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"termite" poems
Law, All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin? Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste, Did not equity say that none is above the law? Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy. Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity, Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins? I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you ***** Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives? Power-driven termites making uncountable promises Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests. Equity, All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded? En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind, Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile? Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants, Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments? I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way. Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted, Is your nature as humans so inhumane? Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny. Justice, All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption? Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice Thereby making equity a widow without a husband, Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity; Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them? Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you, Are you not guilty of molesting the law? I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice. You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again, And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma. Karma, Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma? I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money. Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity, Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law? Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness, You that preach the law, are you true to yourself? Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands? Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants; Mind you that someday the law will rise again. All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law, Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?
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Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
Hackers Of The Law
Law, All ye termites hacking ants are you without sin? Twisting the law to your greed thus dethroning justice Thou that dis-virgins the law to suit your selfish taste, Did not equity say that none is above the law? Money-thirsty vultures seeking positions to occupy. Law hackers depriving justice and equity of her rights Equity and justice now lives in shame of her virginity, Almighty termite, do not your deeds speak evil of your sins? I weep blood for justice and equity whose daughters you ***** Is there none whose conscience still breathe or lives? Power-driven termites making uncountable promises Yet accomplishing none but your calculated interests. Equity, All ye leaders that preach peace, are you not corrupt minded? En-slaving accounts meant for public welfare Yet you claim to have the peoples interest in mind, Did not the law command you to let equity and justice smile? Parasitic predators hi-jacking the country's economy Filthy termites proclaiming injustice upon powerless ants, Justice hackers, do not your conscience judge your judgments? I wish that you allow justice and equity have her way. Law benders at whose feet equity and justice bow Rippers of the law, at your hands justice is twisted, Is your nature as humans so inhumane? Little wonder the earth lives in fear of your tyranny. Justice, All ye slanders of the law, why not sheath your swords of corruption? Your unchecked power has broken the wings of justice Thereby making equity a widow without a husband, Remember your oaths to serve with justice and equity; Did you deceive the ants that voted you in to serve them? Chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions Woe betide your conscience for refusing to judge you, Are you not guilty of molesting the law? I mourn for the shameful death of equity and justice. You that crafts the law to fit your suit of corruption Remember a day comes when justice will laugh again, And you being powerful cannot escape the law of Karma. Karma, Murderers of the law, will you also bribe karma? I doubt if you can buy the law of karma with money. Thou whose gluttony corrupts justice and equity, Don't you feel guilty that you disvirgined the law? Equity and justice now roams about in nakedness, You that preach the law, are you true to yourself? Heartless spiders cob-webbing the law to entangle poor ants Did not equity bid you come to justice with clean hands? Yet with filthy garments you condemn innocent ants; Mind you that someday the law will rise again. All ye scavengers of justice and hackers of the law, Do you think you can **** the law of Karma?
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52
here comes the fishhead singing here comes the baked potato in drag here comes nothing to do all day long here comes another night of no sleep here comes the phone wringing the wrong tone here comes a termite with a banjo here comes a flagpole with blank eyes here comes a a cat and a dog wearing nylons here comes a machine gun saying here comes bacon burning in the pan here comes a voice saying something dull here comes a newspaper stuffed with small red birds with flat brown beaks here comes a **** carrying a torch a grenade a deathly love here comes a victory carrying one bucket of blood and stumbling over the berry bush and the sheets hang out the windows and the bombers head east west north south get lost get tossed like salad as all the fish in the sea line up and form one line one long line one very long thin line the longest line you could ever imagine and we get lost walking past purple mountains we walk lost bare at last like the knife having given having spit it out like an unexpected olive seed as the girl at the call service screams over the phone: "don't call back! you sound like a ****
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5k
The Most
the hundred year old stairs wakes up from its dreamless slumber to find the world has spun for an infinity too long it once roamed and ruled the household of Chathanathodi making way to the rooms upstairs that conspired a thousand whispered secrets simultaneously sprawling its termite-infested legs to make way downstairs that injected an aura of omnipotence its laddery body was now a little chipped and its creaky joints, a little shaky but it didn't matter as it was still conspicuous and strong like Hercules leading unsuspecting mortals upstairs and downstairs to its universe of Gods Shalini Nayar © 2001
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Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 9:46 AM UTC
Upstairs Downstairs (ode to my ancestral home in Kerala, India)
The 7 wonders of the world Is quite a sight to see But it don't compare to what we have In the hills of Tennessee Uncle Zebs cow is a big ole thing Quite a sight to behold That cow's so big that when they milk her Her udders even have to unfold Cousin Zeke has a six-legged mule And man that thing is fast One time he raced a bobcat And the bobcat finished last My granny's teeth are made of wood Of course, they were bought from a store But ever since that termite season She don't use them much no more Aunt Imojean has a twine collection That she started when she was three I guess if we unwound that thing It'd reach clear 'cross Tennessee Cousin Jake has a rattlesnake He pickled and stuffed in a jar He caught that thing a year ago Trying to run off with his car Uncle Randolph has this chicken Who howls and barks at the moon That poor chicken is so dadgum old That she has to be fed with a spoon Uncle Sam has the seventh wonder An invisible moonshine still We ain't seen it since he made it But it's somewhere on that hill So, after you think you've seen it all You haven't seen anything yet Come to the hills of Tennessee And see things you'll never forget
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Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 9:07 PM UTC
Hillbilly 7 Wonders
American city, your roads make me gasp, Hold my breath with cancerous anxiety. Your sidewalks, Ancient ruins of time passed: A failed optimism for Utopian desire: A house, a yard, a car for every person. Now derelict, termite infested, but rented. Chlorinated chemical water runs through rusted, moldy spickets to Rinse pesticide seasoned vegetables. And yet they remain so tasteless. But who cares? Suburban middle class zombies? Created with media placed propaganda. Born and inoculated with DisneypepsiMccocacola ideologies. Oh Wal-Mart, how we love your homogenized Chinese products. Oh America, how we love your multi-million dollar cathartic films, They bring my mind to no place and inspire nothing. Your theme park inspired retail caters to any identity I desire: I am a professional, My wallet lined with the best credit cards, SUV, Hummer, Super boat, designer label, mall bought, bleached teeth smile, with slick greasy hair style. I'm cool, I pay for the gas. Beep your horn, and rev your engine. We are at war with each other. Everyone get out of my way: road rage lifestyle: compete or die. Big screen television dream. Bought it at Target. Open my cupboard: Macaroni and Cheese, delicious. Ambian, Prozac, antibiotic, Listerine. Collagen bovine beauty: Manicure, pedicure, dye and wax Acrylic nails, hair extensions And silicone sacs. Oh, American city How we want to steal your money and **** your blood. Chop your trees and cement your grass. American city you are dead.
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Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 6:22 AM UTC
American City
American city, your roads make me gasp, Hold my breath with cancerous anxiety. Your sidewalks, Ancient ruins of time passed: A failed optimism for Utopian desire: A house, a yard, a car for every person. Now derelict, termite infested, but rented. Chlorinated chemical water runs through rusted, moldy spickets to Rinse pesticide seasoned vegetables. And yet they remain so tasteless. But who cares? Suburban middle class zombies? Created with media placed propaganda. Born and inoculated with DisneypepsiMccocacola ideologies. Oh Wal-Mart, how we love your homogenized Chinese products. Oh America, how we love your multi-million dollar cathartic films, They bring my mind to no place and inspire nothing. Your theme park inspired retail caters to any identity I desire: I am a professional, My wallet lined with the best credit cards, SUV, Hummer, Super boat, designer label, mall bought, bleached teeth smile, with slick greasy hair style. I'm cool, I pay for the gas. Beep your horn, and rev your engine. We are at war with each other. Everyone get out of my way: road rage lifestyle: compete or die. Big screen television dream. Bought it at Target. Open my cupboard: Macaroni and Cheese, delicious. Ambian, Prozac, antibiotic, Listerine. Collagen bovine beauty: Manicure, pedicure, dye and wax Acrylic nails, hair extensions And silicone sacs. Oh, American city How we want to steal your money and **** your blood. Chop your trees and cement your grass. American city you are dead.
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39
Brown yellow rusted pages None read None would for ages Lying on the pave Blurred is the title and name Lost dream and never born fame Wisdom of long bearded sages Dumped in the grave Dusty old forgotten write Feasted upon by termite What to author full of sense Fetch not any pence Should I buy take home to read Not treat it like just **** **** Spend some time in smelling old See if bring some gains?
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Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
Book Bazaar
I'm a little funny looking I must confess, all chunky boxy & truck-like with 2 big old horns that look quite deadly but really we just use them for show mostly, oh & digging around in termite hills, I do hear though that you humans really cherish them for folk cures & help with your ***** & such, you know important scientific stuff, but then again we can make a fearsome fearsome charge at a land-rover full of folks all with their cameras & such, at least we used to till we became fucken extinct!
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Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 11:16 AM UTC
Poem for the Black Rhino
There was a girl named Peg Leg Peg, Called her that because of her wooden leg, She was known as the best in town, Guys would come from miles around, You see, Peg’s leg could detach, For better access to her ****** And though it wasn’t ***** that bite, There was the occasional termite, But this did not seem to deter, All the guys who called on her, And though there were occasional cracks, About how she held her stockings up with tacks, All the guys would practically beg, To put another notch in Peggy’s leg. 04-19-10.
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Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 7:32 PM UTC
Peg Leg Peg
It was a highway that brought me here Stuffed into a expensive car with four adults and good music We drove for what seemed hours Arriving on the slick, black streets of the Emerald City Down a rabbit hole of old cars and termite ridden stairs Past an old couch and a stray cat Into a cold room with heaters stacked and jumbled Full of pianos and good and beer People I've known for twelve years And people I've met only once People I don't know Different skins, of their own, of animals Frizzy and cropped hair, wine and mason jar glasses Walls painted silver, gleaming under forty year old lamps Mismatched furniture and occupants alike Sirens singing in the background Children running through the foreground Old friends and a blind man with a big dog Visual artists and IRS agents Musicians and carpenters Mechanical engineers Cobbled together around and old fireplace and a rosewood piano Sharing stories and songs, sons and daughters Tales from the road, and wedding pictures I sat on an orange pleather couch in the makeshift kitchen Watching theses people's children play with bionicles and dolls Reading books and drawing on walls Playing drums and answering calls Fighting for bathroom stall These are my people I know them all
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Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 1:43 AM UTC
Musicians
I respect my body. The same way I respect my house. My red brick skin Blushed with flowing blood From my space-heater heart My air-conditioner lungs I have routinely maintained With long drawn out breathes of cool wind I have protected my house with toxic pockets Of termite poison To protect my wooden frame And I hang up pictures of love ones with Nails inside tattoo guns that spell out their names And I paint my home’s walls with different shades Of colors to bring out its ascetic value Like how I use blue eye-shadow so my guests Can better see my eyes, bright blue I eat vitamins like I vacuum my carpet Cleaning up and persevering its worth The ting-tang sound of a working vacuum Paralleling the pitter-patter of those circular pills As they fall down my throat I seasonally change out my couches and my chairs When I go to my mirror and tie-up my hair A different look for a different season Because my house deserves a separate look too For when it feels the wind changing And like myself my house would rather not be bare So I dress it in marigolds and poppy flowers And ivy that I have to cut down when I notice it growing too fast Because like my house I am too beautiful to be covered completely Each shrub I trim another inch of skin I can share And I respect it when I get home I say just a little bit More skin at the top To show off my brick house.
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May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 1:27 PM UTC
Respecting A Body Made Of Bricks.
Termites, those invisible, destroyers eating away, eating away bit by bit, I can hear slow and steady gnawing away so determined to hurt me destroy the bit I have, only this time its not wood its flesh and soul they eat away bent on finishing me my whole being. Have you seen these termites: that eat the inner being?
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Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
Termite
Little ant, so small and insignificant Yet in numbers up an elephant’s snout How easily you make him indisposed Lesson to learn: strength in numbers Maxim to remember: unity of purpose Oh termite, thou destroyer of civilizations! How mighty when surreptitiously you creep in Such ingenious civil engineering feats everywhere Orderly highways with neither jams nor congestion And tall imposing castles kissing the air proudly Result: new architectures plagiarizing your prototype! And you wasp of constricted waist and mean toxin You make no attempt to hide or disguise your dwelling Yours is a house built upon a hill for all to see and tremble They say when a man has no obvious protection keep away Lest you trigger subtle forces that mesmerize and pulverize you Lesson from this: commandos are modern day human wasps Everybody owes the bee everything, from sweetness to health The bees a-buzzing speak of persistence and how it breaks barriers In the end you listen because the message is ceaseless and urgent And oh sweet bee of the hot sting shot from your posterior No cordon bleu chef anywhere can ever approximate your finesse Your formula and patent are hedged with natural mystery Lesson to learn: the bitter and the sweet in judicious mixture! Now little man recently so puffed-up and conceited and ever so inadequate Hear ye this and know it well lest you stumble and fall into dark precipices You’re nothing and you’ve created nothing; there’s a prototype of everything In nature’s wonder store of huge surprises and unassuming wisdom Lesson from all this: one day the other world will rise up and assert it itself So steer your course differently and beware of those who bide their time Grim in their purpose and determined in their unshakable resolve
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Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
Grim Purpose Poem (A Eulogy to the Wonders of Nature)
Little ant, so small and insignificant Yet in numbers up an elephant’s snout How easily you make him indisposed Lesson to learn: strength in numbers Maxim to remember: unity of purpose Oh termite, thou destroyer of civilizations! How mighty when surreptitiously you creep in Such ingenious civil engineering feats everywhere Orderly highways with neither jams nor congestion And tall imposing castles kissing the air proudly Result: new architectures plagiarizing your prototype! And you wasp of constricted waist and mean toxin You make no attempt to hide or disguise your dwelling Yours is a house built upon a hill for all to see and tremble They say when a man has no obvious protection keep away Lest you trigger subtle forces that mesmerize and pulverize you Lesson from this: commandos are modern day human wasps Everybody owes the bee everything, from sweetness to health The bees a-buzzing speak of persistence and how it breaks barriers In the end you listen because the message is ceaseless and urgent And oh sweet bee of the hot sting shot from your posterior No cordon bleu chef anywhere can ever approximate your finesse Your formula and patent are hedged with natural mystery Lesson to learn: the bitter and the sweet in judicious mixture! Now little man recently so puffed-up and conceited and ever so inadequate Hear ye this and know it well lest you stumble and fall into dark precipices You’re nothing and you’ve created nothing; there’s a prototype of everything In nature’s wonder store of huge surprises and unassuming wisdom Lesson from all this: one day the other world will rise up and assert it itself So steer your course differently and beware of those who bide their time Grim in their purpose and determined in their unshakable resolve
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31
Day debt night wept sleep crept Attachment.                        Where is my attachment?                                 evening out of balance                                         The line of my life has broken                                                   off into separate identities Flower feather Hollow weather Moonlight Canyon                                       Skylight childhood nostalgia                                       Stolen star Battered cheekbones Of weary workers keeping to The hornet's nest                       Reality a constant terror                      Of city structures                         swallowing                                                                                    them whole. Blackbird rests on an Autumn branch of hidden meadow checking its wristwatch obsessively for the              Hydrogen Volcano                 INEVITABLE.                                          Termite Corporations                                           Cavernous Hilltops                                         All that green is gold (A straw man in Byzantine robes approaches             the frosty Manhattan     to become a relic in it's Libraries)                          People fall in Love with coincidence,                  (The illusion of order beyond our field or reach)         All that love is kept in a                     Conservatory somewhere...                           Glossy stems connected to palpitating blossoms. Our tired eyes are focused to the asphalt confluence whether fever or handhold.                Hymns ring throughout the forests of                                                    Vancouver Island                Dreamers hang from the Niagara Trestle caught in                                                                    overwhelming sunlight                                                          Doused in spirit. Holy Melancholic September Sweeps away the dusty Summer,                                                         everything seems renewed                                                         In the rain..
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Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
Holy Melancholy (Everything Seems Renewed)
Day debt night wept sleep crept Attachment.                        Where is my attachment?                                 evening out of balance                                         The line of my life has broken                                                   off into separate identities Flower feather Hollow weather Moonlight Canyon                                       Skylight childhood nostalgia                                       Stolen star Battered cheekbones Of weary workers keeping to The hornet's nest                       Reality a constant terror                      Of city structures                         swallowing                                                                                    them whole. Blackbird rests on an Autumn branch of hidden meadow checking its wristwatch obsessively for the              Hydrogen Volcano                 INEVITABLE.                                          Termite Corporations                                           Cavernous Hilltops                                         All that green is gold (A straw man in Byzantine robes approaches             the frosty Manhattan     to become a relic in it's Libraries)                          People fall in Love with coincidence,                  (The illusion of order beyond our field or reach)         All that love is kept in a                     Conservatory somewhere...                           Glossy stems connected to palpitating blossoms. Our tired eyes are focused to the asphalt confluence whether fever or handhold.                Hymns ring throughout the forests of                                                    Vancouver Island                Dreamers hang from the Niagara Trestle caught in                                                                    overwhelming sunlight                                                          Doused in spirit. Holy Melancholic September Sweeps away the dusty Summer,                                                         everything seems renewed                                                         In the rain..
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47
I am building a brace for the front porch of my brother who is on the other side of that door listening with headphones to a recording of Chinese poetry (in Mandarin, which he understands) while he is dying, slowly, brain cell by brilliant brain cell in that rocking chair whose joints are creaking, coming undone. He no longer remembers his phone number or how to count change at the grocery store. He is in denial of any problem as he grows younger, ever younger shedding years like snakeskins while the crack in the porch grows wider, ever wider so out here in the rain I set four-by-fours upright as posts, then I **** four-by-eights as beams      lifting on my shoulder      held by my hands      pushing with my legs      transferred through my spine      anchored by my feet as the useless joists of the deck drop termite **** onto my eyebrows like taunts of children: nya nya you can’t fix this. But I can brace it for a while. Long enough, at least for my brother to forget ten languages. I will repair that rocking chair. I will buy diapers, rubber sheets, install grab bars in the shower. I won’t let his porch collapse out here in the rain. I will cradle these boards like a baby in my arms.
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Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
I am Building a Brace
"Fuuuuuck!" groaned the Tortoise. **** spat the Hare. "Son of a ***** barked the Fox. **** on a rooster!" cawed the Crow. ***** of a bison!" growled the Wolf. ***** of a llama!" brayed the *** **** on a termite!" squealed the Ant. **** of a cricket!" grated the Grasshopper. "THE HUMANS KNOW OUR STORIES!!" cried the animals in unison despair. "Yeeeees," hoot'd the Owl with an evil-wicked grin, "but only the ones with a moral."
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May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC
Anti-fable
May morning cacophonies never quiet. Doves coos, repetitive sharp whistles rising and falling sounded by robins, who seem to say, "cheer up, cheer up, cheerily, cheer up." Jays shrieking whatever warnings they shriek. Chirps, tweets, titterings of so many more, combine in crazy compilations of some orchestra without their conductor forever warming up days. I do not own feathers but all my body hairs do stand on end, flitting as if they were. Then, woodpecker taps against hollow termite ridden tree sounding like the strike of a conductor's baton. Nothing comes together. A symphony never starts, at least not one of any great composer's. Just the greatest. I spring from my nest. I do not know music. I hear it and am it. These mornings move me to ditter about, find my way, peck my morning niblings, feel dawn dress me in sun, make me lust life adorned with feathers. How possibility wings bring. From flock to flock, I dare to fit in. Learn new mating dances.
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Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 12:30 PM UTC
Integrated Bird Life
Indigo is the gaunt damp face of the still-born messiah. With crude-oil cappillary flush like mottled blush On Treblinka cheek bones. On cold steel autopsy table, It's topsy turvy shrine, A halogen lamp halo hums and sways Over It's holy rolling head. Unsavory savior, the pundit spared It's pageant. With blackhole pupils pierced and seeping Vitreol fluid like the weeping Virgin's tears, Carving termite trails in their wake. It trembles, gasps, and quakes With the knowledge of futility. All that was and all that will Successively unsuccessfully. A parade of steel tables on blood spattered conveyer belt, Pulled to the symphony of six billion bellowed pleas for salvation, Through tattered curtains to uncertainty.
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Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
We Are The Still-born Messiah
. Looking on this expanse that encircles me, closing in during open hours, unlocking doors I can’t seem to walk through Stairways of rotted, termite eaten steps each with my name painted on them, creaking underfoot, losing to the weight of long lines at self serve counters wrapping around as if nothing is free but here for some reason it is And I stand right in the middle alone in this ocean of faces, polo shirts and penny loafers staring at cell phone screens, calling someone, talking with their hands, hands free? Paying it forward, coffee for the next guy in line, but not me For I am just here, anywhere, somewhere like this, a thing plopped down, fallen from the sky, splattering on the earth, consumed by the soil, muddied footprints and all trudging through the wilderness, carving a path of existence breaking branches and scattering bread crumbs Still I am me, standing tall among the taller, enjoying the shade, sipping lemonade and eating apple dumplings, pushing, not pulling forward, dreaming, (of course) regardless of tire tracks and scars or pointed fingers, Pounding the pavement, laying a foundation, driven beyond Parking lot base, asphalt themed destinations, a checkerboard of last rites and dead batteries, yellow lines on the horizon, handicapped up front Looking out over the valley, watching the world go by, admiring the beauty, loving life, rejoicing in the fact that it is all so immensely vast . . . as am I
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Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
Vast
fireflies zigzag following pupils pin ***** light mayonaise layers dead flesh and dead seeds shadows bleed through the cracks a lone train howls its hastening arrival Alarming call like an unseen wolf Flashing lights overhead and a low rumble a condensed storm helicopter cradling its dying cargo bringing a regurgitation for the baby bird disguised as a hospital with a faltering business plan mufflers and mosquitoes parry the blows winded joggers step next to termite eaten trees Channel surfing seen a strobe lite betraying the activities behind the neighboors curtained windows scene rituals carve another day into the known comfort is routines cage a worn trail rut that hardly allows a different direction roll the stone uphill
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Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 10:15 PM UTC
passage
Midday on a streetlight unlit a Hawk the Moon rings when the clouds roll over the smell of broken Earth the Color on my hands the sharp and savory acid scent of Juniper sprung green from Granite a pine cone in the soft, blue alkaline sweet alpine Water termite hieroglyphs drift wood Houses in braille rough under fingers sun bleached tree stump on lake shore stones one root in the water Spring sun snow patches in tree shade the lichen bright lime making patient animals of old growth Cedars Fall from leaf to leaf the paths of ants bent over staring at the Earth where is this poem?
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Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
March 2014 Haiku & Senryū
The probability of life itself is unpredictable For I can’t extract your mind or heart to decode Likelihood of possibilities in measurable quotient For I can’t retract a past gone by to encode Continuums of even chances and certainty The toss of the toasted dime, the weigh of sides Slashed slide all smashed and thrown in mines Fallibilism of my indefinable opinionated delicacies Attenuations of what life is attacks and strangles my neck Global troubles of war, bombs, hunger, anger Illogical connotations of overlapping determinism I burrow like a termite in a convex rising molehill Terminated in contrasted stations as we convene Gripping hands to grasp our existence in life I wonder about the whole of it, I think of it somedays
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Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 10:50 AM UTC
Indeterminate (Un-SIRI-fied Version)
I've listened to their speeches. Read their termite riddled planks. They're unlikely to dethrone Barrack- A pity, Mitt is no Tom Hanks. They are out of touch with women, unsympathetic to the poor. They're still fighting social issues that were decided years before. For a party of small government, They sure have a lot to say about *** in America among the ***** and the gay. The Democrats, by contrast, Hit all the right social notes; Indeed, they will say anything if it will buy them votes. Then, when we hit the fiscal cliff, The Obamas living large, I'm sure he'll find some Bush to blame as long as he's in charge. Election Day is coming soon, Both parties seek my love. Alas, my favorite candidate is None of the Above.
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Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 6:57 AM UTC
None of the Above (Political)
Come repaired Only to be taken apart again This house is no longer A home for you You there, rusting away Atop a dusty window sill Looking out through broken glass At Memory lane There is no medicine for your pain No pill to take this time You will not sleep here You will not dream here You will breathe here Inhale the bitter past You will walk barefoot Through these solemn halls You will cut your hands On sharp words that still linger On the ancient air Toxicity See these colors and remember The paint tells a different story Rotten wood drives you insane Welcome back to termite hindsight This place is no longer a home A cemetery rests here Ghosts live here now You don't belong here
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Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
Memory Lane
NOT YET – mad is the little girl, tongue to teeth sliver drinking the draft of a pleasure clap in the dark and dining wire bound on the stock of recession shelves. SOMEHOW – white winds the hell picket fence ***** sterile wrapping her house on stilts termite vein unsteady and hiding the beryl murk of its smudge-empty panes. NOT LET – fail is the innocent, laurel hung slack dangling on the vine from a hickory gibbet down grown and twitching in the zephyrs of prayer stammer and stench.
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Jul 3, 2010
Jul 3, 2010 at 10:35 PM UTC
NOT YET