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EJR Jul 2018
I hear your name everywhere
Your whispers in the buzzing of the bees
Your exasperated sighs in the beeping of the cars
Your ecstatic storytelling in the humdrum of random noises

I see you in every hue
Your calm demeanor in shades of blue
Your road rage in shades of red
Your cheeky laugh in shades of yellow

I taste you in every way
Your kiss in this smooth black chocolate
The warmth of your hand in this bowl of soup
Your icy stare in gulping this cold water

I smell you in every scent
Your warm hug in this cup of coffee
Your compassion in this bouquet of Stargazers
Your glistening eyes in this cigarette

Doctors, please help me
I have the rarest case of synesthesia

When it comes to you,
My brain malfunctions
My senses, once numb, feel everything
All at once
In the most passionate and
In the most heightened sense

To feel you in everything.
To experience you in every way.

My eyes only see you
My nose only smells you
My tongue only craves you
My ears only hear you

My brain only perceives you

My synesthesia
Is only in the form of you.
I heard Pablo Neruda has synesthesia.

So i wondered,
What is it like to feel everything in all kinds of way?

Original title: Syn[an]astasia
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After days of long studies comes the
days of rest. My violet dreams were
slumber-soft filled with lucent lilies
of curling flames born of ever colour
known and unknown. And I stood
in awe of them as my fears fall back
and cower in the shades of my mind.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I muse at how quickly my body
relaxed. Due to my marjoram'd
pillows and sheets of pure silk
and eiderdown? Or due to the
sips of the lavender tea in my in
my teacup decorated with a
butterfly motif?

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I remember the sips in fours as
I blew the steam from my cup;
The first sip balmed my lips.
The second soothed my throat.
The third lulled my thoughts.
The fourth stilled my soul.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though the tea, the pillow and
sheets were had a hand in my nightly
rest, the real answer is on my brow -
for it was when the night's cool air
blew, and where you placed your
sweet Morphean kiss.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a smile, I wake.
Sat on my golden summer throne
located in my marble gazebo; a
jewel in my private garden. With
thin caryatid pillars, draped in
fine doric chitons encircling me.
Their sculpted limbs hold up the
frieze carved with acanthus
that has a stained glass top of
peacocks and stargazers.

~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The sheer curtains billow when
the eastern winds blow. By me, a
gold side table with a mirrored top
supported by three Greek key legs.
A pewter quill pen with a steel nib
and violet feather rests by its clay
inkpot; both beside a silver sinuous
nouveau vase and a small stack of
poetry books of black leather and
gilt.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Part one of my Jasmine Pearls free verse!
(Been having issues with it so I decided to break it down
and make it a collection! ^-^)
A poem dedicated to 'Jasmine Pearl' tea. Inspired y Queen Kim's wonderful 'Golden Hour' and 'Dream Child' poems. I'm very particular about herbal teas, but Jasmine is one of the many few that never fails to relax me when needed. I'm glad I met a fellow Jasmine tea lover in Queen Kim! ^-^
It was rather challenging but I overcame it! Haven't written something
like this since my university days, but I did it!
I really hope you enjoy reading it as I enjoyed writing it!
Anyone else a tea enthusiast?
Do let me know what you think!
Queen Lyn ***
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Ophelia Jun 2014
She and I lay out
under the stars once
To find shooting stars
and privacy.
She told me she loved me,
and held me close,
And I believed her.
But in the darkness
I couldn't see her eyes.
rufus Nov 2014
One frightened part of me says
calm down, all will be well
you'll get out of this tremendous mess
everything is okay in God's will
I promise you won't even feel
your skin that once did swell.

Like stargazers on a lucid night
Like the ever-patient stars so bright
I want all my days to be quiet
All my nights to be perfect

And then another thought comes
I want to ride the tides
Embrace it with all my might
Travel the world with reckless ones
Smoke out the heavy problems
Drink not moderately, but constantly
Love unattached and infinitely.

Like storm chasers so brave
Like I don't need to be saved
I want all my days to be strong
All my nights to be long.
BR Oct 2017
You and I,
buried beneath the coruscated winter sky
In taciturn stillness,
half-enraptured by the unmasked glory,
and half by the unasked in the others eyes.

There is no time to hold us;

There is no other moment.

Volatile, visible breaths,
The almost- touch of our fingertips,
and the quiet intimacy of our insignificance against the endless, open sky.

You,
My darling,
and I.
Zombie Batman May 2014
Here we are,
Lying under the stars.
The nighttime is very pretty.
It always makes me feel witty.

Let's come back again!
I'm sure it's not a sin.
I just wanna gaze at the sky...
It puts me in a daze every time.

Travelers will sleep,
Willows will weep.
And here we'll stay here,
Always and forever, here.
Amanda Small Sep 2012
breathe your worries over my finger tips,
i'll write them down for you

scribbled in the shorthand of daydream believers
we never needed a dictionary to comprehend the word hope

in the dusk of summer,
i store my doubts on the soles of my shoes
to see if i can wear them down to childlike acceptance.
A spirited moon
   'neath furtive glances,
      anguished of despair
looked upon hushed
  entangled constellations
      and heeded a warning,
for he knew well of lavishing
    recherché intricacies,
mattered naught how exquisite
  nothing lasting could come
    of liaisons's effusive grandeur,
       'tween clandestine stargazers
The serene sea possessed the moon's gleam
The galaxies of stars make shine the images of the buildings
The whole night we were stargazing
And the morning dew in the grass as cold as the air enveloping our bodies
At this moment, your lips are the skies
And we found the most beautiful constellation of the night.
David Leger Jul 2015
Also at dawn do I long for the night,
You are naive but still you are right.

It's the glow of moons and stars,
The comets that streak the sky,
Our place, center between Venus and Mars,
And all the galaxies which pass us by;

They are all shining bright for you to see,
So let's gaze the night indefinitely.
A lost in time, forgotten track
colorless, washed out, hollowed rather
meaningless if you were to describe it
used to write all the time, used to dream
in the bus, in bed as well, it has all
said its bitter farewell, oh dearie!
oh my beloved!, spare me of this cruel
misery filled path, I now cross
some sort of emotionless symphony
worthless effort, faded paint
insignificant piece of poetry
a fallen ode to legacies, significance
and memories, all fantasies
dreams, hopes and tales of stargazers
daydreamers and hopeless romantics
have been lead astray, by this
oh this filthy tray of decandence
forsaking a mournful heart
an adulterated soul...
A rather bitter poem, well at least it's honest.
Aphasia Sep 2014
I call her Chanel -
because she covers up the stench of her rotting morality
with that iconic perfume of beauty,
Her internal ethnicity is of wrinkles, and  rough skin,
and canines hard like diamonds -
ones that tear up the futures of her stargazers
with ****** nips and snippets behind their backs,
Like truths written on paper that she hates to read -
she tears them up into shreds so miniscule
they could never be stitched back together,
Then she smiles as she strides past
with that aroma wafting from her
in agonizing waves like an ocean of failure
pelting her hypnotized admirers from miles away,
Though she’s miamed their images with rumours
and amputated their hopes with lies
she is to them this kind of idol
set up on a pedestal of severed limbs painted gold,
They see a saviour while I see a snake  
cloaked in an aura of No 1
fray narte Jul 2019
We were always so good at pretending, weren’t we? We would always climb rooftops and pretend that we were stargazers, christening constellations with our favorite songs. Look, there was Somebody Else. There was Nobody’s Home. There was Chasing Cars.

We would pretend we were souls from the 50s, reincarnated into another life — into another happy ending. We would pretend we were art critics, as if we knew **** about Klimt; as if we could tell apart baroque from classical. We would tell each other our weirdest dreams and analyze them, as if we were Freud or something, that misogynistic pig. Oh, you dreamt about us drowning together in the Black Lake? Oh, that means we were gonna have *** tonight, in the absence of the moon. We would pretend that we’ve circled the whole world and that Italy’s got the ******* blandest pizza. We would pretend that we were rock stars, surfing on the crowd.

We would pretend that we’d read the classics. Was that Harry or Henry in The Picture of Dorian Gray? Yeah, Hamlet was pretty cool, but who was Ophelia? ******* pseudo-intellectuals, we were. Nonetheless, I loved pretending with you. We loved pretending that the whole world wasn’t crashing down — that we weren’t stuck in this ******* of a small town, and that the world spun for us. We loved pretending that everything would be okay — that we could leave someday without looking back. We loved pretending that our lives weren’t all over the place. We loved pretending that we were the brave ones, that we could **** ourselves by 40 because the world wouldn’t be kind when we’re all old and saggy.

We loved pretending that we were too cool for mental breakdowns and for any kind of feeling. Honey, we loved pretending that we were psychopaths, too voided for love and all that other crap — that we hated clichés, while doing the most romanticized clichés anyway. We loved pretending that this was where the chapter would end, and that we were together in our make-believe ending. We loved pretending that we were the ones who stayed and made it.

Now, sometimes, I would pretend that we did. Other times, it would be me pretending I was all there ever was — that you never were here to pretend with me, and that I was okay. I would pretend that the rooftop wasn’t too high, and that I didn’t need your help to climb — that the company of city lights and the empty space were enough, honey they never were. Honey, I would pretend too that I never missed you. But I did.

I always did. More than that I would ever admit.

I would look at the stars, the ones we named but I guess they all had already fallen to the earth. You said that when you died, you would live in the shooting stars so that you could crash to the earth and come back to me. But it had been more than a decade since the angels took you away and I no longer stargazed, except tonight. And maybe, just maybe, when I would catch a glimpse of a falling star, I still wouldn’t wish that you didn’t chase your meds with *****. I wouldn’t wish that we didn’t find bubbles coming out of your mouth, like they were a part of your soul. I wouldn’t wish that I didn’t see you die. I wouldn’t wish that you were okay; we both knew we wouldn’t have clicked if one of us was happy or okay.

Heaven, hell, we didn’t believe in those. But when a star would fall unto my chest, I would wish that wherever you were right now or wherever you would be in the next life, darling, you would no longer feel the need to pretend.

And with no lies, no masks, no pretenses, I loved you. Here. And in the next. And in the lives after that, until we lived in one where we would both have the courage to abandon all pretense and just sit on a different rooftop, sharing silence — sharing honest thoughts — sharing the luster of distant stars. And tomorrow, our demons wouldn’t rise with the sun. And we would be okay.
Kyle Kulseth Jan 2013
Thaw out frozen thoughts
shoulders hunched against the sleet
stride crunching on the downbeats
familiar haunts are blurring
Hurried northward daydreams don't
trickle south through Douglas Firs
But remember how our paths crossed?
Stargazers both--I balked first

4 blocks down, I'm held accountable
for crusade hypocrisies
I keep tucked in my back pockets
and rolled up in uprolled sleeves

The sun returns, or so I'm told
but it's been evening for awhile.
And, if they're wrong, where are we then?

Left knowing we're left under miles
                         of mounting snow?
Left knowing we've got to stop--
                   but not one clue how to cope
Wondering where hours, weeks and years went
counting calendars we've peeled off walls
Counting marks on records
               marks on faces
Counting calendars
Tally scars--stubborn reminders
     of how we got where we are.

Ground my skyward thoughts
in the grid of frozen streets
I'll sink deep in the hoarfrost
coats the ground, turns steps to beats
I'll keep time, now, walking westward
hands in pockets, eyes on feet.
I'll remember how your breath looked
off of Brooks Street walking east.
Sydney Victoria Nov 2012
Snow Glitters In The Early Morning Light,
The Frosty Tears Of Angels,
Change The Land--And With It--The Creatures,
Stargazers Stare Blankly At The Sky For Answers,
The Cloaks Of Shadows Dip Into The Trees,
Holiday Trees Loom In Windows,
Promising Happiness,
But Screaming Voices Pierce Transparent Glass,
Frightening The Creatures In The Forest,
Snowflakes Lethargically Fall,
They Stare At Themselves Floating To Earth,
In Golden Irised Eyes,
Enchantment Holds A Heart In Soft Palms,
A Soul Kissed By Smooth And Pure Lips,
A Vacant Feeling Being Filled,
A World In A Sub-Conscious Mind,
More Rewarding Then Conscious Activity,
A World Of Dreams,
A World Of Good,
A World Of Truth,
Don't Make Me Leave,
This World Of Enchantment
Stars and scars write our fate in script so deep a telescope barely make it legible.
Scars unlike stars burn hotly in memory.
Stars cold and distant are dying slowly.
Slowly dying is the scar tissue,
slowly growing is the memory.
Stargazers look Scargazers look away.
Copyright © JLB
17/05/2015
20:30 BST
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
Check your pulse to assure yourself that you are indeed alive and be ready
I’m willing to sell addiction
If the price is right
Instead of crawling on my hands and knees
Searching for a miniscule income

Love is an empty word
That allows me to rip your insides
And still have you apologize for getting my hand *****
I’ll keep every apology locked away
And stick you on the bull’s-eye

Running from laughable low level law enforcers
Dressed in blue with loaded guns and meaningless badges
Cackling the whole way through

Smiling at all my adversaries
Knowing the annihilation of us both is soon to come

As the maniacal militia stand trespassing in our yard waiting to open fire
The ravaged highways are under construction
Demolishing the concept of one’s self to rebuild in the image of a complete stranger
Unleashing accusations upon unsuspecting stargazers
Underneath the cold thick skin, holding back scorn, plans of vengeance, violent bouts with sadness and ethical turmoil
Putting on a mask of struggling smiles, lung crushing phony laughter
And the tight gripping of tears, the strenuous task that is always present
Putting this act because society tells us to shut up, get over it, move on and forget about it
With no one taking the time to sit down and help someone who is knocking on their impending doom’s door
By going over everything calmly piece by piece
Until it’s too late and there’s dead bodies on the floor of a movie theater riddles with bullets and people choking on some kind of poison gas
The misleading of corporate heads and politicians overshadowed by the distractions of “disasters”
So we can’t see the real big picture
Their whole careers can be light up in flames faster than the forged paper work they put in

Meanwhile the poverty stricken orphaned children look to the neon sky praying to a god who’s existence is debated denounced right before their eyes as if it was a fairytale fable with out a moral
And the troubled youths, the kids being pumped with prescriptions
Hoping someday something will rescue them for the madness within themselves

Request for atonement
Is eradication of an opponent really a triumph?
To expire in a collision
Young and drunk
Cutting deep like a spiteful stab wound
While wearing a three piece suite
Choosing suffering over nothingness
But to fight for the privilege we had in front of us
Disregarding the cost to get there
Detonate the entire thing
And view this vignette from your fallout shelter crossing your fingers that you’ll still be here when all is unspoken and still undone
firexscape Jul 2014
Isn't it funny how I need you,
But you don't need me?
Without you, I cannot glow.
Without you, my colors will not show.
Why are you so selfish?
Why is it that
When you go down
You take me below with you?
When you don't shine, you dim the stage
So no one shines but you.
But why not let the stargazers
See some other colors too?
Steven Hutchison Apr 2012
I left the seat
in the front row
of the place
with too many lights
for it to have been
that dim
dripping in music from head to toe,
from hip to soul,
listening to my ears and their lobes
ramble on incantations of unknown songs,
enchanting nuances strung throughout their chatter
like puddles strewn across concrete,
like grey matter,
like static
but much more in tune with nature
and far less understandable,
weaving my thoughts through new-found looms
stitching patterns of fumes,
gasses,
smoke and the solemn ashes
of melodies burned alive
under a nearly full moon,
under skies that humm
with the clanging arrival
of moments to be counted,
marked,
measured,
treasured for their value
though it elude all reason
because seasons do not lie
except for early spring evenings
when the lights are fading
and the music you heard playing
is quick to
leave your tongue.
It was all said and done.

One more highway home

among the trees and stargazers,

convincing my eyes

of what my ears have undone.
Day 5
Morgan Ella Aug 2011
"You are having a bad day." he said,
looking up from my work i noticed
milky, blue eyes seeping- they were shimmering in the shadows,
of his fluffy spider-legged brows,
and secondary to his stupendous
potato nose. lilies. beep.
my heart may have skipped a beat, wondering if
another patron had taken offense
to a dispassionate expression that wore me more than i, it.
he fumbled with a money clip, already withdrawn. large, arthritic, veiny hands. looked down grappling--with ***** bills, smelling of *******, g-strings and *** sweat. was my mouth open, was i staring? baby pinks and stark white, peppered with
gentle,
fuchsia
explosions.
he tossed down a ten and reached in pockets that seemed too low, contorting into a teapot. short and stout. i heard coins mingling together. a discussion among themselves. hushed metallic whispers, pontificate on
the merits of
coin purse over
pocket travel.
here, reemerged a fist, clenched weakly and shaking, he dropped exact change on the ten,
they hesitated in vibration against the laminate counter, and spun on edge in circles.
"some" he said- my stare averting.
..."some" he repeated, only when i'd managed to meet his eyes with again,through an imagined haze of misunderstanding... sweet scent, shivering orange pistils, raining microscopic yellow dust. stargazers. i shifted the change from the counter to my hand.
"are worse
than others."
i delivered him his change in bills, the familiar clink of coins in my drawer somehow deafening. and i couldn't break my curious stare, he turned sharply, flowers wrapped in pink tinted cellophane, which crinkled in a whimper from his grasp.
he limped away, mud on his heels.
back to the cemetery.
Leila Dec 2013
This lesson learned the hard way is daunting
I live my life solitary lonely and wanting
But this is what happens for trying to trap a star
Let down - their light radiates endlessly far
The balance of things would be too upset
And the other stargazers aren’t going to forget
The pressure would quickly become unstable
It’s like searching for the truth in a fable
You may think you know who a person is
But blinding is the star that you burden like this
It’s bound to become an illusion of what you wish it could be
Hopes deceive - do good and throw it in the sea
Do not drink poison to quench a thirst
In lessons the sad man must become well versed
Tyler Nicholas Jan 2013
passes
in a flash of famous last words.
An extravagant way of
going out in style
that is only witnessed
by those stargazers,
spread out amongst
layers of blankets,
that are lucky enough
to be watching
without
blinking.
Louay Nov 2012
I came to die for you
But your heart is already taken
Your misleading eyes sung broken harmonies
Your words filled my swamps of wonder

Come join me
Come to my endless opera in sky
Come, ooze my prestige
Come, defy my sinister pride

Out here in the desert, we’re lost
Tempests to us will accost
The dunes mocked us restlessly
The clouds gave birth to sober music
Deflecting the frayed light

Spill the sand to make some sense
Said father time
The reels of life are running fast
The frenzied sun bowed silently
A dark procession of heavy sullen thoughts
Drums are running cold
The fire in my heart you’ll enfold

A trinity of love that cannot be unseen
And I’m stuck in between
An ephemeral grace
Numbed insanity
Love take away my love
I’d love to love you, love
But you’re out of sight
Loneliness was the sign
I’ll be sailing with stargazers forevermore
Leila Jan 2014
A parables lesson is sometimes haunting
In a life lived solitary lonely and wanting
But this is what I get for trying to trap a star
An emotional scar, any effort fools and mars
You see the balance was just too upset
And the other stargazers couldn't forget
The pressure quickly became unstable
I was searching for truth in a fable
You may think you know who a person is
But blinding is the star that you burdened like this
It's bound to become an illusion of what you wish it could be
When you do good you should throw it in the sea
Morally, sad men ought to try and be more well versed
You must never drink poison to quench a thirst
madrid Jan 2017
It's her putting letters into words
So he becomes a part of literature
It's the way she spontaneously smiles when she remembers his dress shoes
It's her sitting on the rooftop holding nothing but a half-spent cigarette
Wishing it was his hand instead
It's the exhausted smell on her comforter
Until the day he sprays more cologne on it
Or body spray, either way
It's being comfortable enough to not wear a bra (at times)
It's her way of looking at the shirt he gave
It's spicy food
And the cup of Nissin seafood

It's his giggling whenever she acts like a child
It's the pendant on his neck
It's the "wo ai ni"
It's the intensity of his stare
It's resisting the urge to **** her
It's the bonnet
It's his first kiss in the rain
It's his fear of oblivion
It's his whispers of "God, I love you so much"

It's closing her eyes when she hears "Walang Iba"
It's the "keka ku, kaku ka"
It's the dark closet in her room
And the inflatable bed of their friend
It's fighting over the simplest things that seem like mountains
Like the Great Wall of China
Or the Battle at Gettysburg
It's her shouting "I hate you!"
Only to hear "I love you too!" in return
It's the duets they got used to.
It's being with each other for 72 hours straight
It's him
saying he's not good enough for her
And her
thinking he deserves someone better.

It's the lapse between seconds
It's him breaking her walls without breaking anything else
It's her making him believe in waking up to the same face for the rest of his life
It's the music
It's the silence
It's knowing that she desires him for herself
Even with all the stars between them.
It's seeing,
That although the road is rough,
She is his medicine
Just as he is hers.
It's the entire universe conspiring to bring them together
It's the petty misunderstandings
Or the major ones.

It's the stargazers.
And the shotguns.
It's loving too much
Or loving just right.
It's you.
Lucas Mock Jan 2016
Ancient secrets in dark, dry, caves
filled with airs of eldritch winds
suffocated of life and it's needs
solemn graveyard to the nonexistent

Biting brown of antiquated dunes
dead fire of fossil sand
burning with the lost rage of lost ages
exterior to great alchemic secrets

Heavens filled with brooding anxiety
pining and craving teem in the atmosphere
desires to combust and crystallize
eroded off by laws of impossible physics

Uncongealed remnants of shells and beasts
bacteria and algae now unearthed to light
testimonial to buried memories
mummified by cadavers of glaciers and mesas

But a glacier for whom?
Can resolution be concluded by the uinverse
that vast cosmic void hanging in oracle's riddles
staring back at the stargazers?

Ancient secrets, eldritch airs,
solemn graveyards, and requiem for what?
yellah girl Jan 2016
on lonely winter nights
i find myself in the windowsill
gazing at coruscating stars and forgotten wishes
i grin at the moon
he smiles back

i close my eyes and conjure an image of the man on the moon
does he exist beyond childhood fairytale?
an impish smirk plays on his boyish face
as he reaches for me

he is the nocturnal prince, an imperial Peter Pan
stealing the prudence of stargazers
in the very hours of creativity

he is a collector of romances
seizing the hearts of sleeping beauties
as they fabricate stories of epic proportions
soon erased in waking moments

he is the fantasy of every idealist
the one who enchants her dreams
and inspires her ingenuity
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
You can say that again, later, it is -time
lace up the daily bag and pass it
for all private interpretation
removal, from the rumen, to the next
- gaseous we, Huxley called us, 1957

No, this ain't show business, this
is living, made in a made up mind,
being finished doing, just
living.

Making up reasons to dispute liars.

Maybe not a good living, but it's free.
Or paid for, any way.
Bought with a price
my grands won't be forced to pay.
- divided attention makes
- ads obliviate into the mercantile
- classification, in attention econ 101
It's free - this living
in the way well fed children do,
in America, outside the cities;

Joy pursued and grabbed in happy
fistfuls that fill laughing memory bubbles
to store for when these become
the olden days.

No, this ain't show business,
its sacred duty,
work of a thing,
made from a boy who looks
into flies eyes, gazing up
from the bottom of the cup,
a little glazed, perhaps,

owing the fly an easy escape, look away

Tricae,
tricae
"perplexities, hindrances, toys, tricks,"

The collections of thoughts,
the access to held thoughts, knotted
messages
to you
private moments,
time alone, as a mortal human being,
humus built, auto-repairing thing being

being, eh?
One-like, only, or
on-like, only going on and on and on,

becoming fruitful
becoming useful
becoming less and less useful, but
becoming more and more curious
becoming full enough to become superfluous.

Lay preachers can create cushions
for lazy wishers wishing to be comforted,
but the weighing of the worth of comfort,

lay preachers seldom do, to my knowledge.

Terminus gnosis, all I know, my bubble of knowns;
this is it…
a thousand stacks of sensible lines, atop precepts,

strewn beside the trail.
Heavy
heuristic heretical how-to do as I dones,
published by faith in the thousands, litter
the little hills the psalmist asked,
why they writhed and twisted,
as in a dance of anger wishing,

clear channel, me and the truth, today,
just/instance, this/ now.

Free am I, by the faith in me, but you
already
knew that,

don't you?
Don't you know, there is a musing mind,
we wear to bed, some nights,
we lay on memory foam, some nights.

Thinking sorted thoughts, untying lying links,
links to educated guesses fed you as new reasons

to be ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the faith,
the laughing faith of a child, leaping
into the sky

- my grandson, I just learned,
- asked for more math.

No class common man, that is what I am,
on the cusp of next, looking back,
at the mess I left, like a cyclone,
randomly distributing seeds of kindness, specs
by which an idle word can activate troves
of ancient autoresponders, each guessing
what if, what if not,
what if, what if not,
what if, what
if
not now, when. Pop.
Bubbles of been, leave go, go on, think it

through, and passed through, into
the now
where we formed, letters, letting words wait,
sit still, ready
for the reader, ready
to steady the quivering fearful thing,
lost in thought,
stuck in stacks of holy orders, hearer only,
only ordainded doers do the trick,
intricate, folding to make not a paper swan,

too, easy. Make a protein. With no model,
just the idea in the word applied to science,
proper pose, super knowing, proto-life-ish thing,
that is digestible using an infantile nourishing node.

What tricks do you know?, the magi aske Moshe.
Snake from a staff.

From the crozier of goatherd, sure,
we can all do that. What else?
---
Allusions to ever knowing, knowing as old
as knowledge given girls at their flowering,
as old a mystery as any orphaned mother may tell
her great grand daughters,
nobody told me any thing,

but I took it as normal,

As the patient potency prefecting
effectual
fervent
prayer, dramatized, made big as all
art
any
bubbled artifice holding essences,

essential bits of the daily grind to gloss
the leading intellect's reason for being
so shiny,
Klimt golden, as that one kiss I recall,

yes, a facsimile, a memory evocation,

a kiss, golden in that moment, infected
with a feeling
dramatized to be offered to all who see,
intricacies,
khipu twists and loops and bundles and beads,

accounting for dues,
instructing kaballah, pass it on

Excuse me, are you in the right realm,
we feel pluralized,
but you don't fit,
we are uniform,
uninformed,

excathedra, listen up, all eight billion now living, are destined
for certain death,
it is a matter of time, dying once,
can happen anytime,

and if there is a second death, so far,
I never saw any body do it twice,
once truth makes what I am free,
we stay free,
amen,
reception accepted kaballah, et al,
take that greasy grace, feel it,
as the oil ran down Aaron's beard,

and there were no poor denied
starship rations,
until the comet hit and all
but a single mind
blew, into this
a complete fiction,
or another compleat guide to fishing

Imagine the magic of the sailor's accounting book,
envision the magic of levers, and pulleys and cogged
wheels feeling the weight

ping
2023 Gravity driven or gravity powered, is it
one
or the other, when it come be to inspire
first fears
to frame wisdom pools,
at depths we learn
to believe,
prove each participant,
worthy of keeping,
the secret.
Salt of the earth, deep down dehr dat
Caribbean Sea,
shore line fracture,
follow the riverwise road,
any thing you think you must bear,
don't blame,
sometimes it pays, to bend.
Grasshopper Locust practice, for the mind
of an ant.

Wisdom harnessed the fear of God,
put it down,
in other words,
when there was nothing
but E, mass and time being assent
esse, sentient, in sentient and ex
insentience, sapient over lay,
- honeycomb tripe pattern, say
- why not ruminate enclosed
- in a beauteous inner digestive
- recluse-exclusive-sub-science con
ified, tied ligously, fi,
to witty means, and ways we prove
gravity is our friend, driven power for all life,
strong as earth itself, but, we are

in the burning phase,
let me bring you down,
cause being accused, does that
to a stranger
being
entertained, or entertaining, on an aitia
let me
reason,

have you come for more, or do we have
too much
of too many things
to make too much
sense
of any particular reader/writer ifery algorithm,
if then,
else is this, current, slow, nodding, flux,
capacitance
loading axially,
if each mind thinks right once,
today, we have enough,
let's save the world.
- that easy, eh?
global restoration, Christ, yes,
that is the plan.
As the planet was.
Prior to Peleg's days.
Intended to have a single
dry land mass,
Wisdom pushed
for plates meeting
and using ice
at the top
of the world, as seen polaris up,
spinning
in a slow wobble
through four
seasonal positional hot-cool-cold-warm
gyre drivers, saline liquid epicycles, sisters
of the four winds
as a flywheel effect
in the telling times… a little imbalence leaning helps
with the wobble,
in the event,
slim to none,
the odds, but,
Don't Look Up. It could
reoccur, and shall, if
Nietzsche's epicycle

has wheels. Graham Hancock, on clocks…cosmic

Mindspacetime, the elite flight,
secretshitistic, it is, most certain, it is
fantasmic imagining
E not equal any thing, mere words
-jello-timingoooisht
between me and thee,
no point, not one, between the we
we become,
in the final analysis, if you wish,

might
you wish,
long, lazy river readers, re-mind
their lost selves, how innocense felt.

The worth of an unsold story, given
as a gift, as a poor artist might
attempt
a portrait
of their daughter's children

- "that little thing"
Done. As best he could, he believed,
at the time,
as it is
with
everything being as is when we arrive,
we adapt
or become the insane opposition,
to anything,
just
be the counter weight on the pendulum,

keep things swingin'

feel time slide
into the real deal,
at the crossroads
in the wayback seat,
sayin' honey, you ain't here
after what I'm here after,
y'gonna be there, after I'm gone, as  asong
that was
once a joke ended you gonnabe here
after I'm gone, but

seemsayin' eye
squint, see,
way back
when,
we were otherwise involved, affirming
sacred oathes, we swore as children learn
IT being life, whatever,
it don't mean
nothin'
is not a joke, it's ahint, to readers, ready
writing is key to reading,
vertical eyed
qwerty keying is learned,
phone wide,
natural, feels familiar
style adaptation
as cuneiform once was,
years of hearing the same words,
said and resaid, story after story stacked
in
time, measured by stargazers, called, by god,
eyes like eagles, these minds expand, and see
the order of the cosmos,
and the chaos of the collective sub-science

locked by a generational curse on oathes
under the God those kids had in mind,
September, 1954, first day of school,
all across the Wyatt Earp of Nations,
each child not religiously exempted,
stood, right
hand on heart and repeated, as a national
student body, K through 12, a pledge,
local time 9 a.m. nationwide,
not unlike
a true Tenant's pledge of fealty,
as recorded in
The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
- buzz nod what instance… seven seconds
Sorry, Under God, was added to the pledge
that year, that affectionizes those exposed,
we meander under god, think it not strange.
It’s a legendary trait, we'll all be remembered a bit.
- default modemod is always beguiling temptation
- for temptation sake, win a game, get the rush.
of chasing hares
to where the conies hide,
feeble folk, but they live among big rocks,
reason enough,
use what you know is right,
hide from things that eat you,
that evolves
in nations
with no elders, constant defence mode
peace makers seem
feeble folk,
who knew,
and fell away, impossible to renew,

whoah, zeke play me that riddle,
'bout scrublands being humbly blissed
so long- wayback, anchoring the authority
17
that's me, I
fiddled around
and blew the clearwater revival
to kingdom come, Muddy Waters, aight
and there was hippies, ever whar, swanee,
so I do, I swan no no no no mo
lie like the devil for the sake of church heritage,
holy warrior sworn, heart torn, tears shed, tongues
spoken.
You know, when gravity is taken
in, your weight, sunk
into the reasoning
swung wide
in progress, no aim, past the cloud,
for crying out loud, this is louder than ever,
listen, no
silence
all that
noise, is natural
to persons genitivally, ok, cross
shadowed animus anima imitation,
in your cultural genes, cowgirl
seeing the world a yingyang thang,
with gravity and the E-magnetic shields
allowing systems to com-uni-cate locally,

scarey
indeed

too much,
the scope
of any thing one might think
or ask,
as in what was that rule
of LAW once?
I read
Compleat Fisherman's Guide U recall led
to , yes, The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
is on Google books, masterfully typeset

Feel free to learn all you will, 'tis all in the Common.

as, by now is much that may have been, otherwise,
in needier times,
less riches, more sorrow,
less sorrows, more riches, peace.

Made that my after all battlefield task,
no mas win or lose.

My side, on the scalar models is gravity empowered,
heavyweight, ancient concept,
gradient slopes
with long lazy loops
on the downhill side,
listening
to kids make all the noise they wish,
two chalk walls away,
in the bubble we all breathe.

To this day, whatever it took, it worked.
Life gets as good as you can make up a mind

to accept, as
this is it,
this is my bit. My close up. To the exact point
where I breathed that bubblierised wedom-opinion

opinion opinion opinion okeh, settle years ago, okay
we all say okeh here, holy ground,
entire collection of recollection on that victory alone.

Okeh, is still the proto voice model, ok.
If you like it, I'd love if you shared it in whole or in part, it is a whole chapter in a novel form of literature, native to the internet age,
type set for vertical receivers
ms reluctance Apr 2015
It was a lonely night
and the moon was bored.
So he looked down
and saw two lovers
out for a night time stroll.

Ever the romantic, he grew ecstatic
because tonight he would make sure
they would fall in love a little more
by the time the night was over.

He bent his sickle-head and started to collect
his starry friends so he could rearrange them
in a more alluring manner.
In his haste to showcase his talent however,
he failed to notice the disappointed couple
turn their backs on the empty sky.

When he realized he had lost his audience,
the moon was left to contemplate in silence
the folly of the stargazers’ impatience.

If only they had waited,
he thought resentfully
as he scattered the stars
into the night absent-mindedly.
NaPoWriMo Day #19
Poetry form: Personification
E McNamara Mar 2018
I loved Him
Like the moon loved the stars
I studied him
Like the stargazers
A masterpiece

Please be mine
Never to be mine

Two planets
With different routes
Desperately wanting.

I destroyed myself
For you.
So that my meteors
Would go closer
Than I ever could,
I’m yours for good
AJ Champoli Jun 2014
Bare feet on the tile floor
no cares anymore
your favorite band blasting out of your speakers
I  only wish I could be her's

Be her favorite jokster
favorite nerd
favorite musician
favorite guy who talks to her
favorite guy
favorite mishap
favorite mean person she knows
favorite anything.

You are great
nope better
awesome
no perfect
no.
By the time the photons from your face connect to my eyes
and turn into the images I know as you
I've already convinced myself in and out of saying anything possibly wishily washily maybe possibly sort of kind of that can give you the wrong impression of me

I love looking at space
I know you do too
we are stargazers
looking out there because we don't like what we see down here
When I see stars I see you
A constant bright light shining through the blackened veil that is smothering me with fear at night
You are the perfectly imperfect stars to me
I just hope someday you'll see one of those stars as me.
Matt Berkes Oct 2015
There are secrets
In her stares.
Or am I just seeing things?
Her smiles stream
Like sunlight
And she speaks
In songs
That spin circles
In my head.
I can't stop thinking
That when anyone
Sees those eyes,
We're all reduced to
Single streams of light
Streaking through
Steep shadows
Cast in her mystery,
Suitors left swooning
Over stolen second glances.
We're stargazers.
Sublunary spectators.
Secret seekers.

— The End —