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Robin Carretti Aug 2018
We are heating up
A-glow--- A-star--- A-blaze
Many other well-lit planets
She's luminous like no other
Simply crazed__Fairytales

*She's Peach-Fruitti-Tutti
Godiva loves nuts
All the melt in's
*
Mr. Bacio-Hazelnut*
Mr. Pistacchio he got his nose______

Inside their sweets____Pinnochio
She's the Light-up Icecream Cone  

Moods are like ice cubes
hot and cold websites
I prefer cold zone
Feeling like
Eskimo in Alaska


Miss Prima Donna
Oh! Donna is her name
Gelatos are not all the same
We are not here to have
special privileges

Robin lost some ruffles
Polar bears ice Igloo
College boys with their sports mug
Polo shirts Santa hoo duffle bags
We don't know what she knows
or what he likes the stars
of the Cosmo we are not
here to win someone's love
OH! Yes Lotto

We are not professors or wizards
Harry Potters, they have some
Pots not a fan of pans got
some ****
**** so cool menthol smoke indeed
Around the Gelato in eighty days
The Race of a drive

computer clicks one-day creation flag
Hens and chicks laid the golden egg

Mr. Egghead meeting Conehead

His tasters choice  
 She loves Mr. Maxwell Mansion
This is Italy the Art sculptures
Sweet Gelato lips say a
thousand words of pleasure
We travel with Exotic lovebirds
Saving the Ice blue diamond
Icecream wreck what a she
gains more than a pound
Mama Mia,
not the Chia job plant
 Over the rainbow
chill out pants
Having Gelato clean
as mint float

To the waffle cone top
of the mountain sugar coat
Niagara Falls here
"Gelato calls"

What spaghetti my name is
Carretti

Mr. Alfredo his physique and
passion for food
Feeling like the comics
Having fun marveling
Carvel walking through
the love tunnel
  
Hot ladies how do they ever
Decide iced up inside

Hothead Alfredo throws
the dough
She coughs he laughs
The pizza everyone's
the head is turning beet red
Something is burning exorcist,
Lady in red pizza list

Back in Brooklyn best
Pizza and Italy (Rome) Venice (Florence)
But Bensonhurst Saturday night fever
With Nightingale Mr. Chippendale
He's chatting away on his cell phone

With her Gelato looking at the
stars of the men spiritual experience
The Cosmos feeling meltdown presence
St Thomas sunny like yellow
gelato melting

Being a saint please don't faint
A food critic dessert
*** a hex playful flirt
T Rex mighty green lime
The love fallout of coconut
He's the hottest man
on earth Pluto
Being whole flavor or 1/2 pint
of Vanilla Sky scholar or
Intermission Icecream internship
The Canadian cup another trip

  Nike air what an ice cream pair
Going back to New York City
Rockettes icecream kick
He's on his time feeling the royalty
Lets bow to the dogs best friend
French barrette in her ice blue
Corvette, she is 'Ice Queen"
Super Ice me, Hero

Do what the Romans do
Lend me your warm soul of hands
Getting married Italian medieval rings
For my next Gelato adventure
escape be polite on Google
Mr. Alfredo loves all kinds of noodle
The shape of Cone's to come in her head

Not an Antman, please or fly by night
Icecream Cone Head Batman
*But I am a woman named Robin
Christopher Robin, Robin Hood
Why are boys and girls name alike
**** good humor lady
Good humor truck
Where is her order head chef
shrimp scampi
In the islands of Sorrento

What a time for ironing
What a waffle shirt eating
his waffle
Icecream with ladybugs and dirt
So many varieties mental thing
Everything icecream you scream
What a college Varsity every year  
"Hot lady Gelato's" head of the dean
list oh! No
[Mr. Alfredo} ice cream chair with
another Gelato pair
Chiao for now
Gelato went a little too far I love Gelato lets travel with Robin and get some unbelievable Gelato but we need to go to Italy I was there it's amazing
Sethnicity May 2015
She is My cream nicotine
The
Surging through our blues
The fluidity of divinity
Juxtapose
Whoever said love was easy…

Yeah 'Ol Chap, they Sure had it right,
Because no man or lady can ever Subtract
Once their hue has mixed it can never go back.
2 Whipped Cream and Other Delights.

And why would you?
The dregs are bitter,
The milk too sweet.
If you water it down then
All flavor retreats

Life is just better off Bitter-Sweet,
Cream never asks coffee
On how it should mix
Why do we attempt these liquid alchemy tricks?

The intrusion is dilution of the Makers choice
Through imperfection comes the lesson
Learned perception with each sip

The air red dried truth
The
Words stuck to the lips
Tasters Digest the last drink drips
Yet I question why I am so subject
to infusion
Her meaningful quips
Why we attempt these liquid alchemy tricks?

Still I question why I am so subject
to the infusion of Her
Dips
Sometimes I call it Love
Sometimes I call it Quits
For You My Dear

Let's Cheers Another Grip
of
Seared Buds and Belly Aches
and
Lactose Licorice
So
Pour Another! while the Argument still in Air
and
While Dilutions of gratification Grind into Frothy Despair
Final Stanza redacted for more of a cream and grit flavor: "While
My **** and Meatballs Crow in the Cupboard."
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
i was directed to this place by Marty Feldman, and he said i should say this password to gain entry: float like a chapati, sting like a vindaloo.

i' not good at making passes at someone's death,
just yesterday i was thinking
while a quiz show took place with haiku clues
regarding famous people, so i wondered
aloud: would it still be the correct answer if
you said: cassius clay? what a cool name,
colossus of clay - what the hell does Muhammad
and Ali have to do with african rooting
when you hardly speak Swahili? a bit pointless,
but a name like cassius clay... unstoppable -
already mythological, rather than a family
feud between Ali and the Caliphs after Muhammad's
death - maybe he should have confirmed his
baptism as Muhammad Ali with a confirmation
akin to catholic practice and added a surname, like
Khadijah, well... if Mozart is turning in his coffin
for his music being turned into a muzak
or a Porcupine Tree tree song, then the first wife of
Muhammad is turning in hers... a wise women
of sound economic acumen could be compared
by secular standards to Gabriel's voice, women tell lies,
just today i saw plain Jane turn into a stunner,
she was gagging to go on a date with a guy of her dreams,
by media standards a subsequent loser in Morocco,
at a photo shoot of practising flirtation a half-and-half
love affair between the Gothic island of the Caribbean
that's England and the Bahamas flirted with olive skin,
blue eyes and pecks, and an ego shaped like a woodpecker...
or an u.z.i., poor guy, got to make a show,
but the ***** is out! she noticed her eyes!
what further shahada of scheherazade?
just one more night, just one more night, one more, night.
demigods and men, traces of narcissus in man resides
in his eyes, nowhere else, man and woman fall in love
with their eyes, rather than narcissus and the complete
visage, but as i once said: imagine narcissus looking
into the sea - he might as well have fallen in love with
the stillness of the lake rather than the image represented
by it - across the seven seas he roamed, across the seven
zeniths, until he came across the Lake of Echo,
and heard the echo of footsteps beside him, to have seen
the natural mirror by moonlight, and settled to lie,
disguising himself as a flower worth recycling:
each god in polytheism his own individual, reigning ideal
in the pantheon of gods: solipsism - with man's intervention
a notably study of, himself.
although i'd love to chat thoroughly about this,
i'm not so sure i want to - hear the words:
you're a good man... you're a good man in a brothel?
you think a ******* would forget saying that
and continue? *persona incognito grata
-
a golden crown on her tooth that i peered into with her
Ukrainian accent speaking polish, i lost my virginity
to a French girl without any connection - proceeding
from the way she decided a child learning a new language
aged 8 could not be considered a native speaker
for a psychology experiment - i gave her a silent lesson
in history concerning Napoleon and the last heroic act
of warfare, after that, civilians were utilised like bombs
or rifles, the many guilts after all the killing seized.
anyway, today i decided to cook two knock-outs...
the first was intended as a kolhapuri chicken curry,
the latter was chicken do'h pyaaza, with the later
the title, indeed the fenugreek incident, fenugreek
being a concentrated version of kasoori methi,
if the Turks invented hot & sour with a pickled chilli,
the blue Indians invented a whole palette of sour and hot
with this dish, and the crucial ingredient that's
fenugreek - although the crystalline form of this spice
is more potent - the recipe asked for one tablespoon
of the raw products, the leaves (kasoori methi) -
i added a teaspoon of the concentrated stuff -
what a disaster! i asked for two tasters to tell me that i
wasn't tasting bitterness in the gravy as if i added some
English ale revenge against continental beers...
because the excess of the component of intended sourness
of the fenugreek turned into an ale-like bitterness -
hence the notion that sour isn't an antonym of sweet,
but bitter is - hence sweet & sour rather than
sweet & bitter - you can have a turkish pickled chilli
and still have a compliment on the palette of hot & sour,
but imagine tasting bitterness - excess of concentrated
kasoori methi does the trick - and since Faust doesn't
have an Igor like Dr. Frankenstein, he turned himself
into a hunchback, and started picking out most of the
fenugreek crystals from the gravy, one by one, ony by one,
hunched over the sauces - until the bitterness disappeared
and the intended sourness came through -
it took a while, but Faust as his own assistant kept on
saying: stop lying, stop lying! i want to eat this sauce too!
that's the thing with chemistry and cooking,
i received a present not too long ago, an arsenal
of spices, which means i can punch-bag you a Peshwari
naan with raisin and almond stuffing (a bit of sugar too),
and i can add the raw ingredients - i'm richer with
spices than with drugs or gold: turmeric is also known
as saffron - although saffron is more potent,
turmeric does the same job... coriander powder, cumin
power (also seeds), mint the prime garnish for
do'h pyazza curry... garam masala made from scratch,
meaning i have: cardamom pods, cloves, black cardamom,
mace... and i can make you a kohlapur masala...
honestly... in this great culinary babylon of english society,
from pizzas to chinese to Kentucky to New York
street vendors... i'd give up the cuisine i was born in
and convert to India's palette... i don't need to convert
anything else... religion can remain with those who
barely read, or who read and cite only one book...
let them have it... i don't care...
i already converted to a non-religious fascination with
mystical Judaism (sorry Allah, couldn't do anything
with your name, it didn't fit the Latin revision of thinking
about it), and as such, converted to a dreamy everyday
of India's culinary prowess - Kama Sutra is nothing
compared to the recipes from Kashmir or anywhere
where the blue bloods fascinated the merchants rather than
scalped them in berserker rage among the puritan
envoys.
ERR Jul 2013
He liked to travel after the
War, he said
His father had explored Japan
With a friend and two local lady guides
Happily snapping culture shock
Soaking in the landscape
Partaking in practices exotic and strange
They went to a sushi restaurant, and
This is before they had that stuff in the cafeteria
Calamari alarmed the two
Polite tasters but face contort and twister
His father a dab, his friend: a bite
The girls laughed and finished the squid, raw alright
And they left, owner eyeing as they go
New tourist destinations but
Their stomachs start to plummet
The girls drop sick and writhe and twitch
And kick
As he gets all three to the
Hospital, where he is suspected

Manages to get authorities
To the restaurant, where owner
Sees two ghosts walk before his
Face, and random ****** cyanide
Lies waiting

The girls went violently
His friend had a piece removed
His father, still going strong
Though he’d always been
A little gassy
Don Bouchard Jan 2016
The Reader
Experiences Text:
Tastes the corners,
Chews the middles,
Examines the ideas,
Turns them over and over -
Lozenges to be mulled.

Unique to each Reader
The Text must pass
Each Reader's senses:
His eyes,
Her nose,
Their tongues...
And so begins Digestion,
A complicated process producing
pleasant dreams in one,
Nightmares in another.
Soothing sleep for me
Dyspepsia for you.

Ideas have their routes to pass;
The dross is left behind or lost
And what remains is fiber to our souls
(To steal Walt Whitman's term).
More Reader Response Theory....
allsmallletters Mar 2019
Forget the onion and all its layers
thats obvious
You are undeserving for such a cliché
So I invite a different perspective
Think of a base, flour and egg kneaded together like I need you,
so dense in identical morals
Folded with mirrored ideology of future fortuity
Dipped sensually with a sauce so thick,
Thicker than blood or water,
Blended as one to create a sea of red as deep as our hearts pumping vitality
Sprinkled softly with the most palatable, mouth watering mozzarella
Each placing full of utter affection,
Long lost stares while you sit innocent to me feasting my eyes upon your moreish persona.
The only quandry we must face is whose decision that day of toppings to showcase
Who gets the chance to tease additional flavours, delicious tasters
To open eyes to attributes unseen before,
Hopes set high to electrify taste buds
Wanting the other to crave more

Ingredients brought together for a flavoursome pizza
You are my hawaiian
As i,
Your meatfeast.

Opposing trimmings
Eachothers 1st choice
One anothers perfection to quench their dying hunger
The anaolgy I concoted best used to describe my relationship.
My partner and I have opposite interests, humour, and past times,
but we sit firmly in a body of identical morals, integrity and honour, mirroring each others.
A pizza is nothing without a strong base.
Toppings can be changed and mixed to any combination.
The base is the structure of our love, ***** and rigid.
The toppings are interchangeable extras that we diversify daily to develop and grow together.
Any kind you like
Black or white
Dark or light
Individually right

Milky, frothy
Extra shot of coffee
Rich full blended
Skinny, slender
Enjoy its splendour

Chocolate coated
Caramel toasted
Full and roasted
Made to measure
For your pleasure

Espresso shocker
Latte, mocha
Cappuccino takers
Coffee makers
Based on personal tasters

Multi-million invention
Saturated intention
On every street corner
Made to order

Coffee
A little light relief from the day's journey....except now I drink tea....ironic.
So after we got to the go-kart place,
we adjusted our hats,
and recorded our thoughts,
and until someone shouted our monikers
(Tasters of Life and Cool Guys,)
we took turns at the cage
while the others recalled their most
Jersey-like memories.

Somebody died on the beach,
and they chose to shut down our requests
for more info.

We ate with the lifeguard
who shook when he spoke.
katrinawillrich Jan 2015
Blow you up? You bet I did, lil **** my Mouth dont miss, my lips are perfect
Ego stroked and Pipedreamed yo almost *******
Blowing smoke up and out a sly eyed ***
No rounds draft pick
Beer,
Cause if you cant ******* might as well
Hang
Like a bad insecurity got the big bigger biggest
And you were left with a po mans ****
Don't forget to forget those Trojans
I called it (on behalf of all the ***** you are gonna get and ever did)
Unballin like a roly poly on curl on nuttin
Questioning test subjects
Tea missed me, them bags need some stuffin
****** can't make it stand up for somethin'
Attention attention yo limp gic
Whats wrong? Business got you down?
Can't stay on like fake *** ****?
And yes, I can rake
3 of the largest tallest meanest
Implanted collagen injected *******
Bet you didn't know I got it like that
Tell em how you go wild behind the
Players with the swing in the pants
Crotch testing 1 2 3 .....6
Tasters of the finest mix mess listed
Assfections affectionate hact
You a grown *** man getting dollars ****
No **** in real ****
As you crave to wet your name with it
You just leave her dry guessing
When you gone get hard enough
Too get that operation
So she can finally ***
And you can finally know what
It feels like to satisfy a person.
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2013
first read
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/life-circles/#after-reading
After-reading
including the notes  and the  exchange in the comments section. Then begin to read the words below, for they are derivative thereof.
Also
ponder this quote from a play by Richard Greenberg.
''I speak when I have something to say. When I have nothing to say, I write.''


the contriving is all that remains,
so,
with a bow and a great flourish,
my hat, right-handed swooping,
grazing my knee,
I tender my amazement at what the
lives of all these contrivers,
bring me each day.

Long Live All Poets!

the contortionists, the evolutionists,
hard working smithies, risers with dawn,
selectors, all day long tasters,
all night long scene stealers,
of each word that parses their
five senses,
even the contrivers,
need, deserve,
get their day in court.

you know the real poets
by their every day
discourses,
for your subconscious
rhymes their every response,
even their *thank you's
and yes, please,
please all nearby,
like a thanksgiving prayer
spent, sent heavenwards ,
each word
lifted up skyward, alongside the hearts
that move to hop on, join their
poetic alephs and bets.

the haiku masters who
breath lifetimes into a moment,
the balladeers who ferment
tales unseen but conjure them
as forever keeps of yes! I was there,
the sonneteers, the lyricists,
so powerful these wizards place their
visions in our throats to hum when hearing
spoke a single one, a phrase, of their words

the contriving.
how I adore that word
as if the work was
the easy part,
and the insighting,
the feeling,
the noticing,
the tugging at the heart was
the easy art.

oh lord forgive me I write too much,
see beyond what I see,
hear the street snatches of conversation
and drip those reformatted words from mine eyes,

is that your blessing or your curse?

let me be just a contriver,
a poet who
follows form and function,
and gets an A from his English Lit. professor,
acknowledging expertise
at contriving
per poetic custom acceptable

whY did you insert this knowing,
this sensory malfunctioning that cusses
lest I not transform the everyday of the
everysay into verses and stanzas.

Reimer, Reimer, beloved scoundrel and schemer,
what have you undone to me!
he who never sleeps, just
weeps and weeps,
for you have contrived me yet gain
to see something I saw before,
always knew but never wrote,
in this exact format,
but all life long knew, and blubber anew
at words that I never knew existed in
this precise combination.

you can cannot contrive the spirit that
moves us to write, the words employed,
yes perhaps, but all
even the struggle for
le mot jus,
oft for naught^^
the repetitive, the uninventive,
glorify.

I survive,
I contrive.
but far more imposing,
is the knowing,
that tho the contriving still remains,
it is a cost so costly,
and I must include herein
that every verse
of every poem
ever writ,
every contrivation,
every submission,
even the worst simplest is a blessing,
even the simplest worst is a blessing.


all are:
"the fruit of promise,
a table replete,
hope restored,
a circle complete."^

Yet, t'is the fluid visionaries shall lead us
to our restful place
even if they cannot speak,
even if they cannot write,
just contrive.
___________________________________________
^ http://hellopoetry.com/poem/life-circles/#after-reading


*It is in an instant, that life makes a poem in a man's mind, that will live longer than that that oak.
Nat*

*Reply
SE Reimer
i've reflected on your words, several times now, Nat, and find them to be such an accurate description of my experience with writing... though the words may move around a bit, once conceived, the contriving is all that remains.*

^^le mot juste
"the right word" in French. Coined by 19th-century novelist Gustave Flaubert, who often spent weeks looking for the right word to use.
Flaubert spent his life agonizing over "le mot juste." Now Madame Bovary is available in 20 different ****** english translations, so now it doesn't really make a **** bit of difference.
David Nelson Mar 2010
Sweets Dreams

Just east of the Simi valley,
where they grow delicious grapes,
to turn the buds of afcionado tasters,
served with fruity crepes,
and west of the biggest strip of all,
where fast shakers tend to meet,
is this little town, whose name slips my mind,
on this busy little street,
lives a queen of hearts, princess of mind, maiden of the soul,
who's gentle touch upon my heart,
has turned me all aglow,
she has a way of being funny, but no, she's no ones fool,
far from that lame description,
she's been to finishing school,
yet not overly proper, with sense of reason,
sense of good and kind,
it's been my pleasure, to have met this lady,
and since my heart has pined,
I know that we will never touch, not physically at least,
but she has my heart, she has my mind, she's tamed this ugly beast,
though she will never know, just how much, I dream of her at night,
how much I wish, I could hold her close, and kiss my Sweets goodnight          

Gomer LePoet...
Red rooster is yet to crow
but I feel
my pulse racing to
to embrace the new day.

Shadows of the night
cling tenuously to
parked cars and trees
awaiting the golden brush
of dawn's early light.

Sleepy elbows and knees
complain in vain;
my brain yearns only
for the kettle's
shrill persistent refrain;

caffeine's coveted crutch is near.

Roasted vapors of
Kenya's finest beans
thrill the air
with redolent coffee streams.

Breathers flare,
lips quiver,
tasters salivate,
first sip is here...

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!

My heart sighs...

It's time to write!

~ P (#writerscrutch)
William Crowe II Sep 2014
Pick it up with your delicate fingers;
The tiny oval, purple and bruised,
And in it is contained a life, and cold juice.

Nurtured by the sun, surrounded by
Fresh air in a vineyard; now
Bathed in the sterile light

Of a public school cafeteria.
If grapes have a religion, I’m
Sure the sun is the Son of God

And wine tasters are the dogs of Hell.
If grapes could talk, would they mention
How ugly you look

As you raise grape after grape into your
Grape-colored mouth? I want to speak to the
Grapes; I want to know what they are
Knowing.
Mark Sep 2018
If my tomorrows were in summer's reach
I'd sail this day, on waves of bitter wine,
towards a newer dawn, on bluer beach
for ocean sprays, sting none to lover's brine.

The amber heated sky should melt her cold
that frozen 'neath my eyes her parting words;
another's light has won her love's remold,
let then each phrase be fed to hungry birds.

The Gulls can stomach salt I cannot bear
for they're accustomed tasters in disdain,
and pine for greater feasts, for I not dare,
but castle sands, and hide my love's domain.

Tho' if no love, there'll be no summer's day!
For all will be as bleak, as is, today.
Bryce Nov 2018
The tick of toothed gear
Gives handfuls of a surprise
Mike & Ike tasters.
Vessels  and Wine menus of the archaic formulas seemed from the new Universe that was approaching them vertiginously, concelebrating the unitary form of the union of the pilasters of the Opistódomos with Hellas , which was constituted as an inter-dimensional state, for two strategists universal and immortal that provided the beginning of a new Christic language, based on the relationship of the unified polis but with an infinite calendar perspective. The courage to start an end with a beginning full of excitement and celebration where clearly the dances would be from beginning to end to treasure the influences of endless complacency, and that would hold commemorative celebrations of station processes, being established fiercely in the treasuries of Metroon ; as a duplicated and bilocated agoras on Patmos, besieging all the documents of the glorious past of Mythology towards the new preservation of Submitology, where the people of heroes and anti-heroes of all the Pleiades come to life from the Vernarth transcript, as a multidimensional memorial archive housing in all the concerns of eternity written, and preserved tangible and intangible that would transport them to the annals of a sanctuary that would agree with the repositories of everything that was and will be of this Myth annex beyond a fantastic reality, going back to the Hellenisms that they will compose next to the Beit Hamikdash Temple, as a sacred mansion where the ceiling and the floor would rest in total communion. The dimensions will be given in the own open foot that will standardize the buttresses that would make up the access chambers to the privileged place of Rea, with dimensions that could be displayed in the confines of the inflection of Orion, naturally illuminating the vault of Greece in the head of the Agora and from there to Theoskéspasti, to then be triangulated with the Doric and Ionic colonnades specifying the Vernarth chamber, which will have its quantum progression and multidimensional link throughout the Archaic Hellas to all of Judea that will re-sanctify the possibilities that the heroes will parade eternally for the waters and lands that are proper to inertia, where Athena and Nike will make the pots with mead in the rejection of more miracles that will flow from Galilee to Patmos. The etymology would be of Hellenic customary avant-garde, evidencing realities where every day the peasants sharpened their sickles, as a feast that celebrated the first-rate courts with the first-grade olive oil with the Almazara or oil press that will bring the fruits of the table. The flapping of the pelicans would tie laudable sounds from the Thuellai worshiping the phonograms that were emitted from the Metroon, attracting the classical periods of the conformation of Greece when it was only Chaos and Seas in conflict. From this mythological proposition, everything was a reality where the lack of custom proved as a cultural character, it was the vertical cultural basting coined in the gloss of the signifier, rather than the meaning, leading everything to these festivities of edibles and drinkable towards the Panhellenic that it would bring new vigor of expansive territorial function, towards Macedonia and Delphi as a holiday that could celestially have more than twelve lunar months.

Meanwhile Vernarth was hugging a rattle more than two meters high and one in diameter, this resonance implied the inaugural sound of the Symposium of the Athletic Agon that together with the Almazara would run rials of oilseeds, to anoint the attendees as all Sacred of the jubilee of the Opistódomos and the Hamikdash, towards the new Submitological Era Duoversal between the events that will delight everything that concerns accompanying the pairings of liquids and solids in this competitive challenge, so that the mythical hero becomes the credible hero stationed in the ninth laurels that would make up the foundation and inauguration of the games, after the victory of those who never threw the victor's crown. The votive offerings and monuments joined the agonal journey that referred from the perspective of a soul that wanted to compete with its existential soul, and then reluctantly redirected itself through the unusual temples that seemed to vanish amid the crowds, making this festive ritual the greatest expression. of all the votive festivals in Patmia. In practice, the meals would once again be rewards for the support of the sky by the Matakis, as a snowy reflection in the pouch that does not display any icon other than a numismatist that sniffs the pieces of bronze that were surrounded by the other derivatives of the terminal of saturation of Zeus, seeming to identify that Matzoh would fall from the sky, and Manah that will highlight the laurel artifice when the conceptual of the sages give the beginning of the activities with a meta-praxis that will stand out from the full stomachs, and the bladders supplemented with oenological colors, eradicating physical competitions for those of the allegory of Dionysian pleasure that suggests a human and mythological hybridism, Submitological-supernatural. Everyone became restless and ran along the golden trails of the iridescent nimbus creating capacities to unfold the time of Kairos and at the same time re-inaugurating the feat of noble bread and the skills of collecting the green fords, where Persephone refrained from an illegitimate pressure by leaving the intellectual bulwarks for the destiny of the force that subtracts the will, but if it defines the feminine character that caresses the tongues of the soulless and they call us with the features of competing prostrate to a Goddess who worships the eternal shine of the wheat field that refers, and what makes the ibidem in the conferences of a hero who smacks the features of all the sculptures that will follow the cause of reason of the allegorical agoras and the competition where the meek will only toast when nobody sees them face inhibition itself of what is and is not.

What the languages uttered became shouted to sit near the inns and tables with dairy products and wines from which they all stood up with a cantiga in unison, ***** in the joy of being called to the Hellenic invitation to compete, to make dynamics and refer to physical skills assiduously to the constellations that made them awaken the intellectuals. The attributes of each one were a trigger to celebrate and laugh before the divinity of the new Age, along with the solemnity of Himation. This lasted twenty-eight days exchanging the full moons that would bring the shooting stars with boiled genetics that were forged from the Souvlaki prototype, and flashes that would take them to the symposium where the feasts were dimensions that surpassed the entire width of the galaxies, to praise and cheer the crowded Pleiad of assistants fully compete in the intelligentsia, before the various rituals and spells that were prepared with the consecration of the Symposium that would bring together Alpha and Omega, as a Semitic language that filtered through the iridescence nets that manifested from the Nimbus where they remained the vaporous entity of the Mashiach.

Vernarth imbibed, above all, a segment of space that allowed him to look without being distracted towards the height of the Nimbus, creating in the tract of languages that they wandered between Aramaic, Greek, and Hebrew, after that the extra-biblical witness Marzeah would designate in the liturgy of celebration of the Symposium, always noting that the allusive rhetorical conversations at the side of the Symposium meeting, understanding that they would become a brotherhood of tasters of the ethyl elixir, which would flow from the iridescent tract between seven iridescence that would translate into bittersweet solid foods and rolls with thyme from Kalymnos. The ingestion in two portions was lived from arm to arm in the jars of hand, reciprocal in the distractions that Vernarth made looking at the Nimbus, and offered him with his Khaire, promoting distraction and jumping over the dark clouds that were tinged with purple tones of the ethyl elixir, creating dance forms that revived the altruism of euphonic auditions that divined that the world could be all Wine and Matzoh, which was lavished on those who would not be excluded from the drinking of the sky that flowed as food from the fermented Hydor, alongside some concave stones with toasted chickpeas, fresh fruit, and Lepanto beans. Saint John blessed food considering that Eurydice, Circe, Medea, Hecate, and Walekiria would be incorporated into the festive Andron, although the feminine essence should be reserved for other stages of the solemn festival. The expositions of contentment were to have the vessels permanently facing the sky of the Nimbus, because from there holistic ethyl liquids would constantly fall that would shine with their deferred colors, sensitizing what the ear wanted to hear more than their collisions of Epichisis and Enócoes to pour and serve. in geometric ciboriums from Laconia. Vernarth would walk around the Profitis with Askos full of the essence of the Mashiach wine, which served them with the seven cosmic thoughts, thus frequenting the distractions for those who did not skimp on Apollo's delirium of dipsomania, distracted in Vernarth with the dancers of music by Hetera. Vernarth filled the glasses of all those who carried Guttus and Lecitos who relaxed and brought their Cretan flavors in the chirps of their pharynxes coming out from their mouths with verses that seemed the same as those of the Heterias, which the soldiers of the phalanx influenced the Small groups in a circle to applaud the gift and virtue of celebrating with improvised cheers, which in the bedrooms invited even the dissuasive shadows of their own evil that wanted to seep into the symposium. The afternoon was reinvented from the agora and the proscenium that attended for all from all the borders that would bring the storms of the ethyl nimbus, inviting new tides from the Aegean that would add to re-condense in the parasites that swarmed deserts with the rhythm of one night in all the borders and optics of the world, being able to be seen clearly and precisely to be reissued. The comedy of Dyonisius was present with all his court of Syracuse, and Dionisio was reiterated with Thespis and his supports that spelled ruffian verses between bitten, one being King the other being a God, sticking to his origin as a demigod in the feminine inheritance of a mortal, to come to serve in Cantharos to Dyonisius, where they roar in his mortal consciousness. The parasites bustled through the floodgates of intoxication that could be textualized and verbalized in the shrinking of colic, or perhaps boldly sitting on a tripod to imitate the Sybillas if they were to be supported by the effluvium of Alcyoneus, covering with snakes that they would carry potions in the wine glasses when representing the banquets that would falsify to be scenes of a feast, with the criterion of an over-relief.
Opistódomos Symposium
Jimmy Dec 2018
It rained and everyone gained self-awareness
Staring at the ****** corpse of the Greek and the humors
While I try to shut the molded doors.
Just a loner with some suchers
All I hear is rumors that the old ways are the future
Reason resonably rendered senseless
Someone resend me the recipe for reciprocity because the only thing separating want and won't is an apostrophe
Screwtape told me to keep my eyes peeled open just in case I find the human still coping with the new old ways
That's when I make my play
Corruption in the blood, The Vinegar Tasters buried in the mud on this rainy night
The world's first time in the mirror and collapses with the gift of sight
Ken Pepiton Jul 2019
The tongue no man can tame

language is absorbed into the wild tongue
then it forgets
the taste
of uncut gems and steak Tartar

raw
word tasters are rare, nu-ance is hinted at while

nu is hog- tied in a mathematic con un drum un mazing
a knot in the fiber string theory needs to work

it's wicked cool,
what an untamed tongue can do

with global ****** cybernetic foam
damping down tamped down sludge from
early efforts

nothing can be hidden in truth,
the act of ac
ception
freedom; when you know,
like re-cognize this
troubling
idea

and say I got past you, you are unbelievable.

True? It's a sense, we can all feel it. Like,
the empowering pushing force
which re
deems idle words worth reading, for the rush.
Devon Brock Nov 2019
Espaliered vines hang like convicts,
strung out in the vineyards as portent
to passers by.

But the tasting rooms are open with cheeses,
retribution and grim justice -
verdicts of wine.

I see them, the tasters, the gawkers,
giddy on the road for sips of vengeance
and sublimation.

I see them, glued to the glass,
glued to the crushing of grapes,
calling it justified.
Yenson Aug 2019
Remind me of my smartness
how I played plotters of the grid
while planning formation I was yawning silliness
stuck their laughs in throats and made them swallow the bride
show me the bride and I see a dud puppy held in stuck surprise
and the dumdum apple tasters of Eden still think they rule in air

Flowing in delusions and empty dramas
they tarry pointlessly as Eskimos in white snow blindness
too vacant to think, too frustrated in the neurosis of shame
mired in falsehood and mudslinging the eggs hang on ***** faces
no marks playing mind games become mind playing them like fools
the pettiness of petty minds too petty to register for Registrar above

Comprehensives garbage's galore in full fool-dom
reared on ignorance and muck hyping nonsensical illusions
warped mentalities meet hate meet envy stirred in inferiority complex
under the tutelage of thieves and drunk on covert racism shamelessly
says class war from soap-dodgers and failures called anarchist today
go see how foreigners fill yon universities and see your future Rulers

Indulgent petty fries and boiled sausages
yobs chavs in affray dreading the rise of talents and excellence
stop me but there are thousands going places while you stack shelves
anarchy yourselves to beg sicknotes from the Asian doctor classmate
as you limp in all wrinkled and grey aged thirty and six yet in prime
misspent youth full of hate, jealousy and envy now on crutches
where your voices of revolution or are you now Anarchy extinction

— The End —