John Lennon's songs
"Yesterday" and "Imagine."
Lennon was asking us
to imagine a place where things that divide people religion, possessions, did not exist.

Would Earth be a much better place to live?
This song is a strong political message that is sugarcoated in a
beautiful melody Lennon knew that a gentler approach would bring one poetic song to a wider audience who would grasp
his creed, and he like Jesus tried
to change the world and like a thorn bird both paid a price

Change while innebitable encounters an abyss of resistance
but just one immutable voice
one tini stone into a sand pool creates the meaningful ripples needed to speed up the initial spinning force.

Imagine how hard it is to "imagine no possesions" when one's personal worth is in the vicinity of half a billion bucks.
IMAGINE was the best song in Lennon's entire career

As the collective imagination of our species produces actual occurrences and manifests our own destiny.
Science has proven that our upper levels of consciousness are linked and the more people that become aware of truth and reality force the rest of the species to evolve.

Fact: We have receivers and transmitters attached to your neurons that vibrate energy "Imagine" by John Lennon
his lyrics on this album
on "Oh My Love."
tells you where he is
"I see the wind I see the trees, everything is clear in my world"

He was feeling being alive he as a poet was expressing to us the intimacy of life.

Imagine was a wish an aspiration.
No war no possessions!

The song coined from Yoko Imagine from her book Grapefruit espoused a world without war weapons and mad men running the world.

He knew we needed liberated women to make the world a better place to effemanise soften male aggression.

It is not about atheism but it is about RELIGION using it as a means to hate not LOVE.

He, like us wondered what created everything that mattered in all our lives a special song by a special human in a special place at a very special time, the song holds a very special place for me
If we all imagine, but finding the secrets of our conduct.

How we resolve ourselves.
Can we win when we lose?

Imagine,  Yesterday, What a Wonderful World, Blowing in the Wind, Amazing Grace and a handful of other songs still give me chills each beautiful song.
And all well-intentioned.

Too bad it is about communism and is misguided.
Man's evil didn't start with nations, possessions or religion.

We were stealing from each other and slaughtering each other well before any of those things existed since pradise fell
We started to CHANGE that.

Our goal isn't to have NO nation. Our goal is to have ONE nation.
for peace on earth
to reign under God.
~~

( In memory of my true love
jPC/Rc who Sang to me his song
"Yesterday" in Veracruz!) He too tried to change earth but I didn't understand him so I feared him and lost the chance to join him reciprocating timely, our love was key. True love was in me for him too but free will faltered. Love cannot be made perfect in fear.

In the air, floating just next to the window
solidly constructed
as sure as the golden highway
stretching from Frisco across the Bay
looking square
as the acres of boxcars
north on the interstate
on the south side of Chicago,
it's all atoms...

This morning my son postulated to me a so-far unrealized condition
relating to matter transmitters and, probably, hyperspace. "What
would happen, " he asked, "if some guy transported himself inside a big rock?"
Indeed.
Putting on my ears, I considered the situation.  Would the hypothetical solid mass of rock give way, shudder just enough to allow the insertion of a soft, squishy human being?  Or would the spaces in their respective atoms--rock's and human's--intermesh neatly with each other?  Molecular integration?  But such a challenge to the atomic bonds holding the things together might result in a nasty atomic accident. Would that leave a human-shaped void inside the solid rock, a mold exact down to the finest details of skin texture and even eyelashes? Imagine the crystal-filled waters seeping down to find such a hole--Behold!! Geode Man.

Holding my silver pen extended
like a rapier before me,
I dissect the wispy chunks
of smoke. The balance of air
that gave them form
is destroyed.  They are
no more.

~
"Satellite, oh, satellite
who sits upon our skies
how deep do you see
when you spy into our lives?"

This is for when
coyote called
into the ether
connecting heaven to earth
For when
glasnost sang
and velvet revolution
twinkled in the humming air

This is for when
the quiet hedges
of lilies and remains
came out of darkness
For when
the misty curtain man
shopping for codes and antiquities
poisoned the salt shakers

This is for when
a spy in an alcove
twisting the thermos tops
to his dark-eyed sister
shelled the transmitters
of Radio Free Europe
For when
his wife refused

This is for when
working in the glass structure
of a Cold War
made spider and I
a measured room
an arc of doves
For when
the last step from the surface
was the end of a thin cord
~

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Appended streams exhume the dreams that surface in conscious guide,
As photon beams augment the seams transmitters must abide.
The quantum strings of knotted ties,
Entangling's of worlds collide,
A vortex of spiraled rings,
In scattered sets convergent glide,
The convex spacial vacuuming's, synaptic points electrified,
A hex, insatiable, stochastically adjoins frequencies over-amplified, as complex oracle valuations weight choices to decide.

There's a dragon in the garden.
Huffing, puffing, billowing smoke.
Trees recoil in abject horror.
Dragon's noisy.
Hissing and sparking.
Dragon melts in to the atmosphere.
High-flown brazen.
Hideously beautiful.
He puts forth his strike.
Striking out at dried out leaves.

A stupendous bang.
An explosion of long dead transmitters spray across the lawn.
Popping loudly as they fly.
Spawned from dragons guts.
Someone fed him a disused T.V.
From his belly sparked kaleidoscope of coloured lights.
Children should not feed the bonfire.
(C) LIvvi 2014

I scroll down your pages,
Each line making me hungry for
The next.

Father Eagle, wings spanning
Across multiple decades
Of strong life lived.

How many poetlings have you
Hatched from the cold, solid
Shells of their insecurity?

How many hearts have you
Guided from the darker corners
Of creativity, and

Into the light of a broader sprecrum
Of impression and expression?
How many lives

May just have been saved by the
Firm foundations of the attitudes you
Gift us with?

Keep challenging us, uncle Joe.
Keep soaring above the landscapes
Of ink and paper, of fingers

Painting themselves through keyboards,  
On nights where sleep has to yield
To the force of inspiration,

And remember...
You will live forever in the hearts
You have touched.

Long after your work is done in  
This world you made more beautiful and
Meaningful to so many;  

Once you become one with the trees,
Flowers, fields and woods that you
Love; even making those

Landscapes with which we all must
Merge more wonderful with your
Own perpetual grace,

You will be thought of. Spoken of,
Written of, reminisced about.
You tremendous man,

Friend, inspirator, teacher, creator.
May you live forever. A king cloathed
In ashes; humble.

A god, wearing Man, loving every
Strand of grass he graces with
His footprint.

You hold a thousand pens. You conduct
Legions of observers and transmitters.
You are the leaf you asked us to

Write about; at its most beautiful in
Autumn. Yellow. Dry enough to leave
Its tree and flutter through

It all. Unattached.
Unconcerned with
Winter.

I awoke to the waves of your blanket crashing over my body. The gentle sound of the morning breeze, birds singing outside your window, everything lost in a sense of calm. A serene feeling rarely felt in the normal world. Almost too still and unchanging to be recognized by the brain, like the receptors just can’t process this sort of feeling. Totally and completely relaxed.

We are the daybreak. We have everything, but have nothing. We are life. We are love.

I look over to my right and catch you at my favorite time. Still asleep, mind exploring other realms, other planets. Your body in this morning light shines with utter disdain to the evils of the world. Nothing can touch you, except me. I lean over and softly kiss your ivory skin, the blood rushing to the spot where my mouth is, leaving a soft blush under your skin. These perfect hues of beauty will always hold sway. Your freckles will guide me to your lips, the transmitters of passion. Sparking electrical currents to my heart.

We are the daybreak. We have nothing, but have everything. We are life. We are love.

Every moment here in the present seems all but too short. The conclusion arriving entirely too fast for anyone’s liking. Looking back, it seems to be a dream. Mind you, a dream worth remembering. So I fold it up and put it in my front pocket, it will come in handy for the days where life seems troubled and without hope. I will open it up and gaze like a map to the days where laughter filled our glasses to the brim and love destroyed any notion of the word “impossible”.

We are the daybreak. We feel everything, but have nothing. We are life. We are love.

Soon I’ll watch as you board that train and head up north. Watching your face through the window, you smile. You’re finally finding your path through this reckless world, and I couldn’t be more overjoyed. The only sadness lingering on my breath is from thinking about how I won’t be able to witness it. But, alas this is a selfish thought..Sometimes things just happen, things we never thought would happen. We wind up in a place and mindset where we don’t understand. So I’m glad you’re finding yourself, and I know you will be the happy and radiant girl that I fell in love with.

We are the daybreak. We have nothing, but have everything.

We are the night.

We are life.

We are love.






*-For you,   Liz.
(may this find you where the map turns blue, and salty too)

(I’m so incredibly alone
I might as well not exist at all)
my transmitters are malfunctioning or they’re
       fine, and its the source
which is broken
what is happiness?
A sensation unfamiliar to my blandly textured existence
if only I could be once again
      needed
My Terminal Countenance
scares away not only predators,
but friends of the same form
where lies the line which separates the two?
If it is even real
it escapes my clouded vision
(obstructed by the gleams it so desires,
                               it averts the illustrious sun)

To **** a man
is to flog his hide
if the hide were his brain
and the scars were
meandering
creases littering.

I have heard
the songed bird cry
when the notes were
both hopeful, unafraid
awake
and twittered.

And in the tired
slow gasping release
of moon upon night
overwhelmed by stars
like satellite
transmitters.

protein
like in the matrix when humans are batteries
in quatermass humans were protein
only the young for they were innocent
their bodies not corrupted by age
fake ideas put in their heads
and false emotions in their hearts
drawn to the old stone circles
and pre-historic mounds on the landscape
for it was here the transmitters were located
placed here by aliens before the dawn of time
when they discarded their flesh and became machines
they made us by altering the apes
and had a ready food source
to feed their machines pure human protein
harvested from us the young people
taken in a flash of bright light
believing they were going to an alien world
to be happy and live the perfect idyll
but it was all a lie put there by the machine
a thing so alien nobody knew what it was
few even cared or could understand
the young all taken in their billions
their ash turned the sky purple
their protein fed the monstrous alien machine
fuel for its engine to **** our world
and doom our race subservient slaves
destined to almost die out
till the next time it came back
starving and lusting for food
when it would harvest our youth
as it had since the dawn of time
it fed on the young
not wanting the old
who would die soon
and were powerless to stop it
it the ravenous alien machine
a galactic engine

was it god?

We're too afraid of being caught
To truly go insane with love
Our eyes are transmitters of love
But somewhere along the way,
   the mirror stole the show

The music of the Republic blares out of tune , it wreaks
of the sewer , politics and Hollywood penned with immoral , ****** ink allure
Assembly line product lacking imagination , based on aggravation
Tinged with savagery , we're back in Rome today crying
for death at the Coliseum , waiting for the "Star" to fire his rounds
Waiting for an accident as the race cars circle about
Wired to the machine with our transmitters shoved in our faces
Rewriting our history , swimming with the crocodiles then becoming
shocked as to why we've been bitten
The basic rules of morality are being rewritten
We are cornering 'the lion' of demarcation this very moment pretending it's a kitten* ...

Samarian Effect
By Glenn Currier

There are some who sparkle and glitter
so full of thought and creative power
they’re like human transmitters
their minds and eyes seem to flower
and being close to them seems to bring
you zest and vigor, to a peppy place
wanting to search for the next thing,
to discover a quiet thoughtful space
within to water and cultivate
the seed of your own creative force
that something in you that’s great,
so you too will be a fruitful source.

Sociology, teaches you that a group of people dictates behavior.
That the minority mostly stays quiet to not disturb the peace of tranquility.

We can't say whites holds racism more.
Many African American, say things about others.
Many Jews, if truthfully does too.
Many Asians operates the same.
Many Latinos call others various names.
Many races not mention does.

Strangest things, some thinks its innocent and fun.

We can't say, we don't.
We can't say it.

We see it many of times.
When one race of people buys into stereotypes of others.

Then we can't say, some doesn't stand up to them.
While knowing many will eventually turn against them.
Some stays in this secluded closet of stupidity.

And gripes more when they are exposed.

So we can't say, some churches aren't transmitters of this senselessness.
When you find members of congregations preaching their racist stupidity.

I often lose myself in a simple moment,
Surrendering to the universe, merging into one,
The one we have always been.
The one we will always will be.
Sometimes we build walls,
Walls that only exist in the construct of our minds..
An illusion of seperation.
Seperating us from our true selves,
From eachother,
From all that is,
Vibration..
Tap into the frequency,
We rise and fall..
What wave length are you on?
   Nothing but transmitters and recievers sharing information within a cosmic web.
Weave wisely.

Beneath the surface, it’s all signals,
The coil of a metal detector,
The remote control of a drone,
A phone call,
An email,
An app,
A voice,
Circuits and antennae,
Information and noice,
Transmitters and receivers,
Sensors and data abound,
In copper,
Through air,
Beneath the earth,
Through the great black void,
Light by camera and eye,
Sound by mic and each ear,
Taste and smell and touch,
Each spark,
Each flash,
Each photon and wave,
Neuron to neuron,
It’s all signals,
Beneath the surface of all

~Beneath the Surface by Bethany Davis, January 1, 2024

an odyssey,
deep in the space of,
the grey matter corners,
of my mind.

filled with electronic pulses,
picture flashes,
of the past,
and the future.

loves lost and found,
static and music,
a maelstrom,
and a singularity.

swirling vortices
of serotonin,
and other transmitters,
forever in flux.

I hear a noise,
a question,
from a distance,
infinitesimally quiet.

God, are you there?
a voice whispered,
which is my own,
no, it is only me

Mum I never a got a chance to say goodbye
I felt you wouldn't want me there
Standing by your side
I knew you would know
The end was in sight
And as never ready for heaven
It would not be right.

Dying is not a picture house
Or time  for voice transmitters
So I sat by a vase of flowers
And thought of you for ever.

And in the many years
That have past since your death
Have put you on Facebook
The place you'd love the best.

I hope I was right.

Love Mary **

Is it selfish to be your best self?

Depends...

are you answering from
center stage under consecrated light
  or from a mosh of ears

voyeurism is a bigger fetish than we admit
more people passively perceiving than receiving
we are all transmitters:  two-way
What frequency are you on?
  when still unmoved by those most direct of messages
steady skirting around the fringe of your essence

What scares you so much?
Is it selfish to be unafraid?
to stave off sleep for waking dreams
to approach stages lucid and ever-aware
Are you a conduit yet?
a right of passage
a walk around before any rest
rest stations are just another phase
before you find your soapbox

Did you catch that last PSA?

your greatness found you over a decade ago
and is still waiting for your response
clean yourself up
the ultralight beams have been patient enough