they fail,
Their alibis and cover-lies aren't fit for humans now.
They collapsed under the weight of deceit, that decadent class,
Of champagne flutes and crystal glass,
Now standard thrift-shop plastic beakers,
Stalking 'round in second hand sneakers,
No noise from the debauched, not a sound of relevance,
The bliss of watching it unfold, the descent of decadence.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 9:21 PM UTC
Observant misconstrued glances weaving conclusions
of what is above your paygrade of perceptiveness.
imperfections of what you glance upon.
A child in the confinement of misunderstanding,
Only the turbulence of reality like ocean waves.
Solitude of emotions then surges of confusion crash.
Lost in the tall trees of emotions as the leafs of
disorientation venture to cloud a mind of needed calm.
The conciseness needs the rhyme of routine to balance.
Heed this thought those of ill-conceived notions that
when this little miracle has a moment of uncontained
emotion, it is not for your misconceived wordings.
"My little one mummy is here, daddy too,
"Hear our voices like a calm ocean over you,
A mother embraces the worries of your thoughts,
easing the confusion of the world away..
Others may stare in ignorant stances.
*"But nothing is wrong with you, you're our baby
cuddling the confusion of your surroundings away.*
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
One of many apologetic arguments
is an application of Game Theory,
as defined by “Pascal’s Wager”;
ideas of infinite gain make leery
skeptics doubt a likely existence
of an omnipotent and omniscient God,
Who is worthy of our time and talent.
They believe this premise is flawed,
as they willingly bet against Hell,
damnation and its infinite losses;
the discussion, of rational thought
and atheistic stances, crisscrosses
mental boundaries in search of Truth.
Is finite loss of luxury and pleasure
worth the Christian lifestyle today?
Where are you storing your treasures?
.
.
.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Gen 1; Matt 6:19-20 and
More info on Wikipedia
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
Amazon
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
Monday was busy
So I put it of till tomorrow night
Tuesday brought unexpected news
So I couldn't get it done
Wednesday came, and passed
I was so tied up I simply forgot
Thursday was manic as the ending of the week
Then the children to entertain
Friday I had a meeting and emails to send
before I knew it I was playing daddy again
Saturday we went to the beach made castles and laughed
The day was gone in a blink of an eye opportunity lost
Sunday I washed ironed and cleaned a weekend as many have been
Then in a flash Monday was back and I still didn't have time to tell you
I didn't find time to say I loved you
I didn't make time to do it
Then time had passed
So had you and I
like so many loves we blew it.
Taken for granted on both of our stances
That love didn't need to be spoken
Tell that to a soul who's asleep on her own
A heart needlessly broken
So remember today in some kind of way even if it's only a hug
Tell them how special they are in your life
Make time to say you love them
Before it's to late to say anything
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC
The way she struts through the cityscape
amazes me in the brilliant ways, her
fashion style and sophistication is beyond
its time, seamless stances and elegant
smiles, she is a dazzling diamond inspiring
the various people around the world.
She is a beautiful mother of two wonderful
kids, Malia and Sasha. She is a magnificent
wife and a blossoming rose rising in the
iridescent light. She is married to the
distinguished gentleman, Barack Obama,
who is truly an inspiration to the masses. She
is a very smart and intelligent woman who knows
her worth and what to stand for. The way she
utilizes her words is gloriously breathtaking.
She has a bright personality and a stunning face,
a rhythm of great taste, remarkable depth and
a Courageous role model. She is full of vivacity
and compassion, strength and sincerity, the worlds
First Lady to enter the White House. She is the
astonishing author of the outstanding book entitled,
Becoming. She is the extraordinary Michelle Obama,
who was born in Chicago and rose to the top.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 9:59 AM UTC
we know how those doctors about to retire type:
index punch, index punch, left hook index tap,
brawler's right kiss index tap -
thumbs are for the spacebar!
but this little oddity got me thinking: i can tell
you that my grandfather had beautiful handwriting,
and a massive library, and all of this... under
a communist regime... more books than
the modern capitalist household, let me tell you -
oddly enough i followed suit, never truly recognised
my father aged eight at victoria coach station -
4 - 8 under my grandfather's construct -
6 - 8 psyche of a child given a doberman by
his mother and left, upon return asking
for a devil's mask in warsaw, the same devil
mask a furore at a fancy dress party in school
ripped by friends all wanting the share of
suffocating under plastic.
but this got me thinking, i never had the
proper handwriting fluidity for an A grade in
english during examination, that's always a grade
more than anything you put your mind to
in terms of content. so... on handwriting fluidity:
omega alpha beta flows nice, because the greeks
managed to convene that letters had to
have names, no wonder the export of greek lettering
into mathematics and science...
imagine if it was the romanic letters:
that's *** arr squared: peeing on the arc of triumph
seeing sqaures?! bonaparte with a bunch of pirates?!
no! πr2, the area of the ****** circle!
never mind that, that's just me overstepping
the giggles, but i think because of the non-complex
denotation of the romanic letters we have terrible
handwriting, just like it sounds, punched in by dyslexic
judy separately: look - a' b'e c'e d'e e' z'ed.
no wonder the alphabet turned to programming
and cyborg fancies - plus it's no fun trying to remember
alpha bravo charlie... i mean, it's a bit **** that nato
phonetic ******** over the phone: oscar v. ω?
ω! romeo v. ρ? ρ! sierra v. σ? σ! let's face it, greek
too ancient and romanic trying to speed up... no wonder
there's a bit of charlie and the x-ray;
or maybe this whole phoneticism is a way to say -
keep that ugly so we can lego it into beautiful stances
of the fencing tongue.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC