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Jesse Bourque Aug 2010
Ghost
drifting
Unseen
unheard and unnoticed
Skipped over
Missed and unmissed

Like a gust
of wind
Passed on
Out of mind
and quickly
forgotten
This is more true than I'd like it to be.

(c) Jesse Bourque
SassyJ Jan 2017
You left me with the a bid
a bigger slice of my best
a wish me well that lingers
even longer without your love

Your unformed abrubt reasons
of tainted unsainted failed logic
a wish you well, no hesitations
on the table of untouched melodies

My walls are a brighter emerlard
with stripes of the unmissed kisses
matted with peace and liberation
of torn risks and control measures

My sad blues were washed by the rains
above the moon and over skies above
scouring, soaring, scrapping, summing
in another forever of amaizing lines
William Fischer Dec 2012
A caress,
    A captivating touch,
    A smile gone.
      Unmissed
    But not resented.
    What remains?
     The burden
     Or the freedom?
    That I no longer wish
    For such affection.
Katelyn Billat Dec 2018
I will accept this loss
As I know it will bring
Prosperity in the future.
For I am a queen in training,
And I know what is best for
My kingdom.
If that means losing you,
And hurting for a little while,
I'll take that on a silver platter.
I've gone through worse things,
And I've learned how to
Pick myself up out of the
Rubble of these castle walls.
I've rebuilt every part of
It with my own two hands.
So when you try to break me down,
Remember that I am a future queen.
I can't be torn down anymore.
Nothing you can do
Can hurt me.
I am untouchable.
Franz Bartolome Apr 2016
Maybe. Just maybe.

Maybe we'll meet again, when chances itself had opened its doors for us
When time itself isn't running us out
and when faith replaced all our unspoken doubts

Maybe we'll meet again When that song doesn't need to end so soon.
When we don't have be alone anymore looking at the same moon.

When sad movies doesn't need to be sad anymore.
And when we'll finally see with closed eyes what we have not seen before

Maybe we'll meet again when we don't have to be strangers anymore
When things are not complicated by goodbyes
And beginnings doesn't need to start up with a hello.

Maybe we'll meet again somewhere in time
when we know ourselves all too well,
That we don't have to let each other go
When we're old enough to be young
And when we won't be fool to destroyed with our tongues.
When we are already capable of doing what we are not years ago.
When we have already faced our fears,
And sadness doesn't describe anymore our tears.

Maybe I'll fall in love again with you or maybe I would not,
And I just have to met you for some reasons life would let me know later.

Maybe we'll meet again, and we're not us, but the same you and me years ago, not actually caring if we have been
loved or unloved, missed or unmissed; have been lost or have been found, have been broken or have healed, or if we're still beautiful or had became a disaster.

I would not care at all, meeting you and this love once again along the way someday.

And maybe, just maybe; it doesn't have to be a maybe.
Broken hearted poet here.
Cassandra Hiatt Apr 2013
“You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh.” – Tyler Durden, Fight Club




You have a kind of sick                                                             ­                                       
desperation in your laugh.
You always think of others.
They never do,
                          on your behalf.

He’s there        you’re him.
You’re here      he’s you.
He says     he’s     Tyler.
And you are?
                   Who?


Clinging to the manic sense
you get when you’re a l o n e .
String up the failing,
                                     f
                                       a
                                          l
                   ­                         l
                                              i
                ­                                n
                               ­                   g
                                                      words,
   ­      you feel you must atone.

Who are you really?
Slipping
    f   l   a  i l i n    g
unmissed and left to burn.
Black and darkened
Your heart unharkened
The page is left,

                            unturned.
jeremy wyatt Dec 2010
The Queen of Winter looked about,
tinged with sorrow, touched by doubt.
The time of change was in the air,
a keen smell dancing through her hair.
Springtimes breath should fill her dreams,
casting spells of summers peace,
as with her court she, serene sleeps,
awaiting on autumns counsel fair.

But troubled now, her gaze is sharp,
what things are come forth from the dark.
Drawn uncalled by winters cold,
things unholy, things too old.
Prowling in the biting frost,
preying on unwary lost.

"there is a way," she says to all,
"to reawaken springs fair call.
I need a braveheart, strong and true,
to carry springtimes promise through!"
None spoke, none moved, all-fearing stood,
then from beneath Her throne of wood,
"I'll go."

And there was an unlooked for guest,
a small young Hare to take the quest,
And she remembered then his face,
beneath last years fall of  leaves.
A little leverett, bereft, born too late,
so sadly left, but seen by chance.
Compassion in the great ones glance.

Set free to tumble in the spring,
to run and dance, and dream and sing.
But wise to evils coming threat,
returned to pay his debt.

"I'll carry springtimes welcome song,
my eyes are bright, my legs are strong,
and though I know you dread I'll fail,
a faithful heart can but prevail!"

A speech of such unwitting grace,
that tears did stain the lady's face.

"So little one, you made a choice,
how gentle is your sweet young voice,
and I instill my strength and love,
to bear your burden far.
And if you fall, the world will know,
my tears of ice will stain the snow."

A little bag of felt was made,
new boots of doeskin,
laced and tied,
a cap to cover well his head,
and then the time,
to face the dread.

"Into this bag I place the spring,
no feather weight, no little thing,
though sadness wishes you could tarry,
this burden forth we ask you carry."
And so with spells of love and care,
out into winter sped our hare.

Through the secret postern gate,
into unremitting hate,
dreading not the rising fear,
but only that the spring was late.

Trotting lightly over snow,
the little lad did boldly go,
leaving lightest prints  behind,
nothing for the Beasts to find.
But, stirring in the darker woods,
creatures of despair still stood.

Crawling, stooping, no poise or grace,
evil made a start to chase,
our little hare, who, so well aware,
kept a steady pace.

Beasts of the pit, deep in the earth,
smother life with their dark curse,
drawn to light to look askance,
hating their own long lost chance.

Breaking through and into sight,
using all the darkest might,
straining fibre, blood and bone
to **** our little hare.

Dancing, swerving, to and fro,
Is he caught? Ah through, now go!
How can one so slim and small,
battle evil spirits tall?
But, from towers far above,
flows an ancient, caring love.

Sending creatures of the woods,
fight the evil with their good,
crows and eagles, claws and beaks,
wolves and foxes, strength and teeth.
Fighting now for what they chased,
and grateful for his speed unceased.

" Pass beyond us, little hare,
and we will turn and, face the stare!
Whatever evil comes to pass,
we dream of springtimes fragrant grass"

So captains of the wood as one,
stand together as they come,
though many fall not to arise,
they battled evils changing guise.
None pass unmissed, she sees them fall,
The Ice Queen marks their everyfall.

The breathless runner toils anew,
oh can he take this burden through?
the night is falling dark and fast,
and still dark forces  are amassed.

New foes astir, claw at his feet,
sharp teeth snap, and call deceit,
arms of knotted sinew strain,
to clutch, to grasp, but still in vain!
Our little hero runs so swift,
at each new threat his own pace lifts.


Cut and wounded by the beasts,
ragged ears, and bleeding feet,
nothing slows the running hare,
"come, you catch me if you dare!"
he gasps beneath a fell  beasts stare...


Then, coming slowly into view,
a wondrous sight, and hope anew,
a woodland tinged with shades of green,
could this be spring, will he get through?

And now the Green Man of the spring,
sees the chase and starts to sing,
"Come all my peoples of warm earth,
we'll war these beasts of death and dearth!"
Flashing eyes, and racing foes,
to battle now for good they  go.

Now at the Green Mans feet hare lies,
the light now fading from his eyes,
his burden passed to hands of care,
all gaze with wonder, little hare!
His duty done, his race is run,
it's now his time to die.

But from afar, a Snow Maids call,
"this once, Man listen to my call,
I'll ask of you no other thing,
than heal this creature, let us sing!"

Together, distant words that heal,
renew the turning of lifes wheel,
The young hare races, where he will,
Watch, and you'll see him, running still.
Sorry this is so long, it is a wee story written in my head many years ago. The little hare is self tattoed on my thigh (poorly) and I had a nice paining  done, but gave it away.  Painted a little version on a bucket today, and got all wistful about brave little animals. This little chap saved spring for us!
Joan Karcher Jun 2012
What would happen if I was gone
What would people think
Sure they might imagine that they were upset for a couple of days
But life would still go on
They would forget and they would move on
They would no longer care that I wasn’t part of everyday life
Would there be any regrets that I left behind
I doubt it because no one really cares
Oh, this is why I hate love!
How I used to moon over it;
shape it and craft it and run after it
in my brambles,
how I used to indulge it in my *****
protect it from any uncivil desecration
cherish it for its wilfulness
relish it for its greed;
how I tainted my heart with its fake scent!
It just dawneth on me!
Oh how I fervently remembereth the scene; the very afternoon scene, before me:
I was heaving my dull steps against the sheepish grounds;
so peaceful in their breezy slumbers;
unlike the busy grass afield!
their dainty colours blackened by the whirring clouds from afar.
Hung cozily amongst the sky, whose childishness wasth adjourned by
the sleeping rain!
Oh but it was none yet coldeth but temperate;
when his moorish figure, blent into the naturalness of the afternoonth;
retreated into the lingering scene,
swiftly and lightly as the chirruping birdth aloft,
as if no anguish was within reach,
as wildly glistening as the mirth of the old den!
How my soul warmed towards the sight of him,
and on he went to relate his selfish story.
How I celebrated it - its giddy, gullible outset!
How I endorse its unknowing innocence!
How I adorned it with my passion!
His reclamation proceeded,
I was but astounded to hark to the rest;
into it he amorously poured the account of a bizarre creature;
namely a stranger;
invariably a woman!
How insolent!
He named her his love;
he waveth his moronic praise at hers;
at her charm, andth not mineth!
I was spurned, my heart was churned;
despite my stranded efforts to keep my pair of
relenting eyes
unblinking;
I steadied my legs, I was more than ready to
bounce and go
sway myself away from this gloomy tragedy
as before me the story undesired unfolded:
my love was repressed, my heart was
bludgeoned, heartily bludgeoned,
and I was silenced; could no longer feelth the tinges of blood
in my latent veins.
He hath slaughtered my peace!
My inner visions, hopes, and dreams!
I hath lost all of which!
I hath lost my shrieks; I could not voice my despair;
yet I could not utter my grief!
I was cursed and condemned;
my soul was appallingly dishonored;
my entirety is for lifelong anger,
desolation, ignominy and utmost desperation!
My crossness against the Creator arose,
like a wave of torment,
a surge of unbecomingth animosity,
as to no matter how I suppressed it unthinkingly,
all ended in vain:
My stern heart shan't ever melt to love again.
Oh my love, my love,
my princeth, my deviousth prince,
the only one I was so ardently fond of
how could thou deepen my misery?
How could thou ****** my sweetest virginal affection
in the midst of my isolation?
Like the sultry willows
whose memories unshaken, unbitten in the most
melodious, but pallid from the heath
in this musty, salubrious air
my blooming flowers hath died
I am brokeneth, I am torn!
I am writhing in my vainness,
my foolish longing, unmissed and unsung by the dandy branches aboveth
Dancing in my own blueness, weariness that is both livid
and unforgiving
scared by the heartless world
in the course of this barren winter.
Winter with no whiteness;
winter unholy and fulleth of diminutive, evil suffrage.
How ungodly!
I am raked into pieces;
and this is what remains.
This is my misery; oh how I could not riseth above the misery itself!
This is my solemn admonition,
this is my fate!
I have no right to love,
to embrace and to be embraced,
and from this day on I wanth but to dismiss my love;
onto my heart was bestowed not serene affection but intelligence;
and intellect is far better regarded than love!
How sully, narrow, and vicious love is!
How unimportant it is in the eyes of glory,
and the sea of fictitious admiration.
I quit the monstrousness of yon outer devastation;
I take hold of my pen,
and swim deeper into my whining words, again.
My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,
     My den is all a cosy glow;
And snug before the fire I sit,
     And wait to feel the old year go.
I dedicate to solemn thought
     Amid my too-unthinking days,
This sober moment, sadly fraught
     With much of blame, with little praise.

Old Year! upon the Stage of Time
     You stand to bow your last adieu;
A moment, and the prompter's chime
     Will ring the curtain down on you.
Your mien is sad, your step is slow;
     You falter as a Sage in pain;
Yet turn, Old Year, before you go,
     And face your audience again.

That sphinx-like face, remote, austere,
     Let us all read, whate'er the cost:
O Maiden! why that bitter tear?
     Is it for dear one you have lost?
Is it for fond illusion gone?
     For trusted lover proved untrue?
O sweet girl-face, so sad, so wan
     What hath the Old Year meant to you?

And you, O neighbour on my right
     So sleek, so prosperously clad!
What see you in that aged wight
     That makes your smile so gay and glad?
What opportunity unmissed?
     What golden gain, what pride of place?
What splendid hope?  O Optimist!
     What read you in that withered face?

And You, deep shrinking in the gloom,
     What find you in that filmy gaze?
What menace of a tragic doom?
     What dark, condemning yesterdays?
What urge to crime, what evil done?
     What cold, confronting shape of fear?
O haggard, haunted, hidden One
     What see you in the dying year?

And so from face to face I flit,
     The countless eyes that stare and stare;
Some are with approbation lit,
     And some are shadowed with despair.
Some show a smile and some a frown;
     Some joy and hope, some pain and woe:
Enough!  Oh, ring the curtain down!
     Old weary year! it's time to go.

My pipe is out, my glass is dry;
     My fire is almost ashes too;
But once again, before you go,
     And I prepare to meet the New:
Old Year! a parting word that's true,
     For we've been comrades, you and I --
I thank God for each day of you;
     There! bless you now!  Old Year, good-bye!
Ryan Bowdish Jan 2014
And for that second when your genes mashed up, that boy was blank
A clean canvas, a selfless portrait, a plane with no industry, who he was for eternity.
Revolutions from within me burst like a bipolar hormonal abomination
Of catastrophic cacophony and discorded anguish, sunlit by the good times
And slightly obscured through tired, teary eyes...
All to be swallowed back into the abysmal sinful cesspool of simple
Cyclical cynical shriveled up and seemingly plentiful
EMPTINESS, where I'm inevitably spit.

Dreaming? Floating in sarcasm, feigning a figure
Shivering with the bonechill that is the outside world
Can't quite remember the last time I woke up or why
Everything is a bit too bright for me to focus correctly...
A bit jittery, a bit sluggish, all suspicious, subtly vicious
Listless and without bliss and sunkissed and unmissed
******* and ******, no goals, don't even have an interest
These troubling times are demonized, where's the exorcist?

Soft ripples in the air bless my ears with wet lips
The pulse setting hammers me into the ground in steaming silence
Some people go their whole lives without ever hearing the call
Hedonism and nihilism are more attractive to us all.
Dust devils spinning in an empty chest cavity
Throwing themselves over mountains in shame
Whisper in harmony to me to be nobody
Go through my life without playing the game...

Pick through these bones, you'll find grey hair and utility bills
Whether you live in South Central or Beverly Hills
You're beginning to see that we're all alone and desperate
Searching for that person we can stare in the eyes and say,
"I'm just like you. You are a part of me. I want to **** you. I want you to be me.
I love you, I need you, and if you dare go, I will bleed myself blue."
I want to shed every wall, I want to quit hiding behind words
Let the arrows rain and shadows lift to confine me in this verse.
Arcassin B May 2018
By Arcassin Burnham


Do you get nervous everywhere you walk?
Do you get nervous when the light comes down?

Do you have problems in your hometown that your family couldn't
fathom , But would love to keep you around?

Are there troubles that would make you or break you?
You don't know the conditions of my past , so don't have any right
to doubt too.

I say the reasons why my heart stays frozen cause emotions won't
be triggered by my body heat to create a thing called love.
You could make your own purpose , I'm not trying to get in the way.
But If I leave and never come back just know that I'm not here to stay,
I don't wanna be your friend,
I don't wanna teach ya, just to get a piece of knowledge and flee.
I had to end the charade because it was you or me.
Now this day in age friends are pretty overrated ,don't you agree?
I really hoped you saw it clear in my eyes if I give you tools to see,
I don't wanna be your mentor , I wanna be happy,
Ended it so sadly,
i don't wanna,
I don't wanna be your friend,
I'm just trying,
I'm just tying to be with the one above all up in heaven,
One above all up in heaven.


Your dismissed , very unmissed,
Got no time to comprehend this diss,
still you miss,
all the things I've told you, I can't deal with this,
I don't miss,
anything about you, all I care is about the one above all.
All I care about is the one above all,
All I care about is the one above all,
All I care about is the one above all,
All I care about is the one above all,
All I care about is the one above all,
The one above all.

Your dismissed , very unmissed,
Got no time to comprehend this diss,
still you miss,
all the things I've told you, I can't deal with this,
I don't miss,
anything about you, all I care is about the one above all.
All I care about is the one above all,
All I care about is the one above all,
All I care about is the one above all,
The one above all.
©abpoetry2018

http://abpvalley.blogspot.com/2018/05/no-guns-in-valley-lp.html
Alison MacNeil Jan 2012
This pen feels like a cut
a sore, a bleeding pendant
On my finger
Scraping, pulling
Threads of cells
microscopic
bubbling in small drops
surface-tension
holds it close
Gauze and mesh
it becomes a unified burn
A new home,
a new ****,
Your an absence is unmissed
by the healing wound.
Alexsandra Danae Feb 2013
We write the most beautiful things
and then, so abrupt is time, we end; pass on
after our deaths, we're dead and forgotten
unacknowledged, unmissed; just simply gone
every one of us lives this life with the need to be loved
each of us goes through life craving to feel as though we're needed
so we can write our lovely sentences
but it's worthless, for we can't escape our fate, and in the end we'll still die
the beings we were to become, no more than mere ashes in the wind
not worth even whispers to carry on our memories
so hurt thus fell these, our flowing words
our hearts consumed with bitterness; grey
years will continue to pass, none will visit our graves
our pages, our legacies shall sink; take solace with us in the ground
so we mourn now, thou still alive; oh how we sit, sit and cry
we don't really make sense
for why wouldn't we be loved by another when we for another can ourselves love?
perhaps unconscious self-contempt leaves us craving to feel neglect for our return
or perhaps we're just so terrified of being broken
we use our fears, rejections, anger and abandonments to write our most magnificent verses
why punish ourselves so, when time will still in the end overbear, and we'll all eventually perish?
oh, the merest of acknowledgments to such notions may as well rip our hearts from our chests
we may have fled truth, begging, pleading as we birth rivers of our blood, sweat and miserable tears
all alone then, without another soul in sight to wander with us while we roam deaths rocky beaches
So it's all of us who are broken, after all...
Arcassin B Aug 2016
By Arcassin Burnham


Black tar in my heart but you came and took it out
Of my consciousness letting the love that I have for
You go unmissed in this life,
In this world I transitioned to a boy that has no
Original value to a man that has a heart and knows
Where to start if we ever talked,
You  think - I'm not - aware,......
...you don't have to say a thing, your beauty say a lot
with the features in my mind,
don't you give me that frown and those eyes
Not surprised to be broken down,
Down,
I know that you've been searching since he left,
so you saw my soul,.....
But you don't have to say a thing......
I love holding hands with you,

a wealth-that I *- *can share with you,
You don't have to say a thing , your beauty says a lot
With the features,
I know- that you've - been waiting,
for love to come sweep you off your feet
pretty baby,
the cold- will se-parate  us,
in a state of loss of the love that we had for each other,....
But you don't have to say a thing,...
I love holding hands with you.
©ABPoetry2016

http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2016/08/holding-hands-riddim-full-version.html
Franz Bartolome Jun 2016
I have words  for everyone.
I have words for the broken,
For the ones who were left behind.
For the dreamers, the wanderers,
the seekers, for the risk taker.
I have words for the ones who have been lost, have been found, have been heared, or have been just a sound.
For those that were loved,
for those who were unloved.

The missed, the unmissed.
for the feelings that still exists,
for the lips that were still unkissed.
I have words for everyone,
old and young
for everything;
Spoken or sung,
for every feeling,
relating, revealing.

Yet at  the end of the day,
After all the game,  after all the play
After all the come and go,
After all the high and low
and after all the rain, after a rainbow
I'd love to have someone who'll have few real sweet words for me, as much as I have thousands for the world itself.

Write about me once. Just once. And I, beautifully,  will write about
you forever.
Erin Beer Nov 2018
My inspiration:

My inspiration was the man on the moon,
Who defied gravity like some kids cartoon.
A man who refused to fold to the norm,
Made his own story despite the storm.

My inspiration was the lonely planet,
Who stood as small as a pomegranate.
A girl who’s fought injury and sprain,
Yet still can stand up for her next big gain.

My inspiration was my best friend,
Who’s mould doesn’t quite fit the “trend”.
She seems content within her skin,
At least that’s what I read from her grin.

My inspiration was my mum and my dad,
They’d supported each other all through the bad.
Served our country throughout the years,
Now it was time to forget those fears.

My inspiration lies only next door,
A girl who battles a personal war.
Through day and night she slays her demons,
Piquing all of her worst ever feelings.

My inspiration is you who told me I can’t,
I’ll prove you wrong and then you’ll recant.
For what kills me only makes me stronger,
And your opinions I’ll think of no longer.

My inspiration is the man I pass on the street,
That sits happy in a doorway with a dog at his feet.
The animal who seems to keep his spirits alive,
I suppose helps give him a little drive.

I don’t have one inspiration in this life,
Nor should you for it would cause strife
But towards the top of that growing list,
Should you yourself stand entirely unmissed.
clearly there is damage
in the mechanics
of our interlaced hearts.

savor me
roll my words around in your mouth
like marbles
and dream of the taste of my skin
and the bite of winter
on the tip of my nose and lips.

do not break apart my words
like ice
still, staring, fragmented in anger;
do not tear me
from afar, with your words
assumed unheard, but screamed
to the ends of the earth.
do not assume i am unfrozen
fluid and unattached
to the sound of your voice.

remember me
in lace and wonder and December
in beauty and imperfection;
or forget
that i am far, far away
in pain, from missing and being unmissed.
or that i exist, altogether.

clearly there is damage
in the mechanics
of our infinity
wrinkled and unraveled before us.
Asominate May 2020
Dates keep changing
Rearranging priorities
For some reason everyone of them's above me!

I'm below them
The worthless me
Unimportant, oh!

Why still can they not see?
Their own actions, priorities
Didn't make the list
Unmissed, amiss, unnecessary

Time comes, time goes
Everyone knows this
All within their minds

Things to do
I still go unnoticed
A year a time

My needs are a mistake
I make them into happy
It's not appreciated
I am in their way, very much
LJ Chaplin Oct 2015
I turned my back and felt the stare,
Of someone close but wasn't there,
No shadow to cast
Or a body to hold,
Not a drop of warmth
To ease the cold,
No hands to clasp
Or lips to kiss,
Not an ounce of insecurity
Gone unmissed,
No burdens to carry,
Or weight to share,
Of the glare of the person

*Who was never there
Arcassin B Aug 2018
By Arcassin Burnham


Don't let your sunshine go away.
I got a remedy for better days in store for
us to deal.

Don't let your sunshine go away.
Got some things to tell you even if their
wrong to say out loud.

Don't let your sunshine go away.
I had a darker part of me that I got rid of
for you in this life.

Don't let your sunshine go away.
Put insecurities aside for me to prosper as
a human being.

Bringing out the best in me when nobody
succeeded,
Covering my every flaw just so you could
love it,
Brushing my face with your hand is lovely
In its own prime,
The beauty of you will never go unmissed
in this life.
©abpoetry2018

https://arcassin.blogspot.com/2018/08/sunshine-goes-away-for-bit.html
Jessica McGuire Apr 2015
I've always wondered what everyone's reactions would be if/when I die. I'd want them to be sad, even if that's not what most people would say after the fact. I wouldn't want to go unmissed. I wouldn't want people to shrug it off like they do most things now. I want them to dwell on it and wonder about the truth and write until their wrists break. I hope you, specifically, wouldn't be mad at me. I'd hope you'd understand that I did want this. I've always seen you as the most understanding when it comes to these things. You could tell them I'm in a better place because that is what they'd want to hear. And maybe I will be. Or maybe I'll burn eternally in hell. Or maybe I'll just cease to exist entirely. Will I even be aware of anything after? Point being, no one knows what happens to me but this is what I wanted and stands as the most courage I've ever built up at once. I don't think it will be scary. I really don't want my death to be the cause of someone else's (I'm crying while writing this as it is so amazingly confident and vain it's almost funny, really). Maybe suicide is a bit selfish, as an old teacher once said. At this point I don't care about my reputation, especially after I'm gone. It is a little worrisome that everything I write ends up sounding like a suicide note. I don't know if I would have the guts to go through with it when the moment came. And I know that if that happened I would hate myself more than ever. I'm sorry for the awful handwriting and scattered thoughts. I'm trying to write whatever comes to mind. A glimpse into my life, as you might say.
from my journal
september 14 2014

this is sketchy
CC Nov 2015
There is a world all of my own
I make the rules
It is my home
There is a world
Where nothing has changed
Only myself
There is no cage
I am never alone
Or feel that I have no one
There is comfort that remains constant
I am sure and true
Just and swift
This is the world where I am a gift

But here in this world
I feel like a burden
Nobody to go to
They always draw the curtain
I am a child without a mother
In this world
I am always unfurled
Undone
Unmissed

Out there where the other world is
It misses my name
That's where life is

So I stare in the distance
Of this windowless room
Nothing to distract me
From this world of gloom
How can one live?
Must I seek escape?
Negativity kills me
Hope is a little candle
That I must use

Pray that I arrive
Safe and whole
As I journey on
Toward that place
I am alone now
But not very long
There is a way
To belong

Sometimes I think I can live on my own
I'll surely miss your presence
Even though I journey home
Ken Pepiton Feb 2022
Delta dark desert sound
-tic swa gwa

Dismal swamp,
Slew of despond, splash

Hence, come, foul self, stinky-kenny,
ah
yes, time chance,
net-neti, meta all o'that mental ascent
to step away

think the whole dammed thing that has been
undammed, some time ago, at least half
a revelation measure, past the half
hour of silence.

Prep-work. What good can-
versus what good am-            

I, quests in op
portunate position, we

suppose, ah, sudden we, who
knew?
A laugh, once shared,
numb
ness, lifts an edge from the deck,
ness, edge ness in essence of pearling
the action
growing as knowing, sudden-- su su per

personal ize, I am, as a thought,
I am, meta-cognosis, you know
what I mean,

400 words made the cat in the hat,
who lives in your head,
where who philosophy is widely read.

These whos lack electricity,
so their reality depends on mutual re
alization, realizing personal worth
if good is all we need at the moment,
we have
plenty, plenty terror and greed, and rotten
hearts full of treasured straw, for bricks,
some day,
all our idle words accounted for

waking new, all the straw spun to gold,
thread about as wide
as a spider's kite,
sliding light.

Did I not? I remind me,
learn that in a mind, we
find numbed from before, knowing,

knowing, too soon, too late, boomers, all, did.

Don't we think we read the same **** & Jane,
oh, yeah, glory days,
the ways we were so-- numbed
by the music, yeah, more than drugs

from then to now, 2022, a blur, too fast
to matter, but for the wind, twist to last

chance, drink or prime the pump,
well, improving, our arrangement, give me
to drink,
and lo'
you, know the other had eyes, he saw as we
see, you knew, instant- life is living.
The act we all do, redundanced, on flat earth,
the xy axis of ordered arrangement of tools,
a place for everything, and every thing
in its place, we breathe,
and have our being in the life zone known,
so far,
so good,

the day is half done… numbness, funny unmissed
appointment, values are about to be dis
cussed, as causes accused of war crime, or plain
lying about duty to children,
lying about worth to children,
lying about ever after to children reared as tools,
servants to God's servant,
who relies on us, the poet's, primarily -

who read the runes, and ken certain tones,
attached to the tips of all tongues pfft pfft
phugedaboudit, whack
what were we thinking,

This is 2022, 12:27, I have been AI reminded,
faithful follower of instruction, immune to praise,
worth the effort forced on an old man, after
ever had well begun, a glory run, down
the backroads, with double yellow lines,

a white feather in my cap, they call it macaroni
poetry, it speaks in tongues of angels,

messages, sagacity fluidly puddling in wu-wow
same same see, somethings we
see same
some not same re
alizing, more or less, I am alone, I am talking
to my self,
anticipating your reading, as then unclaimed,
your reading your writing is our effort to fully function,

Branching, crystaline, flux in the frontal formation.
edging into knowing your, wondering

who can say what we think we know, better
than the idea used to think of Jesus, comforting
little boy, me.

Comfort is the only point we share,
for sure, we know comfort,
when we feel it, first rush,
under my made from-ol'Levis quilt
on a cold desert night, at the edge

of night, listening, eyes, adjusting,
blue glow, so faint, sobbing, listen, Perry Mason
Bailiff saying, muted through the door to you,
do you
swear to tell the truth,
the whole truth, and, {ah, the pain}
nothing but the truth?

AI ai ai, ritual sacred child, hapt to happen,
about a billion times, one time, split,

half know, half know not.
What is not a factor, words, were
never fit to inquiry, curiosity was missing,
promised apo
- I may, so I say apollo is a multi
- meta mete essence appolo so loco, si

logic assumes too much. You know too little,
ah, we have the app that's apt,

to make you think, strange arrangements seem
familiar, this is a mental labyrinthine design imagined
evocative experientially, a
be coming to being

kinda fruitless, really, without the womb, which was
oversight, civilizations
with goddesses have more womb sense,
than ones with pride conflicted all male propensities,
due to pride bred into the princes,
sorted as in Sparta, on the playing fields from Eton
to the universal concept of Friday Night in High School,

anywhere on earth, its all
the same,
scene, true trope, fit to the story of nextifity, loosely

more of the same, or do do we use the utility we realize,
this is
way cool for a future, from 1965… we were kids,
first TV Top-Forty Movies in color, all the time, from
conception, on Blueberry Hill,
-- the old order,
Frank Capra, Esquire/*******,  modality, mode, set,
films function to reimpress, in like Flint, pokem, say
Jack thinks like Goldfinger,
pointedly
-- we are dedicated mind universal soulds for the data
model American leaders of tomorrow,
shaped to excel. We taught the AI,
how to think like a mortal, go on, think, how go
changed nothing, no meaning to strategy of least
win, lightest weight that sways the worth,
to more than one can manage, alone,
eh… interesting…-
good for goodness sake, kerplunk the crack
leaks acidic madness, laughing

we stop lying, confusion
settles, similar to cream in sap too hot,
oil on water, cold water to a thirsty sould era soul.
… good
due to lack of fore thought, some agree,
after the act functioned and created something
-- jump cut===

First cousins, teach the second cousins
rules at the family reunion,


King, we call this, guy.
Biggest guy, on our side, and he owns the field,
we play on; and he says we need never grow up,
only old; he shall contain all our cares,
as a metaphor, yes after all is, and this guy, this holds it.
-The scepter, big stick, we see, looking close, zoom in

So we can think about it, meta co gnosis
when two or more minds agree to let this mind
seem important to you, import the idea
this mind weighs most worth serving, holding
such slight strands of spider kites, go,
make it self evident, stick to hold,
see
we work
good, he feeds us better, we work bad, he makes us
better.

Ah. Patterning, turtle shell sonic signs in sand,
some thing, we imagine, common aphorism,
turtles, so happy together,
at the core of the pearling algorithm that keeps
us rolling on,
so happy together, no matter

whether thought or thing, I think I love you,
if you know what I mean, said the little blue man,
from the radio,
really I think my entire generation heard some songs
and have images unimaginable prior to the event,
we admit,
there was a deal conceived, code, to open minds,
in time to reconnect

-Doris Day, the Saturday Matinee star,

singing
I love you I love you said the little blue man,
I love you I love you to bits.
I love you I love you said the little blue man
And scared me right out of my wits

From <https://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/d/dorisday/blueman.html#!>

We get that a lot. Said the imp.
You lost the aim, eh, happy, right,

I had a friend named Happy, he is dead, in a way that hurts
to know. So,
it could be, I don't say may be, in this state, that can incur
unintended consequences and this is tendentious enough
already,

we calling out the holy orders,
serious as what,
serious as serious is, sin qua non say, the only thing
that matters,

worst case, trolly dealy-bob scenario, test cases attest to,
what do normal people do,
what do people believing this or that lie, do?

What did you do? You read this line. Thank you. Made the diff…

-Group Therapy, Secure

We have not been taught well, but to obey

G'wan, talk nice, to people who don't read,
say, hey, d'jyewever re'ken, we was lost,
in books,
we never read, but tested as if we did?

so much so
no mind can find the bag,
with all our first valued things, sort of jumbled
in the bag with unsorted curiosities,

things we were told to read,
for our own good, but we did not read,

I can imagine, the feeling,
a visitation, actual factual feeling of thinking
I hear a voice, a word, I think
I hear a word, no vision, revisionist powerpoint,
read this, flaming finger pointing
says the witness of record,

later,
maybe I saw a bright light reminding me,
read, but I did not, I could not
can you imagine, I could have,
whose the shame,
- cover head to toe, oh, right, yeah
- secret only the holiest discern
- you shall know them by what
- shames a man to think
- you shall neve know…

my wife, could read,
she could have caused me to desire reading,
to obey the angel, nay

the story, as I was told, I'm telling you,
that guy never learned to read, instead,

some wealthy merchant, dealer in knacks and spice,
fine temple linens, and comforting silks and satins,
prolepsistically provided a ready writer, a scribe

blessed is usually the name history gives this scribe,
baruch or some sound meaning receiver.

Raw hear the muttering prophet, and say, write
this is what truth says truth is if nothing else is.

Ok… 2022

A word, lawyer calls you aside to ask if you know
your judgements have begun,

-you had not thought this your judgement,
then you read another line and feel you wonder
why?

We think, we think the same actual idea, that a
voltairian autoexamined lexicon might,
- ai-ght,
given the tech,
these tools, plus absolute negation of any previous,
assumed and acted on asif,
nullifity on costs, forgive us our, click
FTA take it,
run, as in keep the pace, run
Graeber plug Debt: The First 5000 Years
make it
plain claim
to any debt defined for you, make plain
divine rights due to worshippers, whose worth is
the air they breathe,

in which we live, and have our being.

Enjoying using use, where once we
utilized, life, as if unrealization is
as
real we inadvertently realized.
Right use ness.
Sweet, suasion is always sweet, per or pro, happy
is a fine word
to take the spiritual edge off blessed.
Sigh.

Wonderworks is working wonder in me,
another plug for Anghus Fletcher ? is it
The Power of Invention

I say, worth the attention,
it costs to listen, and recall asking what
does that mean,
-VA reminder login- live ding

value, the group is meeting to speak of values,
these are broken veterans,
I am in their group, a little, by design, I asked
to be included,

edged my way in, to wonder, why these guys,
are angry,
and thirsty, as am I, we recall prime the pump
or slake the thirst to say, hey,

do you read, at all? Any signal from the noise
saying
define, sift and sieve, sort your terminal points,

what hold has value, for all of us, in your reality?

Within the system, this is mortal awareness
acknowledgment, same as existentialism was
imagined to be in in Sixties univers-ifity, post 65,

we were barely alive, GDIs, then Ken went to
Vietnam, same day as Pooso Perez,

Pyro went, too, he came back the same.

Ifery was, is a class of phrases, which when
wished as a child might, were

as near as real as any ae ea ai ia utterance we
gulp- yodleee, shamballaballa shaka
zulu'd, to quote Creflo,
ahem,ake it so
cough to clear the back of my throat,
-then I yawn
and that does it, soothes the crick
with sounds t d b vck rr ff llll mmmmnnn o o o
you knew you knew,
the book
spells it out,
secret meanings mean nothing to unknowers,
stretch it
so it is, we know, what the records show, the open
records of the water and the rocks,

witness
the wind returning
on circuits, set to melt
the ice, gradually, this time,
a degree above solidity, just edging sublimity,

liminal laminal lick, a measure, tip
of your aimer, to tip
of your thumb,

ha, the thumb that bends, always wins,
look it up, always, by an inch.

Rule of thumbs, my kind are good to breed into,
good, to feel friend-ish,
as friends are fewer than brothers,
and fewer still shall survive the confusion,

inevitable, when a dam breaks, the valley
does flood,

ah, see. from Sedona, look north, once,
that was all mud, ****** dry by winds
that carved the navel of the life we
think, real,
from stories told by those who knew

something bad could always happen,
when the world encountered a rock
that said, all that can be shaken,

shakes, no look out, just
blame-oh-shame- boom

what now?
Numb again, off and on. Think.
Thanks.
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2020
Sean Hannity
American insanity

American Catholic hater
Like an ignorant Darth Vader

Trumpfuck found on Fox
Bootlicker of Trump's socks

Send him to the Abyss
Unmourned and unmissed

                 Adios Thanos!
Jayne E Jun 2019
Gloria Vanderbilt died today
princess Diana, was on the news
beautifully dead,
walking the dusty trails
of Angolan land mine fields,
without protection
of any shields.

"I cried the day that Bowie died"
(and the world cried with you)
we shed our tears
our sighs & why's,
when a famous one dies,
but what of the good human
who slips away
without any voices,
without any words,
to say?

The one who gave much more
than they could spare
passes away, shown no care
the loved yet forgotten,
once fine
the downtrodden.

The mother who sang lullabies
dried millions of tears,
hushed thousands of sighs
with warm embraces,
with loving care,
slips into the nothing,
exits an unaffected world.

The lover once lovely
dead in an alley a ditch,
too many hits,
too many scars,
unseen unfelt unmissed(sic)
by hundreds of
passing cars

Beauty rotting
cold blood clotting,
passersby passing by
unaware,
would they even care
that she was broken
long before dead,
by a world callous and cruel
undid her lovely head?

I understand fame,
I understand célèbre,
I understand shame,
I hang my head.

J.C. honey-baby 18/06/2019
Jayne E Sep 2020
A repost in honour of all the 'regular' everyday people who have lost their lives to the Covid19 pandemic

cause célèbre


Gloria Vanderbilt died today
princess Diana, was on the news
beautifully dead,
walking the dusty trails
of Angolan land mine fields,
without protection
of any shields.

"I cried the day that Bowie died"
(and the world cried with you)
we shed our tears
our sighs & whys,
when a famous one dies,
but what of the good human
who slips away
without any voices,
without any words,
to say?

The one who gave much more
than they could spare
passes away,
shown no care
the loved yet forgotten,
once fine now
the downtrodden.

The mother who sang lullabies
dried millions of tears,
hushed thousands of sighs
with warm embraces,
with loving care,
slips into the nothing,
exits an unaffected world.

The lover once lovely
dead in an alley
or a ditch,
too many hits,
too many scars,
unseen unfelt
unmissed(sic)
by hundreds of
passing cars

Beauty rotting
cold blood clotting,
passersby
passing by
unaware,
would they even care
that she was broken
long before dead,
a world callous and cruel
undid her lovely head?

I understand fame,
I understand célèbre,
I understand shame,
I hang my head.

© J.C.
A repost, in memory of all the everyday 'regular',  remarkable, people who have recently lost their lives to the  Covid19 pandemic.  Originally a musing on how much more 'importance' we place on the passing of 'famous' people, when every day, millions of everyday 'regular' remarkable humans die...what value do we assign to a life, and why should one life count for more than another, just by virtue of notoriety or fame or 'celebrity'... Anyway, it seemed like an appropriate time to repost this one...written the day Gloria Vanderbilt died last year. Way before we got caught in the grip of Covid19, and a new way of living was born.
Joseph Rice Nov 2020
When had it all gone wrong?
That young man full of song
So innocent
Full of bliss
Now broken
Alone, unmissed.

Such growth while away
Hardened in the fray
Searching for truth
Lost in fog
Groping at cliffs
Fingers failing
Losing grip.

“Push through the pain!”
They say, seeing his strain
He welcomes the sound
Full of ignorance
Now remade
All scars and endurance.
We all face setbacks. And it's hard, I know it is. But you must be strong, when you feel weakest.
This morning it matters slightly less
If we part unkissed
(In the end it was all remarkably unspectacular)
Or love's empty hand goes unmissed
(I needn't have worried)
For a siren soon reminds others
(There was no conscious decision)
That this is not heaven
(There was no great awakening)
As I turn the corner
(No dawning of truth)
And fail to dodge the ring road cars
(No sudden realization)
I simply ran out of time.

— The End —