"stephan" poems
#
*The killer
came crashing down
smashing, thrashing through.
What is tender's tender
so for itself, to do?
--As it runs
right over the top of her..
This taker.
This killer.
In the black,
now in between;
so lightless and thick..
blotting out all screams.
There is an annihilation here.
A void.
A terror.
To stay, means certain death
but to leave
also means certain death
So the d is m e m b e r men t begins
as she is ripped, completely into half
And those halves, into half..
.. into half
--into half..
into half.
And still it tears.. rips.. shreds--
Until all, in between
is nothing but black.
A black it can now pretend to fill
with all of its empty promises..
and all of its counterfeit, everything.
..And then-- just up and leaves
once it is fully satiated.*
***And for a while..
the black had something.***
*Clinging to the rocky crags
on either side of the unlit valley
are now the pieces of her--
war-torn and shuddering.
Terrified
Of the black, black empty.
Of what is now fully
and completely dark.
~ ~ ~ ~
Timmy ain't real tall
but look at his stature,
as his majestic strings dialogue
the introduction.
And Warren's gotten so fat
See him now, looking so dearly, back
at his half-pint of Chunky Monkey--
picking it back up, for the fourth time..
scraping... scraping.. scraping..
But watch his eyes light up
as Timmy looks up--
over the top
of those wild-man RayBans
And with a gentle nod, it all begins..
-- as our Warren now digs deep
into his Gibson's beautifully-wanton ways..
identifying.
clarifying.
Rectifying.
Clarence, the Magician..
Stephan-- Humble, Unparalleled
And Dave's so chill
he's part Creole.. I just know it.
So great a cloud of witness:
surrounding you, my beautiful..
coaxing you.
Identifying it all for you.*
#
Mar 10, 2022
Mar 10, 2022 at 12:01 AM UTC
*
a collaborative piece created by Papaya and Stephan*
I know the story of an ugly old fellow
Who taunted and cursed and told many lies
But did you know that an ugly old fellow
Was merely the skin that held his disguise
"Spare me a quarter and I'll spare you the lecture"
Often he’d say to the young and the brave
Laughing they’d pass without barely a glance
Thrusting the man into temper and rage
When along stepped another into the commotion
Stopping to listen to all he did say
Shaking his head he reached in his pocket
Pulled out a quarter to proudly display
Then closed his hands into two equal fists
Held them up high as he said with a grin
"I’ll pay your offer so you will stop ranting
If only you can guess which hand it is in"
Stroking his beard the man gave a smile
"I do love a challenge, so let us begin
But once I have chosen and reveal your coin
You’ll stay to listen, and we both shall win"
The old man reached out, with hand on each fist
“Son, you cannot fool a man that’s my age”
Then pulled out from behind the younger man’s ear
The same coin that earlier the man had displayed
The look of surprise on his face was alarming
He glanced down at both of his two empty hands
Then thought to himself, now how did he do that,
I held it right there? but then said to the man
“A deal is a deal, so I guess I will listen
But I have a schedule, it’s my day to teach
Please hasten your words holding all of your wisdom
And here I shall stand till you finish your speech”
"I can say nothing you've not already learned
That each man has something special to give
To stop and to listen and open your eyes
This is how all men and women must live"
"Some will spare time, others spare a dime
Still others will play tricks as you see
You must be wise, separate truth from the lies
And always be the very best you can be"
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
Seven born to a home in the hills
Lost in the waste that time kills
Each segregated to a different day
Or so at least some say
Anthony couldn’t help but fall
Built too tall
As he hit his head upon a door
Running adjacent to the floor
Young Mr. Cooper took form
And quickly ran to his scholarly dorm
On the way he transgressed to
A fellow who
Used to dwell in the same domicile
Until he felt the environment was too vile
Fled the scene in the matter of a moment
Not knowing there wasn’t an opponent.
Reluctant to turn around
With no answer found
Another division began to develop
One, which was quick to envelope
Everything the boy thought
And freedom sought
The new guy Stephan sold the car
Got a job at a bar
Cleaning up there every morning
While other livers were still in mourning
He had to remove the lingering drunks
Still caught up in their mid life flunks
One always takes a swing
Ben Gunn wakes up feeling the sting
In panic he flees
Watching passing tress
Tracing the trail of something known
The place he called home.
Once in sight
This personality takes flight
Out steps Dewey Dell,
Who looks like a glimpse of hell
Takes a nap to restore
His body, which felt quite poor
He had expected to awaken
The boy was mistaken
Waking up on the cliff
Was a boy named Winston Smith
A devotee to a righteous cause
He just didn’t know what it was
Spent his days inside a pew
Surrounded by slim to few
As answers ceaselessly taunt
Halls made to haunt
Without hope he grew less attached
And quickly became Anthony Patch.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
*I put this here to greet you all
I love you all
You all have become like family,
From the Likes of Valsa George, Mother of nature poems, to Soulsurvivor, a brave heart... To Sydrivers, a romantic heart, who left here without informing me,
To KarenN, a conjuring poetess who also left,
To WL Winter, he's like a dear Father of poetry
To SPT, a poet with refreshing words,
To Ja, a must read
To Rosalie, F.... A woman of impeccable poetry, to James, the author of a dear poem to my heart "The candle on top"
To Kristy, a soul-moving poetess
To Vicki, a Strong poetess
To R, A brave Writer
To Professor Marylyn-D, A woman of colors
To Stephan, with poems of wonder
To Stephanie, A warming, calming poetess
To Melissa, with a beautiful smile and heart
To Victoria, writer of intellectual poems
To Mary, A woman of Class
To Jamadi Verse, A poetess that brings heaven to earth with her poems
To Evna-Luna, a friend with beautiful words, to all and all and all,
I greet you all,
I'm currently travelling a lot
But I'll be checking on here once in a while
I Love you all*
Ovi Odiete
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
#Stephan W
*The key turns,
and each tumbler falls into its
pre-honed slot
There is an infinite magic
in her world of words--
her heart finds them
through special agreement,
as the door opens wide; no
resistance at the hinge,
and it is at that very moment that she
gives
everything that she has.
Her relationship with eternity-- it
calls me to her.
I want to be near her--
be her friend..
And with both hands, brazenly
touch the hem of her garment--
slide it off of her;
share.. in the eternal.*
#
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 7:50 PM UTC
.
I’m sick of writing poetry
I’m sick of it I am
Especially all these rhyming words
that flow out from this pen
Those tired worn out phrases
I write about her smile
Each lovey-dovey stanza
in fancy cursive style
The lines about the evening,
a shimmering moon beam
And how when I am slumbering
she always is my dream
Affectionate creations
oh please, for goodness sake
I can not write another one
it’s more than I can take
This poetry about my love
for her I always feel
Upsets my stomach every night
I mean, come on, get real
All of it is stupid
though some may call it dumb
For when I’m finished writing one
my fingers all go numb
Oh crap, Stephan is coming
he’s walking through the door
The biggest smile on his face
I’ve ever seen before
He’s been on the phone with her
he thinks he’s pretty slick
Now he’ll write something beautiful
and it will make me sick
And who am I, you’re asking
well you just should have known
I’m the laptop on his desk
that he left all alone
I used to be his favorite,
but that was way before
He found this mesmerizing girl
the one he does adore
Jealous, oh you think so
well maybe you are right
Or just an angry laptop
that won’t go without a fight
Just wait until I post this
it will be pretty sweet
Oh no, don’t hit that button
**** he just pushed dele…
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
( THE LOVE POET )
His verse, like a precious petal, from an exquisite flower
Slowly unfolds, leaving a luscious space, for a poesy to devour
So each breadth, between every efflorescent petals bloom
Is filled, with his alluring words, as one by one they spume
Every phrase, so intricately woven into their beauty, inlaid as a ransom
For his tendrilled script, like a florets mantling, to expressingly blossom
Then, like a nectars infusive fragrance permeates through the air
So do his words, release bouquets of love, for all of us to share
BOEMS BY JA 587 copyright 09-18-2016
Be well Stephan
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC
*
"There is nothing more beautiful than the poetry I see in her smile"
- Stephan
Her smile is the sunrise that greets me each morning
aglow the horizon in shades of the dawn
The fragrance of jasmine a flow on the breezes
and shimmering dew drops that play on the lawn
A hot cup of coffee with cinnamon doughnuts
while walking through nature where meadowlarks sing
As soft as the petals of roses now blooming
where butterflies welcome the coming of spring
The shade of an oak tree so cool in the summer
with sunflower fields on a sky ever blue
As white cotton clouds float in shapes to discover
and skipping a stone is the best thing to do
Her smile is a poem of euphoric phrases,
written affection in mesmeric rhyme
The song in my mind that is forever playing,
desire filled lyrics to always be mine
A tangerine sunset on ribbons of satin
that gather each day at the far western skies
The stars in the heavens that dance in a moon beam
to wish me good night before I close my eyes
Then every dream that my sleep now entices
to cradle my heart in a wonderful style
All that is beautiful, all that is precious
and all that I love can be found in her smile*
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC
#the forming of substance 03
Stephan W
(fallen from grace)
~
*"I have just come back from a party
where I was the life and soul.
Witticisms flowed from my lips.
Everyone laughed and admired me—
but, I left,
yes.. that dash should be as long as the radii
of the earth's orbit ———
and wanted to shoot myself."*
~Soren Kierkegaard
~ ~
*It is not enough...
It is never enough--
we need too much
But, here on earth
we have to make it work
so we call good-enough, "good enough"
and with gratitude, we
learn to take in what it's available to us.
But the truth behind it all remains--
the fact that we need so much;
Where is one that is complete..
and if so, complete--
compared to what?
There is a perfection- cloud-hidden
within everything that is human
The spirit within the body that carries it--
b r e a t h e s out perfection's truth,
though- we may only experience it
in the moments between awake and asleep-
the human psyche is bent on survival--
and in a broken world, the thought of an
inherent perfection brings on too much--
our own condemnation even.
In our minds we fall too short of even the
concept of it.
Or do we?
The gravitational pull towards Muse
borderlines on that of addiction;
its stirrings touch what is primal in us--
once-inexpressible words, suddenly find expression;
And a Beethoven finds musical notes
that lead to a symphonic masterpiece.
"Words from Heaven" is not saying too much
concerning the poet, or lyricist.
"Music from Heaven" is easier to say,
when concerning a Mozart or Beethoven.
Or a Tchaikovsky.
Perfect reaching into the imperfect?
How about 'imperfect'- feeling, and then
expressing pieces of its own long-forgotten
perfection--
things experienced within the sphere-
made tangible again through the flesh,
simply in a moment of remembering..
and also that of a temporary forgetting--
of limitation.
The beauty of despair is in the heartbreak
of finding out that what is right in front of us
is never truly enough
or worse yet--
possibly even harmful to our own true needs.
What we need most is all and everything
that helps us remember--
That we came from perfection,
and were loved there first,
and now, within the imperfect-
are unable to be denied by the perfect that is
forever inherent in us--
It is completely unable to deny that
which is of its own.
If we were to never despair over what is in
front of us, we might never be compelled
to find the strength to remember-
flashes of the primal--
that of our own history, of perfection.
And if there ever were ever an evil,
or a Darkness-
it would be hell-bent on keeping us
from finding that very thing.
Sometimes.. just sometimes, death
looks just like love.*
#
Sep 27, 2020
Sep 27, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC
#the forming of substance 05
Stephan W
*"But I will not drive them (the 'inhabitants') out in a single year,
because the land would become desolate
and the wild animals too numerous for you.
Little by little I will drive them out before you;
Until you have increased enough to take
possession of the land."
~Exodus
.
Within the sphere- formless and void,
there was all but nothing to inhabit.
Existing within the eternity of the moment,
unable to retain--
it could only experience.
It could behold perfection,
but not hold on to it;
No need..
perfection was ever-present--
In full view of the sphere
and the precious spirit- encased within,
now, wrapped within a living, breathing skin-
this body- for the spirit,
and the spirit for the one body
each part of the heart-- a city in itself.
. .
Reaching across the chasm,
there is an almost symmetry in
the layout of the cities
but their inhabitants are unruly
and the spaces between far too great
for any kind of order to become able to
break through the chaos--
there is no longer communication
between the cities.
There is a yearning for consolidated-Sovereignty,
but the cities have long forgotten themselves-
Strewn about.. in the pain of it all,
they no longer know each other.
. . .
But the spirit within the body-- it remembers.
There is a gathering back into wholeness-
waiting..
and so we learn how to wait also.
Parts, and pieces-- members rebuilt-
little by little
Not too fast- take it easy;
70 years, maybe more.
Which way will it go-
There is a promised land;
waiting to be taken--
one city at a time.*
#
Oct 3, 2020
Oct 3, 2020 at 11:46 AM UTC
#Stephan W
*I have seen you there,
standing alone, along the shoreline
--if you only knew--
Your thoughts- a poetic buffering,
spoken out- onto weathered paper,
through trembling hands; words
let in to the ocean wind--
the dreams of your heart, the needs,
ah, yes.. the deep needs of your heart...
among these rocks,
you are always alone.
~
At the tip of your fingers-- the small ridges;
fragmental, yet monumental imprints, etched
in to you, the moment your spirit entered
your temple. They tell the world of your story:
through fine, texture-perception, you feel it--
your trembling fingers grip the pen, expressing,
conveying your truth into a world that does not
hear.. a shallowing, that deafens..
You glance at your fingertips--
to assure, you're really there
~ ~
(The sea has picked up a bit, now
the waves, crashing against the rocks
rocks, that still won't hear..)
And here also, outlined
within the warm beat of the
human heart,
there is a sound that can be heard--
one similar to the aliveness
of the crashing waves.
Place your fingertips against those
that are real-
the sound blends-in perfectly
with the sea
as the uniqueness of imprinted ridge,
moves up against that of the other--
contrasting, here.. fitting together
perfectly, there..
Scream, "I am!" to the sea; and see, love..
scream it out, and see.
~ ~ ~
I am everywhere near you-- encouraging,
celebrating.. at times, weeping; hands
outstretched, the uniqueness of my
own finger prints, longing
Along this shoreline, I have watched you
for an eternity, hoping
that you might somehow take it all, in.
Clouds beckon, asking again for the
earth's moisture
and I respond, e v ap o r a t i ng.
~ ~ ~ ~
Your small, beautiful feet, now
all pigeon-toed- now, standing
at the water's edge; as the
rain cloud gives up its prize
just beyond the breakers--
(my imprint remains,
but I am of the sea now..)
Wade into me, love
that I may wrap myself around you:
Along this shoreline,
may you never be alone again.*
#
Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 11:20 PM UTC
They tell me the war is won, that I was some kind of chosen one.
I do not feel like the victor.
There lies this inescapable feeling, a hollow ache inside.
The pills were tough, but I have felt worse.
Beams fired towards me as I lay beneath, as my heart gently beats.
I lost no hair.
I lost no weight.
My face and skin stay clear of grate.
Children, Elders, families, they all gambled with surgeries fate.
What makes me different?
Why do I remain so free?
Why does this victory seem so empty to me?
That little girl who wheeled on by, why was she the failure compared to I?
My heart weighs with guilt for winning a war I did not even feel.
Every week.
Every day.
Every minute.
Why did it have to be me, crossing the lonely line back into reality?
It should have been Jeana, Stephan, Jamie...
It could have been anyone.
Anyone but me.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 3:43 AM UTC
#the forming of substance 04
Stephan W
*"For years I’ve wanted to live
according to everyone else’s morals.
I’ve forced myself to live like everyone else,
to look like everyone else.
I said what was necessary to join together,
even when I felt separate.
And after all of this, catastrophe came.
Now I wander amid the debris,
I am lawless, torn to pieces,
alone and accepting to be so,
resigned to my singularity and to my infirmities.
And I must rebuild a truth–
after having lived all my life in a sort of lie."
~Albert Camus*
~
*Worlds apart,
there is a tension
an alienation--
now, strangers-
in a not so strange land
So many parts..
fighting the glow
fighting each other-
These parts, hiding--
From having to be seen- when needed,
From the pain of
having to need the other parts
who also are so unable,
From the visibility--
from having to be asked to join in-
to the process of
an integrated internal functioning;
the metabolizing of things.
From the pain of it all-
and the despondency that will come
from any attempt
to even try.*
~ ~
*The spirit--
its dimly-lit distant memories
of a wholly different time
now afraid to ingrain itself
into a body- that is as of yet
wholly unable to even know itself--
Fragmented parts of the heart;
broken spirit,
a lonely longing-
There is a division
a separation
immersed in a dank mist of fear--
Parts-- nearly touching
but, so unable to see..
or even feel each other in the dark
And the greatest loneliness
becomes the one that is lived within oneself--
An unlived-living
within the broken internal-world
of fragmented parts-
now huddled into remote corners
with such large spaces in between;
parts, isolated from
other parts.*
~ ~ ~
*One day they will no longer be
so afraid of each other--
Even in its dimly-lit state of being,
the spirit yearns for a cohesiveness,
a wholeness--
a re-integration of all the parts;
a reassembling.
Until that time, everything will be partial;
dis- assembled
fragmented.*
#
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 10:41 PM UTC
Surround us in white light so that we may be your eternal servants of good
Temptation is pervasive as we remember what we should
Intend our curiosity
Empower creativity
Deliver us from evil
so we may live eternally
Amen
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
#Stephan W
*My beauty is resisting the worldly pull-- to
slip into lethargic un-consciousness,
in order to no longer feel the anxiety
brought about by non-response to the
primal-question's asking,
But instead is choosing to feel it all-- and in
doing so- it, is costing her everything.
Everything.
She is showing us all what true courage is about,
suffering for the greater good:
for that which is within herself
for her children
for all womankind-- and therefore, for all of man-kind also.
She is the firstfruits of the Universe's
deepest dream; that of a full restoration,
allowing herself to be cut-open, internal parts, rearranged,
heart regenerated, rebuilt through love's magical ways
her mind, being renewed through understanding,
repetition of love's true ways, washing it clean
from the shame unfairly pressed upon her
by the broken, fallen love of man
She is the new Eve-- this beautiful-one,
free from the need to re-create what love is--
she is open, believing.. her beautiful receptors-
perfectly aligned with the harmonic-tones
emanating from the garden, as she walks.
And I.. Adam, love her deeply.
There is an ache with in my side-- a reminder
of my consent of its removal
so that I would no longer have to be so alone in all this magic
and as I struggle, taking in all that is beautiful about her,
I see now that she was not produced from me,
the man
But that I was the oyster,
and she, the beautiful pearl--
the one beyond all price,
the shimmering diamond-- formed,
within this lovestrong lump of coal;
over millions, and millions of years.
I sit in awe as I watch her
she has been worth every moment
of the wait.*
#
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 8:50 PM UTC
#the forming of substance 07
Stephan W
*Radiance.
Within the void are
the greatest mysteries of the universe,
as matter and anti-matter clash;
only to create a newfound energy..
un-owned, unaccountable, unconcerned--
the energy emerging from the clash negates itself
through mutual annihilation; leading to an increase
of space between what it is that is lit; and in
the accelerated rate of expansion of this space,
Illuminated/illuminating matter takes on the risk
of being removed from participatory perception,
or better said-- to a place beyond retrieve..
and so it is also-
within the void of space that exists within us;
the galaxy-within--
ever-swinging in polarity between the gravity-pull
of illuminating/illuminated substance,
and the ever-distancing properties of
an unowned, unlit space...
dark Energy-- a repulsive force,
attempting to quantify the space between
all that truly matters--
yes.. creating space,
and therefore more room
for it to engage into its ever-increasing
chaotic activity.. quantitatively participating in
its fine art of distraction, dilution
and extortion of time
through nothing other than the negation of matter,
and therefore, the negation of potentiality--
of substance, and so also
the transmission of light.. luminosity:
parts within the heart, lit up with
and by the infusion of our own spirits,
through the beautiful act of volition,
of which, the countless galaxies in the universe
exist as a type, given.. (what-if)...
if only to encourage us through amazing,
mesmerizing example--
surrounded, each.. by a circumference of support
of the dark matter of potentiality--
providing the gravity of containment,
solely in and through its belief in its own possibility,
giving way to its utter inability to deny itself to
what has become already lit,
becoming then.. not only a defining part of the galaxy,
but also a gravitational-formed hedge of protection
against the everpull-entropy of the repulsive force--
of all that is unaccountable-
in its velocity-based separation from volition.
And, so it is with the universe,
so, also.. the universe-within;
Having left its glass-globe sphere,
this spirit-centered cosmos
now unfolds, within skin.*
#
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 9:46 PM UTC
Winter is here
Yet it is not yet Christmas
Not yet Winter Solstice
Nor Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or the Essene New Year!
It is snowing in my heart
It feels like winter.
It must be winter!
Sitting, being warmed by the fire
Comforted by the touch of soft fur
Fur Babe, Habibie, I love you
Remembering
Aaron's, Stephan's, Connors, Kevin's, Maria's birthdays
Singing with the Christmas Choir
Silver Bells and Deck the Halls
Evergreen trees, popcorn garland
Snowman soup
Gingerbread Cookies hung
On the boughs with red and green ribbons
Sharing gifts, laughter, hugs and joy
Christmas morning stockings
Filled with an orange, cinnamon roll
A few simple pleasures
Pass the Ibarra, please....
Why all the fuss? Continue to keep it simple!
Wrapped up in my fuzzy, two sided warm blanket
The comfort of my kitten and tears
Lifting my heart from my feet
Yes, it is still in one piece.
Finding the Christmas Cards and notes to write.
Creating, to celebrate those close to us
It is time to create new memories
And keep the Holiday Spirit alive.
Dec 17, 2019
Dec 17, 2019 at 5:24 PM UTC
.
Someone said, “Hey Stephan,
what’s up with all this love
It seems in every poem
that’s what you’re thinking of
Why are you always dreaming,
why is it you can’t see
That love is just a legend,
a made up fallacy
The world is filled with evil,
don’t you watch the news
CNN or NBC
or others you can choose
Clinton is a liar,
Trump is just a creep
They’ll both destroy the nation
for fortunes that they reap
Murders by the thousands,
death is in the streets
I can’t believe you haven’t seen
within the many tweets
Our water is polluted,
we’re choking on the air
They even have new bathrooms
for every one to share
Prices through the ceiling,
paychecks in the ground
Protesters are screaming,
you can hear them all around
There’s war in other countries
Servers have been hacked
Innocent bystanders
Caught in the attack
Drugs are running rampant,
****** is king
Coming through the border,
such a nasty thing
Little kids are crying,
not enough to eat
Living in the squalor,
sleeping in the street
So tell me, will you Stephan,
what’s up with what you write
Every poem filled with love,
morning, noon and night"
I looked at him a moment
and with all honesty
I said to him, *"I’m sorry sir,
were you talking to me?
I was lost writing this poem
for one I do adore
I didn’t hear you talking,
could you please say it once more?"*
He just walked away shaking his head
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
אני יכול לזכור...I can remember
I.
in the ashes of Auschwitz
February 2018 / Shevat 5778
there exists no
kol hachavvyot,
the Infinite One bring/ing
all of reality into be-ing.
there is no 'ehyeh 'asher 'ehyeh
who formed Light,
who created Darkness.
II.
the candles of the Vanished
World are no longer
sown in the seasons of breath.
in 1920 Vilna, Yehu'dit bones
were excavated for horses
to be buried,
all by the tongue of a priest
covered in ambergris.
in 2018 Cyberia alleys,
the malefactor mime cries
as Long Island parhelia
flicker in the seasonal
ice around his little girls.
III.
the cypress of the
Kingdom of Night are
amidst natz'ri house gardens,
marking in the mouths of
opus dei children the straws
of Poland.
long after midnight we seek
solace in One-Eyed Paritus's
Meditations obliques,
where Sol Nazerman's
zoharic midrashim of
Shabtai Zisel are
narrated by Claude Lanzmann.
the quantum nonlocality
of the corpse of
ha'Kodesh Barukh hu
is the Hollerith tracking
number.
IV.
Nach uraltem, aengstlich beheutetem
Klostergeheimnis lernen selbst Greise
muehelos Kavier spielen.
-- Max Ernst
this is to the memories z"l of
Rod Steiger 14 April 1925-9 July 2002
Roman Vischniac 19 August 1897-22 January 1990
Rose Leamel Ziebell (1933-2007)
Dottie Sutton (1922-2015)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
© 3 February 2018 / 18 Shevat 5778
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
STEPHAN PICKERING / חפץ ח"ם בן אברהם
Torah אלילה Yehu'di Apikores / Philologia Kabbalistica Speculativa Researcher
לחיות זמן רב ולשגשג...לעולם לא עוד
THE KABBALAH FRACTALS PROJECT
לעולם לא אשכח
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
If I focus the lotus turns into a locust.
I sit underneath the Miliband tree and
wait for Ed ***** to fall upon me,
and Cameron, what a love,
handed me the dubious gift of YouGov,
which to be sure has a tenuous link with that man of old ink in that its current CEO is called Shakespeare,
first name Stephan.
Nadhim Zahawi the former CEO is now a conservative MP for Stratford upon Avon.
The Bard spins or maybe he grins in his grave.
"YouGov is the authoritative measure of public opinion and consumer behaviour. It is YouGov's ambition to supply a live stream of continuous, accurate data and ...Blah Blah Blah, Yawn.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
the membership weren't aware
of this particular disclosure
but the due time has come
for an open exposure
poet Stephan is poet Jack
in his alternate gown
the probity of the facts
so precisely noted down
a revelation shocking
is herein told
of the twin persona's
acting too bold
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 2:30 AM UTC
#Stephan W
*Muse-induced, I slip
into a dreamstate--
I am floating.
Third-heaven bound, I am
caught up into a
galaxy-pull, cloud hidden
I am bent around objects--
the very empirical nature of
light itself,
drawn into an orbit that,
always mine-- had
been waiting for me all along
I am home now--
Away from this pain
Away from death's stain
..away from all of my inabilities*
#
Nov 28, 2020
Nov 28, 2020 at 11:30 PM UTC
Dear people-who-think-global-warming-is-not-a-thing,
You have eyes, right?
You're just not using them?
Because I can open your eyes,
but I can't give you new ones.
But either way, you have ears
so listen up
because I'm going to tell you
why you're wrong.
For one,
this is a scientific issue,
not a political one.
It's not something
that can be debated.
Fact
not
Fiction
Now that's out of the way,
here's the numbers:
Throughout the entire human history,
carbon dioxide levels have
NEVER
been above 300 p.p.m.
(parts per million)
What to know where it's at now?
400 p.p.m.
On the scale of things...
Let's just say we're *******
That's not enough for you?
I'm just getting started.
Sea levels around our lovely planet
have risen 8 inches
In the last hundred years.
Know what else?
NASA says that,
"The rate of the last two decades, however, is nearly double that of the last century."
Also,
You know Stephan Hawking?
The really smart guy?
Yeah, he says you're wrong,
so...
So this is me
begging you
to open your BEAUTIFUL eyes
(I thought maybe flattery would help)
to this disastrous situation.
It's not my imagination,
It's the end of our civilization.
Sincerely, The Environmentalists
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC
I read a poem from Stephan
It made no sense to me
All those coriographed lines
To the untrained eye unseen
Lies a secret or two
That may contain the key
To his so called happiness
In our own lives lost at sea
So tell me Stephan...
What is it with all this love?
What about some animosity!
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC