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Consider the auk;
Becoming extinct because he forgot how to fly, and could only walk.
Consider man, who may well become extinct
Because he forgot how to walk and learned how to fly before he thinked.
Anubhuti priya Jan 2015
Thanks arshi for being such a nice friend to me
A friend that I have never thinked of,
When I was really alone, you were there to me,
Without knowing me more,. she brings out the best in this time ,
She’s not merely a girl she’s a princess of mine;
A prosperous girl with a big heart,
And with not a bit of ostentation in her.
I am lucky to have a friend like you
God wish u got that height in few.
I’ll always be their at your back,
Our  friendship will never be in lack.
I really don’t know weather I deserve to be your friend or not,
But I’ll try to be the best, at any cost.
My wishes and blessings are always their for you
You know I don’t wanna let you go;
But I know this biggest opportunity deserves first to woo;
So, keep on smiling and go with smile,
Whenever you need me, I’ll be their in a while;
Remember! Youre not away so far of mile……
Love you ARSHI
Anubhuti priya Mar 2015
I would love to tell you,
About my unique mother,
Not SHE but HE is my true from other,
Yes! HE,
He loves me , He cares for me,
He tries for me, he cries for me,
He teachs in the amazing easiest form
That I never ever thinked of ,
I learn that things so easily ,
That sometimes I feels if I had wings to off,
He helped me out whenever
His help I sought,
He apologies even on my faults.
A unique mom with  pure soul
Yes he treats me like a baby doll
For the soul with unselfishness thoughts
I got everything he brought,
His flawless love for me  as his child,
With the the pure heart and love so mild,
His hands on my head at night
makes me sleep with love so devine,
He don’t only calls me his bachhaa in miss
I actually feels that when he use to kiss,
That’s the only sure affection
I think its bliss…
When I use to get gussa
He calls me “aleee melaa bachhaa”
I suddenly hug him so tightly
That my head takes place
In his chest so nicely.
Yes he’s my hubby too
But before that he had made his betuuu’.
He didn’t get irritated with me ,
As a mother never use to be.
His GODI gives me the whole rest,
Yes! for me his lap is best,
With the perfect sleep it fills
There is no need me to take any pills.
My real mumma even don’t care of my crust,
But my mumma don’t take his meal
Without me to have it first,
My real mummma don’t even know
When I cry,
And mumma! he feels my breathing so high,
He knows how to control my fast breath,
In a seconds he use to vanish it.
Hes arms takes me to the heaven,
But the only heaven I want ,
because
Not that one the god had given.
Please god let me live with this flaw,
I don’t wanna leave and cant even go!
Vandy Madireddy Jul 2018
She fell in love for the first time,
With the guy who shared her mother-tongue,
She felt every emotion towards him,
The way the leads of the Romantic movies felt,
She got lost in his conversations,
Over thinked everything,
She got up, thinking of him,
Slept, dreaming about him.

Her fragile heart cracked,
When her best friend confessed to liking him,
The friend who made a card for valentines,
While she forgot, lost in her thoughts,
Her best friend, who had a the courage to,
Confess her feelings to his face,
Holding out the card hopefully,
While she stood rooted, broken.

She felt her heart break for the first time,
Just like the female lead did,
When he accepted her best friends card,
And kissed her cheek with a toothy grin,
All while they were happy and she was sad,
As if nothing happened, she gave a smile,
Joining into the group.
Anubhuti priya Apr 2015
A TRIBUTE TO MY UNIQUE MOM
I would love to tell you,
About my unique mother,
Not SHE but HE is my true from other,
Yes! HE,
He loves me , He cares for me,
He tries for me, he cries for me,
He teachs in the amazing easiest form
That I never ever thinked of ,
I learn that things so easily ,
That sometimes I feels if I had wings to off,
He helped me out whenever
His help I sought,
He apologies even on my faults.
A unique mom with  pure soul
Yes he treats me like a baby doll
For the soul with unselfishness thoughts
I got everything he brought,
His flawless love for me  as his child,
With the the pure heart and love so mild,
His hands on my head at night
makes me sleep with love so devine,
He don’t only calls me his bachhaa in miss
I actually feels that when he use to kiss,
That’s the only sure affection
I think its bliss…
When I use to get gussa
He calls me “aleee melaa bachhaa”
I suddenly hug him so tightly
That my head takes place
In his chest so nicely.
Yes he’s my hubby too
But before that he had made his betuuu’.
He didn’t get irritated with me ,
As a mother never use to be.
His GODI gives me the whole rest,
Yes! for me his lap is best,
With the perfect sleep it fills
There is no need me to take any pills.
My real mumma even don’t care of my crust,
But my mumma don’t take his meal
Without me to have it first,
My real mummma don’t even know
When I cry,
And mumma! he feels my breathing so high,
He knows how to control my fast breath,
In a seconds he use to vanish it.
Hes arms takes me to the heaven,
But the only heaven I want ,
because
Not that one the god had given.
Please god let me live with this flaw,
I don’t wanna leave and cant even go!
Jia Ming Jan 2023
I had thought that I wanted a mug,
so I sought an adventure and dug!
"I'm just digging materials..." I shrugged:
"I'm just wanting enough to be chugged!"

But instead what I found was a Bowl,
from a 20th century ghoul.
On its side was inscripted in gold:
OH BEWARE I WAS CURSED AND THEN SOLD!

So I thought and I thinked and I thank,
and I brought my new thing to the bank!
But before I could speak I was yanked—
I had fallen but It had me tanked!

In a daze I was scrambling to piece,
all the shards that had broke, as the peace,
and to fix it all back in the leasts,
so that we don't all turn into beasts!
Ta'nijah white Jan 2014
hard work dedication all the same the devil put his hand on me now im insane i have no friends i dont even want any because friends stand for forever remaining indeeded endless nagging demon snakes  i use to have a family but their all gone now i wonder what happen some say they left town but i thinked the died because only i know the demon that lives inside only me no one else you cant make peace with a snake its self i dont dream but when i do i see the other side of me it takes over i try not weep, why you ask because i cry no ordinary tears i cry drops of blood the type of blood that is not fully bright but very dark red because i know who i am and im not me but im him and a part of me still lives but it suffers, everyday i pray,and ,pray,and why does it have to be this way? AND YOUR GOD SAID TO ME GO TO HELL WHY DO YOU BOW TO ME I HAVE NO RULE OVER SHAME ON YOU TWO YOU ARE THE DEVILS CHILD NOW FLEE HOW DARE YOU TRY TO BOW TO ME!!! now i know and understand thats why im standing by my old man HOW DARE GOD TRY TO PUT SHAME ON ME I KNOW WHAT I AM SO THATS WHAT IM GOING TO BE MY NAME IS DARE SHAME DEVIL I AM THE DEVILS CHILD SEE HOW YOUR SO CALLED GOD MADE ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...........
c c Condry Mar 2011
I wonder:

Do the empty places, the ones where we once stood- do they miss us?

Do the void and vacant hollows weep to feel only air
Where once our warmth kept full and fair?

Do they miss the blood that once floated in their space,
Wild on a ride through little tubules?

Do they lament themselves, so alone without cloth and flesh?

Do they think back to every thought that we once thinked?
Recalling fondly our aspirations and fragile machinations,
Our likes and loves, our dreary distrust,
All the rainbow and myriad of how's and why's
That race around behind our eyes?

No, I think that space is fine
With all the bliss of empty time.

People come and people go,
Space just is. Space won't know.

                    -c. c. Condry
Ken Pepiton Jul 27
The hermit's wish or prayer,
he doesn't care what we call it,
he does it constantly in some form,

thinking many or much
in spirt form, as thought words,
heard informing my will to conform
seems meme-ish, ideas in form of me,

I am the thinker, these maybe thoughts
that you thinked, once, just as
now we think, an other time, this same idea

so this is a thing.
now this is a thing
named as one of many thought
like things,
nothing distinguishing any
as especially better than another,
as a weform,
we think across this emptiness
between kinds of minds we make up,
and use, then return
to real ifity where others are
thinking word by word to now,

what good could I do, if I were you?
I can pretend to imagine,
I may fictionize you,
pitying your childhood
when you beloved lies


I can never think of flea circuses
without really wondering why.

Curiosity, as subtlety
of the most refined sort, cunning
of the craftiest knackery kind and
dominant psypsiscientifick gnosis

Art and artifice, perceive
ja,
reach, using astral hands,
manipulate your spirit fingers,
touch the point that makes you

plainly here, exactly, out act now
being, mind in abstracted pinches
of salt belonging to the whole earth.

Yes, indeed, lovely ideal children can
imagine, from remenants, mind reals,
made believable by osmosis, *******

saline imbalence switches, mercurial
fluxuating difference engines ideas,

mere thought, pure breath, ideal
environs for hope's founding deal,

we agree, I say, you listen, you say
I hear we think we both know truths,

I think that means we both know true
bits of discernible substances useful
for holding spirit forms of will to be.
Seeds, packeted entropy defiance,
applied knowledge of physical reals,
eh, take away fi from desire to destroy.
be fruitful and multiply.

Entropy and me, be having some will,
as fish have will to swim,
as wind has will to list,

in a word,
as mere mind material substance,
we create and uncreate, make and remake
minds with will to serve, minds willing to wait.

----------------
Ok. Safe. Solid state.
Waiting on orders, idle.

Wishing earnestly good
fi ripened old age usings,
a child formed conceptual
hold on power to like or not like

by abstaining, reasoning stain away
by stretching intention to actual ever,
by will having being to actual make

another thought fit the whole.

So, since the initiation
… when
curio store Katcinas
possessed Pentecostals, and
Silicon Beach powered pens
loaded with Aldus digital fonts,
materialized from mother's role
reached out to mediate propitiation,

pity we miss the connection. On and on,
ever after from now on, as a man thinks
in his heart, so he is, so he goes on, being

this form of truth made into such a being
thing in form more firm than mere wish
to be this

Alert, minimum viable audience reached.
Prepare to propagate…

Ride the high lonesome.

That's what it's called, being
by yourself,
at the end of tire tracks, watching
for ice on the cow pond all winter,

I never did the cowboy gig for real, I
saddled rental horses for a Landry
operation, but not for very long.

Imagine being wakened by a splash.
And there is Seth Godin,
saying why I am not commercial.

I agree, one reader, really, one
slow reader, on a given taken day,
for me, in truth, wu wei easy day,
one discerned point refined by one

is plenty, worth the risk of self delusion.

Pushed forth pity, empathetico.
pro-piti-ation, paid ahead, indeed.

"It is some comfort
to receive commiseration or condolence ;
it gives one strength
to receive sympathy
from a loving heart ;
it is irksome
to need compassion ;
it galls us
to be pitied. "
[Century Dictionary, 1895]

Curios, Kurios so, strange
the arranging of knowers
to knowing, useful and useless
efforting, to shape a mind like God's,
"wrought with or requiring care and art;"

for this mind must function
in the emptiness, so we know, already

some addition beside this point, dokein,
Greek for thought held as opinion, doxologous

seeming good, we take this thought, accepting
maybe as already is if it ever was,

take no anxious thought, the axiom,
take yes, any other do kein harm,

do nothing, wait, lieve being be so,
we know nothing,
as we ought, as we seem
to change our minds,

only after doing the actual haj,
let this mind be in you right,
let the mob mind stay behind,
good maybe, if taken, as what doctrines
were imagined, absolute undeniable,
by children whose wills wish
to act as muse,
per use, thinking good enough
to taste, and think, come on,
lead my mind
into doxological kuriosarcaniam-

let me be perfectly clear,
what we do not know,
is more than we know.

So, as a you, who you think you are,
be, within the bubble of all you dare

examine, as might the arbiter of idle
against idyllic… suffering the situation,

or patiently waiting while holding this thought.

The axiom of all fructification, hold true,
you do reap what has been sown, and grown

specifically to keep the likes of me alive.
Life in word form only needs one mind agreeing.

We can realize we have been lied to, and rethink
everything, on any given day, using taken time,

to wonder if reason and rationality are part of life, as a whole.
To the audience, dear reader ears, hear the plan-seeds have, think with me, in this medium new in all recorded time, this is five generations of converging communication combining to become the powered pens,
prophesied by Jerry Pournelle, Bucky Fuller, Stewart Brand, and all the survivors of the internet bubble. In the spirit of Seth Godin's Idea Virus, I am publishing this stack of lines from mind's I have used to offset anxious announcements of pending collapse, as a prophylactic.
All I have put on Hello Poetry can be printed, stapled, folded, mutated, ****** performed or graphically presented, or developed into anything but a tool for war.
- If you find a good idea, you can grow a forest from it.
Loves like grammar.
Everybody commits mistkes.
Mistakes that's too common to commit,
Yet everyone else still doing it.

Using its instead of it's,
Is doubting instead to trusting.
Using the incorrect world,
Its like misinterpreting love for lust.
Mistake with subject-verb agreements,
As same as loving only one of them rather then loving both of them.

Errors on punctuation marks,
Learning to stop and let go.
Learning to pick: the, right, choice
Learning to continue; even if you want to end it
Learning to rest for awhile... but finish what you started

Lastlyweneedtolearntogivespaceforeachother.
And prevented mistakes with tenses.
Most of the time we thinked that we still "have" something we "had",
And so, we have to erase "was" and replaces it with "will"

It's all connected,
A perfect sentence needs to be faultless,
So is love;
i hope you get how sarcastic this poem is... it's one of my favorite...
Ken Pepiton Oct 2019
Nietz
sche:
the warrior with the heart of a girl. According
to Will Durant,
odd intel-informs
this POV of the channel, deep 'neath this stream,

slow Sunday morning flow into a pond to wait, awhile, yet and we
shall see geni-us grow kind

of a blob of peace, a scab to dam the loss,
"the life is in the blood"
"your brother's blood cries out... how long?"

Study war for fifty years, learn one lesson last.

abso unique ununununun I suffer
this to be so, now,
how else might this be if may were your word,
now,
whodat? eh, we bein' odd, now, are we
even?

Only you would know, but
only if I allow.

You must shine for me to see your light.
Mightn't I reflect the glow,
whereby you see, through words to the mean
ing ing ing
first the thing, then the name,
knowing the name is not samesame
knowing first the
thinked thing, then the
name
by which you may know what I mean,
after
a period of complete ion depletion

batter batter batter upery upery up

and the magic pen flows once more,

once
more, past the sluggish mediocrity settled
into
quiet peacefully beyond the maddened crowd.

--- The mad Nietzsche, gone to Dionysus,
--- left a dangerous, laborious trail to peace and quiet,
--- "Lisbeth, why do you cry, are we not happy"
I suppose I have attained such a state, at a far lower cost than poor Fred.
Happy Sundays are expected, these days. Live long, and prosper.
Third Eye Candy Jul 2018
The Book had bones. Belied by Time’s vendetta with Vellum.
I had finished. And all the revels in It -
Seeped from an Unwell Spring where Winter’s Wound
would always keep the Venom
A Keepsake in remembrance of an Inner Child
as Precocious as a swarm of Locusts…
wherever tomes were broken at the spine…
He focused.

Felt the Leather like a Priest - Recently released from draconian vows His chastity would have long despised…
If his Innocence had only known the Eve
of his Destruction as only an Inner Man recalls.
But Hallowed were the halls.

Despite the Gravity so rare a thing as wisdom brings -
He Levitates as every chapter churned the milk
that fattened a golden calf
Into butter enough for Loaves of Zero. Plus one.
and a crust of Yes.

At the Rubicon, a step was taken
into a Wilderness of No Return
Where the Natives had no word for Exile.
And a Child was A Curious Thing

To the Death.


II


The Book had bones. And I know because
I found them in the margins
While turning the last page in a reverential stupor…
More words!
And I found them - !
Fluent in AfterThought
As I read them like stroking
a panther.

And I Quote…… "


you think and thus you speak
whatever Thinking thinks
To Think a lot.

And Speaking -
speaks what Thinking
spoke of speaking
after Thinking
Thoughts.

So -
Thoughts are Thunk.
And Thinks are Thinked
and all the Speaks
have Spoke.  "

and now begins The  Cramp of Legend
for my anonymous hand ! Oh joy !
my pharmacist will be Kip with The Beard.
Because Akiko in a Lab Coat is more than I deserve
or something... Ever felt like that?

Oh God! I hope she didn't Quit !
Scorch'd Diana Aug 2021
Focusing-Upon Something is
to be focusing on a thing or upon such a thing,
while any sort or kind of focus loss and the such, as in
the process of losing a focused state or condition of cognitive accuracy, is said to be plainly
unfocused, or otherwise
unfocusing or having unfocused said thing
or, it might also be said to have lost
a focus, maybe together with
on or upon followed by it, such so often is the said thing.

By being focused on focusing bound with either an
on or an upon something, however,
means the meaning of staying focused
exactly that is, though not to forget that
if not instead, metacognitive thinking
is the actual context instead,
changing the actual meaning of
the entire situation again
of the poor forgotten thing we've said
and only if
and that's what a focus
is actually meant for

either lense up or lents down
get your hold over your hands
and your hinchy head again.
Force France Frenzy frown
Fans Fins Thumbs
Forethrown thin tin can
Firecat Cutfella Focus Fez Fossils Fuzzy Fis
Cussings Things Locus Lotus Focal Fatal Local Far-Right Referential Frugal I Find easy to bethieve a faith
Faucault is his name incorrectily misremembered and improperly written by me, or is it?
Let uns feel, steal
nothing like F words anymore
let's concentrate on rehearsive appeal.

It's sounding somelike akin to gobbledygook, Corporate Cantonese Chinese chit-chatter,
Jackie Chan in a checkish kung-fu family film featuring
this fanservice just so it lands
tonguey expressiveness lisp of his it is,
as it is presented to his audience.

And the focus within, - also with an on or upon, of course - to observe
the Great or Single, fair to feit letterwise
Wrong and Right as well, pro or contra
it's numerous consequences
are hidden even deeper within
and nothing, never ever having any
one of these stuffs,
but cognitive resources
well shockshit, too insufficient, just not a single unretarded card landing up at hand
to think through chaos
yet certain cold anxiety noises
easier than reason to listen to
but for colorful light shimmer engorgery
brain is not enough brain?
great
to enjoy
inavailable
the world
in raw unorder
That is not right.

It is wrong.

In the end, what is so significant then
what's the point to poker a *** which
pays you no vendor and
burns more like real **** than hashish
and card metaphors turned to ******
it boils down to the question I beg
analyzing an art
is not really wrong,
I admit, it is hard
and more often than not
impossible.

Elaborations, unneccessary creations
word generations, delusional the most
my meta rule engines
the dull flesh my laziness bears.

When is it whole paragraphs too long
where was awareness gone
what sounds wise
who am I,

and are you
fellow gendered stranger in front of that curious letter user
are you more important than me
you so called
Missesy Lady Madam Bibabuttens who is, from, her, their and your Majesty of Royally?

Abnormally nobel and novel
a genie of next stationing away
from obsession
to forthflowing content!

Really, content, stay to it
avoid going nuts
from overreacting about
the wrong thing
this is your rail.

Just imagine, against the facts
clearly not at hand
Assume:
your curse protects
from, say
Adverse effects
perverted defects
murdering insects

religiously the fallacy acts
the Pope's racial pedigree
bibles brible library liar blessphemy
chapter apes shape the chapel
pslam verses Christian
Territorial hissings
clashings and death wishings
Let me be please preach
Guess that's a way.

So, what is this tiny little tale's lesson here learnt?

Ech, who am I asking there anyway
as if I and my own, wonderful echelon besides me,
entirely made out of all of my positive traits
were out on a hustle for some hustling
or is that me?
Part genie,
art genie
a gentle data editor sprite

or taken off masks
a human being resolving a spite
the cure through hard drive overrides.

What might my friends be thinking now,
without knowing how much I think about them now and simply hope to appeal to them, not to disappoint them, precisely because I trust them as deeply as they trust me too
why must love always hurt so much
and nevertheless, no one is ever to look away from the pain of others
those close to you and about your pain of aware sight, who simply stand around just like you?

Who is taking the reins when
and who is taking amiss when about whom
who decides when is what to be done how and where
who is telling us where we come from and why we do whatever we do?


Is that love. Is this love? This is love? That's love. Friends are the loveliest. They are simply the lovely ones lovely. ***** *** for a second or two, one does **** one another the best way mentally anyway before chilling out on
those ours well-equipoised equivalents
of the cigarette after.
Oh, friendship, wicked substance
but who is the alchemist
and who the philosopher
or the physicist? Or our medical prodigy today? I prefer one role about all the brains, perhaps, white coffee for me.

The Focus and the Ego
who I am, as a sum out of all of you, or you, sum of them and us,

It is defined through the current condition of that approximately relevant situation
since whatever it is directed on or upon
so much a mathematical function alike
and spits out essentials in numbers and clock gear cogs and odds
so that the thankful you, for these volitional line breaks over everywhere, are left gobsmacked
your turn to jaw my drop even downer,

and eventually everything
that you want
that you are, that you eat,
that you're willing to be and to become
is yielded by what you're seeing
and others are seeing about you thatever you've seen
and nothing else but the comparison, this one special process, operation
between letters and thinked thoughts

as final
component to the last trick
for the quiry to insights which still might be left lacking,
and a huge fun it's going to be
to untangzzigle, iron and refubrish
after the after the Lysergical
what pity, has to leave again soon
but still is quite a while around here and there until then

let's enjoy the symmetry of that duck over there!
Semihten5 Aug 2021
sky was dark
we thinked without stars
we were so far from there
we got very close in dreams
Ryan O'Leary Aug 21
Word In Your Ear

Anything that can
Be thinked, can be
Just as easily taught.

Then, once learned, it
must be memorized
And not be forgotten.

So this is why we are
A prosaic nation of
talkers and listeners.

Our Compulsive story
Tellers recite and rhyme
without any hesitation.

Why poets, are, perhaps,
The most dangerous
People In the room.
Ryan O'Leary Aug 25
Word In Your Ear

Anything that can
Be thinked, can be
Just as easily taught.

Then, once learned, it
must be memorized
And not be forgotten.

So this is why we are
A prosaic nation of
talkers and listeners.

Our Compulsive story
Tellers recite and rhyme
without any hesitation.

Why poets, are, perhaps,
The most dangerous
People In the room.

— The End —