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Sara Kellie Oct 2018
You're wringing out my brain
with all that it held.
You've left it all twisted,
confused and in pain.
So I'll just untwist
and fill it up again.
Then . . .
. . . carry on!

Kaydee.
Carry on, and on, and on.
Olivia Walters May 2015
My breath fades into a ghost
Feet crunch on a crust of ice
Branches stretch like skeletal fingers
Angels have left their silhouettes

Feet crunch on a crust of ice
Boot prints leading them away
Angels have left their silhouettes
Children gloves are strewn across the yard

Boot prints leading them away
To a place frozen shut
Children gloves are strewn across the yard
And door knobs stay untwisted

To a place frozen shut
When cheeks are stung red
And door knobs stay untwisted
Beneath frozen palms

When cheeks are stung red
Where summer used to dance
Beneath frozen palms
And everlasting sunshine

Branches stretch like skeletal fingers
Where summer used to dance
Beneath frozen palms
My breath fades into a ghost
SassyJ Jul 2016
The road was long and rough
It was a passageway of words
A parade of letters and prose
The touch of invisible pleasure
I moulted like a snake in season
I dreamt on a cruiser of reign as we
opened my pandora box in the cave

The road was smooth and right
It was a third eye paradise of seers
A mire of misery and blowing wind
The tears flew like fireflies on heat
I met the shrinks of souls in salt bed
I waved the rain as it washed my sins
On that sight of the pandora box

The road of wrongness and rightness
It was an unfolded augury of life
An awakened sleeper roared in dreams
The days when I touched the skies
I took the broken house and mended
I saw the clouds as bright as crimson
Inside the box when I met my twin

The road of love, lust, love, longness
It was when the ember coal was wild
A blaze of soul collision and resonance
The days when doubt taunted in mazes
I wrested my mind and the heart knew
I tested the precipice and intuition led
Inside the unconditional pandora box  

The road where I hid and felt alive
It was a paradise of shining trees
A place where our loneliness merged
The safest heaven on barren lands
I saw my warrior and he shielded
I sat as he ran away with fear and pride
On that very opened pandora box

The road of unforgotten forever
It was a triangulation of continents
An immersion of difference and indifference
The open table of a scarce connective mess
I shed my naive bed and hardened
I shut the wild untwisted world
On that very inevitable pandora
Nuha Fariha Jan 2013
Paper unfolded is by far
the most beautiful possibility
Before it is folded
Twisted, refolded, untwisted
Doubled, tripled, bent and unbent
To be beaten into a form
A claustrophobic form.
I am honest
Untwisted
Unbiased even
In your favor
You hate me
As you hate
A mirror
For you will
Not accept
Yourself
all rights reserved
Robyn Feb 2013
7:43 AM - Period 1 - Symphonic Band
I hid behind a bank of instrument nooks, each beaten, worn and termite chewed to ruddy brown and grey colors. Doors of old supply cabinets with peeling, plastic, paper coverings squeaked in a draft that no one could find. I kept my backpack against the trumpet section, just around the corner from the door, where no one could see me. Class started eight minutes ago, but Mr. Rants was gone as usual, and our student substitute Nick, was not not here yet. I unhooked the metal clasp on my Fossil backpack, searching around in the front backpack for my gum. I popped it in my mouth and bit down. Crack! Stale.
In a side pocket I found a tube of mascara I had shoved haphazardly in due to my rush from the house this morning. I untwisted the cap and wiped the tip of the brush on the rim, looking for a reflective surface. In the cubby directly in front of me was a trumpet case and a harmon mute. A shiny harmon mute. I stared at my warped reflection in the surface and laughed at myself. I thought "Only a real musician would do her makeup using a trumpet mute." I stabbed myself in the face leaving a long streak of gooey black on my nose. "******" I whispered and licked my finger to wipe it off. I laughed again, my hand still at my face. "This is one of those significant moments" I realized. "I'm not sure why though."

2. 4:21 PM - After School  - Way Home From Orthodontist Appointment
She stroked my hand, which was flat against my leg. "Sorry honey, just because I am a little disappointed because of what happened doesn't mean that." I was silent, staring straight through the windsheild. She sighed and pulled her hand away. I fiddled with a rubberband, my legs crossed beneath me in the passenger seat. I was hurt; I thought we were done talking about this. Hadn't she forgiven me? Like it mattered. Telling her was the right thing and there's nothing more I can do. Light Gives Heat by Jars of Clay came on the radio and as I looked through the rain, repeatedly punching my window, I felt something well up inside me. The feeling that actors must get in dramatic movie scenes. Closing my eyes, I imagined I was in a movie. That it was about me, that I would win whatever I wanted in the end and that I was clever and beautiful. "This is a significant moment" I thought. "But not like this morning, not at all."
I looked over at her, she was expresionless, tapping her finger gently on the steering wheel.
"Maybe I'll post something about this on HelloPoetry later." I thought.
SE Reimer Jan 2014
(How A Reimer Became A Rhymer)

boarding school
what’s a child to do
assignment from a forth-grade teacher
write a poem that expresses what you love

well, being a fifth of five siblings
(that’s six in all)
and never before
being ever asked
to express anything 
that anyone 
might listen to 
at all,
let alone about what he loved...

and what’s more,
teacher never told him
a poem didn’t need to rhyme all the time,
that free verse would substitute...
just fine for a rhyme
so again i say,
what’s a child to do... but write
(or find a rhyme that speaks his heart).

couldn’t write (or so he thought)...
so find a poem, an inspiration
he must,
to get his poet’s juices flowing,
but where, and how...
and so he asked his teacher.
“Ms. Vreeland, teacher fair,
to find my poet inside
where or where would a child look?
perhaps a script that i could read,
perhaps, perhaps a book... perchance?"

"here, try this," she told him,
"this will help to know the score,
read, indulge, become as one,
and let your inner poet soar."


so, read, he did... and find, he found,
a write that had the very bound,
the rhyme, the sound,
the symbol of a land he loved,
his own by heritage, though not by home,
the pride inside he felt,
victory his, the hand was dealt.
Alfred Tennyson, a Lord they said
his writing rich, his perfect words
this, the prize, a perfect guarantor
in just an instant chosen for
the frame, the whole, 
changes, two, or one... no more
and he’d be done, the perfect crime
did i say crime, no! i meant mine,
for would not *your
changes make it thine?

and here his twisted thoughts he’d wound
became untwisted, crashing down
how and why? quite simply done
because all he changed was simply one
from one word, "azure," 
to one word, "blue,"
who, would think that this, would do?
no one, right? not even you?
not i, for certain, that’s for sure,
yet, it was i, 
the one who swallowed this dark lure!

so, here's Alfred’s version, and next is mine
don't you really love it's rhyme?

ALFRED’S
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

MINE
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the blue world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

and turn this in, he did
and heard from her, she wrote *”Very Good”

but, who knew she’d think that this deserved
an entry in a book of verse
who thought that anyone 
away back home where he was from
ten thousand miles away,
who would ever wonder, ever know?
yeah, you guessed it... busted!
his fingerprints so easily dusted
exposed, cover blown,
bad seeds sown 
came home to roost,
except...

that's not where this story ends
for he is me and that day was born
a poet no, but rhymer sworn
in name for sure, but so much more
for it was this, that opened door
to what he's become
has come to love
and this is when this Reimer
became a lifelong rhymer!
for what's a child to do, but...

become a poet... i suppose!
post script.

i would say more, but why risk incarceration?  dare mention this, to any one... whether true or no, i promise to deny any knowledge of these events...

SE Reimer... who?

a.k.a. Steve
Daniel Barlow Jun 2010
Us
Soon great distance,
Will delay us so, and so,
No thoughts or visions,
Can invade reality yet,
Trustworthy you are not,
And you conclude the same,
I’d bet, yet this I promise,
To save you the premise,
Better things are coming,
An end to your bitter living,
Untwisted, no longer tangled,
Protect and reassemble,
Your broken self I’ll handle,
From now through then,
Live however needed,
Commit treasons,
Cast a seed,
Wherever pleasing,
It all leads to a freedom,
Everything happens for a reason.
Amaris Oct 2019
They dance through my dreams
Golden rounds, silvery circles
Endlessly turning
Infinity untwisted
A memory, a potential
Promises unfinished
Ours did not match;
The first sign.
Lucanna Sep 2012
Last night
I shed my black slacks
like shedding a sticky solemn skin
I opened up my arms,
feet twisting among the mauve carpet
I soared over the couch
caressing the curtains
they posed as my truest
partner to my fluid fiery dance
I shook out all the anger
that had been launching out of my pores
I twisted my arms softly over my head
shifting the ache and pain
from my chest, through my stretched out arms
all the way out
to the popcorn ceiling
I arched my back, lifting pointed leg
bending all of those burdens
out of my bones
I untwisted my tightly knit bun
and let all my curls fling
hurling the insults
out of my tresses
that I'd been carrying
on top of my head
all day
Finally I knelt down
as an ellipse
to the dance
that I will pick up again
the next time you enter my world.

I'll never let you hold me captive.
Don't mind my overuse of alliteration. :)
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2015
gift me,
untwist me,
unasked,
with kindness, caring,
holiday wrapped,
with a grace
that is
reserved for humans,
that is

precisely astounding

that I need thank
whatever deity that breathed life into
this sinking vessel this morning
for the opportunity to state,
untwisted, unasked,
thank you...
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Suddenly, twelve poems flavored Christmassy came to me to give away for the fun of it, the hello of it, I may say, corn, that's okeh.

Thursday, November 01, 2018
1:14 PM

So what?

that justifies, just ifs this olde dude from the desert,

into real-ification in 2018 Christmas forever story,

Wow. Who knew? Little drummer boy, remember?

What can I bring to him? Who even mentioned
us giving? Honest, what could you give

Christ, the anointed, promised, messiah, message
******* up to be angel choirs in heaven's spotlight,

good news, aka the gospel or spell, which is no unintended
causality, BTW. be tee dub, we say.

the good news, the scary angels sayed, that not too cold

night to be out and about with the little lambs, that time
o'year, good tax collectin' time,

celebrate that. Taxmass. Okeh.

This is a Christmas story of the sort that can twist things other wise twisted to be untwisted in this peculiar way.

Wicked is as wicks are wont to be, twisted wit' a bit
o'this
the ****** things all explode. Abit o'that, they light a candle in the thinn-ist-light-o-night,

And, when the battle's over,
"IT IS FINISHED" has been muttered,

we won. That's done. Merry Christmas,
God rest ye, merry, gentle men,

twixt the trenches, 2018.
Jah, twelve days of Christmas, twelve poems, to me it feels like Christmas, opening well bought, hard sought gifts from unexpected realms of reality. You get what I'm sayin?
Simran Nov 2015
I want to be said beautiful
But it shouldn't be uttered by the cursive of your lips
I want to be seen as ****
But never by the lust in your eyes
I want to be intellegent
But not identified by your lack of brain cells
I want to be known by my self
Untwisted
Unfolded
By
**Me.
Kewayne Wadley Oct 2016
There loomed a certain belief,
One that exhaled soon as she passed.
A sudden urge that fizzed over soon as the bottle opened.
Now granted you can still drink a soda once it's shaken
Most would replace desire for that of another, the discord
Of being splashed in the face by the very desire one in the same.
Drops of truth splashed everywhere seen as backlash, a sort of wrath
Spoken but never heard.
There was something about the contour of the bottle,
Fixed thoughts filled in ovulation.
Everything kept inside.
A certain vengeance that loomed in bliss.
If not handled carefully doom was immanent.
Each time she walked passed he'd shake the bottle more vigorously.
A cold fizz that quenches every desire steadfast with reality.
Curious he looked at the bottle, wanting to quench this need
He placed his hands on the top slowly unscrewing.
Her eyes connected with his, everything paused.
For the first time in a long time everything was beautiful
Sharing a brief look relaxing his shoulders.
He untwisted the top, for a moment she sighed
Feeling a release she hasn't felt in a long time.
His hand smooth against the contour of the bottle
He placed his lips against the bottle easing her to quench this thirst he's waited so long for.
This urge that dried the well of his throat.
She refused him the pleasure of her, keeping her fizz to herself.
Now he knows what it's like to be on the outside looking in
Slur pee Jun 2016
My smile stretches for miles over the dusky red horizon
The sun stays floating, frozen in time
Burying itself in the sky it dies in.
My pulse is not ignited,
Though I promise, I'm excited.
My soul has been lifted, and untwisted
Thoughts cleansed and thoroughly sifted.
I'm a misfit in perdition-
No wait, gifted with new vision!
Everything sparkles and it glistens
And if you listen, there's an ocean
Full of songs of positive emotion
That beckon for my heart to close in
On the darkness of her deepest depths;
The secrets to her mysterious.
Or should I stay floating on the surface,
Does that seem more melodic?
I found happiness and caught it,
In the pit of my stomach.
Bullets and butterfly wings,
I told you I'd shoot, but you didn't believe
Why didn't you believe me?
Oh god, here I am wishing
That you would have believed.
I'm so, so, so happy-
So joyful and free.
Can you not see it,
In my smiles made of sunrise and sunset
Guilt, regret, and death?

-SLuR
Jack P Mar 2019
let us try brave resolve
till tongues untwisted
doing the ritual whisp
where found its rhythm in the breeze --
cocked back like a hammer
cutting through the silence
was the creaking of an open palm.

would you like to go for a swim?
it is cold and it is dark
but parts of us dispersed
across the eavesdropping tide
makes for a wonderful place to drown.

...

a secret is like a burden,
when it is shared, it is halved.
i'd love it if we made it
Ken Pepiton Jul 2023
Vu. { as long as any story's told wrong}

- suffer not a novice to teach

No bet. Nothing wagered, no pledge to be paid,
no bet was made between the unspeakable name,

core processing access id-entity… we'll call Truth.
And time, if there were a wager, Truth be against Time.

- thus we develop a worth for attention.

The way life works super resiliently, bouncing back
after starry chaos leaves a constant possibility
for truths beyond our scale of instant relativity
to manifest as seems with none the wiser,

the sun could flick us from existance, and be
acting as naturally as all such suns act
after a while, maybe

seven minutes ago.
---
listening to me bellyache and moan,
woe is me I am good for nothing.

Hmmm. I could just die, but then, there
would be just cause to believe me selfish,
and selfish is something I try not to be, in fact.

Information flow, twists awry through held truths,
never taken apart to reset the spring.

Nietsche was wrong about a lot of things.
Knowing he had a voice he could
convince himself was otherwise,
he had a real raw idea of God.
That's good.
Not useless, mostly used up. Flame.

That's what the real old *** in me said.
Fretting naught,
letting go all wishery wasery,
growing old effortlessly,
be causing, as wishes are supposed,
sup-post,
same as prayers properly aimed, to
be collected to be
be answered, as information related
to pain in the brain or heart, or core
mental effort processing part, which
detects and destroys the infecting barb.
Just in time.
Release relief, unbelievable lies,
pile into icy dams, late spring
in truth
past all thorny issues,
life is not intentionally difficult,
ants - the super colony kind
run vast ecology balancing systems,
on auto pilot, pure intuitive duty drives.
On a global scale, spreading without war.

We can see we can be better rich than poor.
We can see we live on a wet ball spun
along a spiral in a spiral in a spiral, and so, on
and on and on, looping the grand loop, a little
farther along than last time,

our eyes have seen the glory, our children
can imagine thought speed, information passing

as time carries matters to gravitationally bound
points past which nothing is ever the same,

because you, cause me, to cause you to imagine
we share a plane conscious level,
as we stare across the heavens from JWST,

just adjusting reasonable focus, is it asking
too much? Asking to effect the healing
with truth that cannot be denied, and be truth
indeed…

Whatsoever, whensover, so today is fine,

infinitely fine, as a whole time bit, with us in it.

Who arranged the world's laws of nations,
?
not men in my general class, retired disabled
boys used in immoral warfare, and paid glory

and allowed to march in war winner parades,
even though, Wounded Knee and My Lai,

fester under America's Exceptional Blessing.

Agricultural superfluity, aided by machines,
and the modern incarnation of king control,
usurious
war debt, cost of plunder,
always need latest enemy detection tech.
- Confidential is above us all down here.

Who you gonna call to collect on reneged
deals, see the big picture, be visionary,
wars are lost for want of a nail, a nail
that woulda been seen missing, if the smith's
bills had been paid in time for precharge inspection.

Who allows evil to prosper,
who prospers from peace never made?

imagine you're the powerful and magnificent
leader of North Korea, or a Metro-mega Church.

You quote Lincoln, and agree with the great
promoters of idle time boredom prevention,
knowing you can fool some of the people,
all of the time. And some of the people
a predictable percentage of the time,

and all the people, after a while.  

Oakridge radiant Gospel,
"you listen too long
  you do eventually die."

- and thus it came to pass
- none found fusion, pfft.
Deep mindtimespace silence

Nonsense to any, therapy to me,
the effectual fervent prayer,

which is really
closer to need announcing, auto
awareness, missing pieces, up
ethos more or
pathos, up path of logos,
as winds winding times
recurrency circuits
up right
is not.
Down is not. Here is midway,
midterm… middle distance
**** sapien augmentedus
in the net spread
in the sight of radio beacons.
submicrowave accuracy,
acutron concept of counting
seconds worth of your attention

Practically stretched
past tensile strand strength

stretching to a C-note,
harmonica

calling all my musing friends,
come hang with me,
in my tree.

In the forest of humanity,
the ant intuitive interconnecting -umph
-- last stack, let patience prove possession --
---- Pa-airing Suckacessfull…
Yeah, blue tooth vestibular augments.
-- I can hear birds now.
Who is on war's side, if this were after
I made my case and closed it,
this is the future when we have
global access to once secret libraries.
5g- ****… radio directly individuated,
as once first accounts were coded, so
now, we are our comm device's user,
we filter using truths we used
and proved just so, we lived

asking truth to show itself in ways
a mortal who labored fifty years,
could be led to expect, jubilee,
boom,
I am free, and I am not uncomfortable,
U may read my mind and find news,
formed from used theories untwisted,

and stretched to the extent of one man's
heart fire, expanded with knowledge,
edified with activated agape, lief be,

take a second, what's such a bit of being
left alone, at second glance, become,

some kinda curious thing, clap trap.

****, all wishery is yours, it's time again,

to review the prayer/wish fullfillment section.

Did you, dear, oh, dear, what, what makes
dear the lessons life teaches for your attention,

no price, a quote, a song
"Come, all you who are thirsty,
come to the waters;
and you without money,
come, buy, and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without cost!"

Isaiah 55, thriving on hope deferred,

refer again to the references,

decide yourself if you believe James I of England
was at any point a person you could work for?

My task is not to teach, unless my life proves
worth my continuing continuance, thinking

plinking, *** shots, clang… in the olden days,

when a family could live by a prentice knack,  
for taking things  apart, to play new roles,

as whole days that may be shared with wary
few, readers readied by experience, to become

as ware, soft, observant, paying eyeservice,
alert for entertaining clap traps when we all laugh.

Okeh, in a dark bijou-kiva, place where aspirations
are presented to the gathered together
to be entertained, de-brained, turned off, and

let be so, the picture show, as it were,
in the so esoterical initial induction, holiness exposed.

It is all in what you did not know, that makes
what you know now, worth living
through.

Yep. Fishing for a whole reality blessing
as living water
does occur to us as time,
we live in the flow, but we row,

because war rules the world we were born in,
and all the churches of messages etched in spirit,
written in light, of course, as on the silvered screen,
live to preach divine rights as old as lobsters's
stacking urges…
tapping scratching

And fire and memories paradiddling
cloudy smoky misty
shapes and shades noise uselessness knowing inspiring
zingers written on the door post, for good luck.

I read a coloring book, once, at a mall, in La Jolla.
"Grandma keeps a Kosher Kitchen" had a scene
to color yourself into, as a curious child noticing,
the little thing Grandma touched as she came in
from the garden of herbs and flowers for bees,

"what is that for?"
In the uncolored coloring book, it was so nonchalant,
"Good luck."
Grandma's grasp the lucid concept.
- food you know not of, love… luck
Thanks given. Praised be.

Long stories, should only be told as true,
if you, personally… lived to tell it, with no sugar on it.

Bitte, Schön. And so it goes. Kosher us, unclean other.

And what am I? Wild child left between the pillar
and the post of an aspiring great man, whose hopes

were dashed, when he crossed a line, in other peoples
ways of sealing soul stealing redemption agreements,

with a shotgun one potential solution…

by the grace of good luck from any source such
luck appears to have kept me breathing, aimlessly

as I imagine a spirit might decide, in truth, one breath
let go , allows a sense to follow, as glowing cardboard ash,
as the teller zones across old causes fought for and won,

which winning needs another singing, which cheek
this time? Which last laugh is led upto, now,

as I acknowledge the precious readers who form
the recognostic think thank thing,
deja deja
This has a sunset with it on Facebook and kenpepiton.com
Stu Harley Feb 2017
unwinded
untwisted
undulated
like a
neon boa constrictor
the river
crawled
back
into
the
thick sleepy Delta
from
the
mouth of
the
yellow
bamboo river
Leone Lamp Apr 2021
I untwisted my brain today
And lay it out on the table in rows
Examined it for kinks
To see what the other thought thinks
To ask it what it knows.
I mushed it back together
But I couldn’t quite remember
What went where, or how it goes….
I squeezed it back in through my nose
And now my thoughts just flow and flow
Part of some muddled, mixed up show
All cause I examined my brain dontcha know.
~2011
You over there, observing us in despair.
I’ve listened to your cries; each wailing word that slithered out of a poisonous jar.
That tune, so disgusting and manipulative, once was a melody to many, not just me.

We hold each other’s love like a child’s innocence; you took ours, now we are rendered empty.
And I dare you not look at us with a lens of green, that’s not fair at all.
You say we both held your heart, I proudly state that you never held mine.
Rip our roots from its core and you’ll unleash a devastating darkness.
Not our darkness, yours.
Rip our roots from its core and you’ll delve into the mystery that is your own fatal flaw; greed, loneliness, the desire for something more.

Begging is weak. Look at you now.
The tale never stops, it’s always told. In my days and in my dreams; there’s no escape from the horror that is you.
The tale never stops; for the longest time, saddened truth that only your ‘part’ was played, only your part was believed.
Time has tumbled like stacked dominoes, it’s his time now. His time to grab back at all the things you stole, get his justice like you had yours.
Happiness tips out a river that will,
Just flow.

I want to take those pictures that are hidden in your crater and burn them to dust; there’s things you deserve but happy memories of us is not one of them.

The sea so precious, so beautiful, so innocent and vulnerable can not be treasured let alone protected by your plastic hands.
Therefore you are delusional. It was not stolen but taken away out of fear of further pollution.
Now the sea is cerulean, clearer than before; sea life swims joyous, delighted that’s for sure.
Keep your thoughts untwisted, I’ll help you untangle the spiked vines.
Because what was yours, you broke, made someone new who I love and is now mine.
What was yours, was me, but never with a label.
Misery a life with you; present day, I’m away, still shattered but that light bulb of mine glistens me to glue, and finally I’m fine.
About a girl I once knew who defined toxicity.
I, at the time, had yet to realise that she would become important to me not because of what she has done: for the person I invented her to be in my mind. She, a version of me that I despise because I am not it. But this version is not the real her, the poem reflects her true self.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2019
Sons of Belial and sons of

whatever is riding the wave of re
ality crosswise carrying
other kinds of whats
so ever
in an umph-epiphanny-trypac,
while balanced on the very
edge
of eternity, sharper than any twoedged everthought,

twixt soul and spirit,
is never
more confusing than now.

whe-
never was, a long, long, doppletop,
oweroath, a cutcoven (blood'n'all)

mental, mental, nothing is real, it's
a project

some kinds of ideas are working in re
ality,
like sci-fi, back in Hubbard's day,

crazy is owned by Patsy, in my mind
and I was not sixteen,

not like you thought. K'oughtcha.
I was fifteen

Historical ideas come in sub
kinds. That's new. Wow works here as a word
denoting proper awe,

that's good, after wattwe done t' awesome 'n' awful.

======
Time kinds of ideas differ in classes and speeds.

======
Balancing and Valencing equivalency ideas,
at the core are gravitational
deter
meaning ful syn chro no ifity ness, aside.
did that make sense?
it might.

might not.

sensibility evaluation, aha. It's here in this set
of kinds of
ideas we all thought possible.
Boo Yah'll 'n'all that..

=====
That peace past standing up under knowing
good and evil and allaboth atthat,
that
peace past real under standing, that

True rest, trust me. Winning right is worth

the effort to play the game. But I learned too late.

======
loser ideas, innumb-mersable fixet functions, not
ideas at at all, states inwaiting attributable

to the whole one feels not part of, a wheel in
the blind
watchamacallit maker's shoppe o'kurios 'n' kachinas

wheels in wheels in belts and straps and beams and nails
and stones
and chisels...

this could be the grave, we can see
it's empty.
Where's my body gone? Aha. Y'know, y'know it's about

time is all. No lie lives forever. Yet
any word once yoost to lying
may be deemed phor
worthy of all we agree to let be in it.

--- flash--- we had eight in a 55 vw, to sneak into the drive
in, drunk on somebodies seventeenth birthedays---

We interupt this broadcasting process from time to time

to stock new seedy ideas, re
deemed worth repeating,
doubletap oath idea from old sicilian proverb untwisted.

Score. Sorry, I thought. You were reading. If you got this far,
you call the winner. But the score remains
a hist oracle idea of a very old kind.

The metagame was won in time.
What eversprings t'mind and I remember promising never to forget....
longest time in a ste of draft since I first appeared here, upon a time
Keiya Tasire Jan 2020
Have you heard the saying
The strong can afford to be gentle
While the weak and unsure brag and boast?

The weak are the loudest!  
With overbearing, feigned affection and denial.
Speaking half truths to cast illusions
To veil their target's truth, as lies.

The weak love to gather an army,
of "everyone," so they say.
Why? It is simple!
To siphon your power away.
Yes, they are the "Wolves in sheep's clothing"
Climbing to the top of a mountain of victims
With their claws -n- fangs
Of gaslighting manipulations.

Half -truths and lies,
Guilt -n- shame,
Setting up circumstances,
Playing upon weakness, and social taboos.
Creating false scenarios for others to see
Gossiping and acting
All tools of their game.

Are you scorned,
Offended and hurt?
Never ever worry.
Never let it get to you!
Know, it is all for show.
This is how they magnify their victim role.
But who calls a ravenous wolf a victim,
Knowing the wolf's actions are aimed at control?!!

The wolves are very sly!
Summoning their hatchet men
to do their bidding!
To cut down the innocent,
The sincere, and pure of heart.
Stealing their virtues
Misrepresenting intent.
Are you a part of this cancerous
skurge up on the earth?!

Are you part of their inner circle?
Are you favoured and showered with gifts?
That job you always wanted?
The power, position, and money
That Screams,
"I AM RICH !!!!" I AM POWERFUL!!!
"I HAVE ARRIVED!!!"

How many people did you destroy?
How many hearts did you break?
How many times did you sale your soul?
To be showered with those gifts,
That power, and that position?

Ease your guilt if you wish.
Send a card for every follower's birthday,
Stroke their ego with a wonderful mention,
A salute, to toast both your egos!
As long as you have something to offer
You will be savoured and milked, and stroked
Like aphids in an anthill forever trapped.

Why all this effort to send their targets over the edge?
To keep alive?
To avoid the inevitable overshadowing doom?
What happened to the wolf that used to be free?

Little by little, the wolf was lead astray.
With a gentle ring in its nose
Down into the valley
Where they fear their personal evil.
Each time you did their bidding
Your nose became tighter
And your slavery more sure.

One day, it will be your turn
You will be the "One"
Their sacrificial lamb.
Be alert. Be alive. Beware.
Of their sly well placed apologies and feigned love.  
Pushing you away
Then pulling you in very close.  
Twisting and turning your truth
To suit themselves.
To suit their captain, their very own Kingpin.

Alienation, keeping you alone?
How about in shame?
Is it misleading, even your own emotions?
Your own beliefs, and acts?
Standing on your back,
They will turn you Over and over again.
Until you, their very own scapegoat, collapse.
Whether of exhaustion, mental collapse, or suicide
It doesn't matter.
So long as you dutifully do it
Moving them further ahead.

Do you realize that there is a different choice?
You can insist on holding your integrity!
Refuse to hurt another!
You can refuse to be afraid!
You can refuse to self blame,
You can choose to stands up
and walk away from the game!  

But, once as a wolf in sheep's clothing
You become blood stained
Their hooks will be deep into your soul!
Anchored so strongly by fear.

******* in the hooking and anchoring
Fear propels you on to
Denying reality,  
Denying truth
Denying even evil your own evil actions
Along the path of 8 deadly sins.
Weaving am ever thicker, forever holding web of lies.

What if you curb your hunger for the bait they set?
Denying pride, anger, gluttony,
Letting go of greed, lust, envy,
Idolatry, and sloth.
What if you take courage to make life right?
Becoming untwisted and detangled from the games?  
For love is what matters to the strong
Not power, nor greed, nor money, nor fame.

The wolves may grasp and manoeuvring for more power.
With increased desperation, 
The wolves cloaks begins to slip.
Alast, the sleeping sheep eyes are awakened
And they are asleep no more.

Do you suspect you are dealing with a wolf in sheep's clothing?
Watch their feet and watch their mask.
Test them.
Give them  a bit of their sought after desire.
Then watch closely  
Do they dawn a slight smile when they ask for control?
Do they do it again when you give a little to them?  

Watch! You will see a slight smirk,
A slight gloat, dance across their face.
It will be only for an instant.
They will not thank you.
Acting entitled, they will proceed to take control
Without a thought of you
As they climb upon your back, to stand up!
Thinking that they have scored
And wheeled their power to manipulate and control.

If you see this, there is no doubt.
Trust your instincts, your gut!
Never allow their words to dis-sway you
from your voice of truth!

Is there a wolf under your daughter's, your mother's, your sister's, Your brother's, your aunt's, your uncle's, your cousin's
And/or closest friend's sheepish cloak?
You know the one!
The one who seems to pick a fight
That comes out of  nowhere,
Without a rhyme nor reason.

Know that you never have to engage them
Or prove yourself.
You never give up who you are.
Never give up on your dreams!
Hold on to your true self!
Speak your truth.
If it is trampled by swine
Go to where it will be cherished instead.

Love, prayer, boundaries,
Living within the higher vibrations.
I gave my own wolves' in sheeps' clothing
Their own universe to do whatever they will.
It was the kindest thing I could do for all of us.

I kindly invite them back
If and only if they leave the games behind!!
And live sincerely, with compassion, and respect.
If I see they have stopped climbing on other's backs
I'd lovingly accept them back into  my world.

Yet, it is interesting
How deep my peace has become.
Oh, such peace!!!
How could I ask for more?
Some of us have our greatest challenges within our own families. I have always felt different and apart from my family. Innately my mould seemed different. As I crawled out of the pattern of family games, manipulations, power plays, and control of others for greed, power, and to show prowess as a teenager, I realized that may goals were different. I believed in a kinder, gentler, existence. It made me a truth seeker, in search of increased knowledge, peace, and love.  I don't regret that I have sprung from these roots. I feel I choose my family before birth. They have tested me, and I choose something different for myself. Patterning more after my father's love of truth, respect, and honoring others. These lessons have made me who I am today. I lost nothing, but the relationships that seek harm, to overpower. I am just not interested in these games and chose long ago to step out of them. If they desire to be in my world. I am open to real love, without games.
Munish Manas Aug 2016
GRATITUDE CAN COMBAT NEGATIVITY,
Never thought I was lacking this creativity;

She was scolding me with heavy words,
And my heart was getting lighter with each nick of such swords;

She said I must act mature n think positive about my allies untwisted,
I was simply mesmerized by d beauty of her simplicity so rarely gifted;

She opened d past wounds when I had cut my own hands......
Coz of ego n ungrateful heart I lost so many of my gems in time's sands....;

My loneliness is d fruit of my own foolish attitude ;
For I could not forgive small hurts n killed heartfelt gratitude;
Towards those millions moments that made me laugh,
Instead I cling to puny negativity like a leach in d skin of a calf;

She won my heart by renouncing any expectations in future reference,
I am sold out today one again with lords preference;

I preach aloud philosophies in aspects so rife,
She made realized how less I have imbibed those in my own life;

I'm fortunate that I got such friends as gifts from lord,
N I must honor his will n surrender to his accord;

To embrace his children without  judgmental vision,
for love n get loved is his ultimate mission;

Thus, till we share a life amongst  a company so warm,
We would feel safe as if protected by a divine charm;
In appreciation of Someone's Scolding....
Juju Aug 2017
Something has shifted.
No longer ******* I myself against you.
I overlay.
My heart is free in other planes.
My actions relaxed.

'Twas not my heart I need stop
But its twisted crave.
Now unrolled,
Untwisted,
Relaxed,
On other planes.

Yet brittle,
I fear it crisp again.
Past psychological development
describes zigzagging mama's yoyo
casually, aye publicize, (asper
mein kampf) personal woe

unpleasant memories indelibly
etched, jagged, scar outlined like ticktacktoe
solitary games invariable resultant
draw between every “x” and each "o"

metaphorical of course for this poetic,
formerly non opportunistic
generic Joe Schmoe,
hoof hound cathartic airing emotionally

rocky terrain, whereby floe
tips of icebergs with poetry I tool
examining, excavating, extracting, et cetera ***
ping to discover ring visa vis,

why this ordinary fella did not want to grow
up, when on the throes of puberty lugging
"FAKE" nostalgic memories in tow
markedly heavy impossible to shrug

Atlas off (as if yoked with an albatross) also
weighted with Taj Mahal size fountainhead
gushing with emotional phlegm like no
buddies business shockingly deadly toxic

sputum nearly killed me, the only bro
their too hoo (owl right) untwisted sisters
one older, the other younger dough
ting on this then suicidal, impassive, and

ambivalent depressively sullen self burrow
wing boy within my own wormhole unresponsive
to overtures of sincere love - self castrated
particularly social maturation grew

ming this present day subdued chap
still smarting from ravages of anorexia
nervosa, particularly wrought hardy brew
of schizoid personality disorder self

deprivation excruciating frame of mind
as I mercilessly flayed and never grew
to experience ordinary relationships,
hence though married with grown daughters,

nonetheless...pay penance forever rue
man hating price hermetically
sealed wharf from humans,... thus you
cannot reach me, - now adieu!
Asa Levens May 2023
The witch raced the sun,
sculpting the clay into a paradox of herself,
and she could not stop until the day was done.


Blood, sweat, and tears flew,
as she made, and remade,
each limb and feature, into something new.


Her nose was long and crooked
So she made his short:
No, shorter.
Even shorter, and stern, too.


Her twisted, unsteady hands
worked the clay to make skin and sinew.
And she used her essence to make him real,
before the day was due.


Blood to give him life and color.
Sweat to give him a musty odor.
Tears to give him human emotion.
Steady hands and feet to give him motion.


And when the shadows began reaching for her at near the end of light,
She knew at last, it was time to give him her sight.


She sat back.
Looked one last time at her craft,
Stared where his eyes should be at,
and spat.


Blood rushed to his face,
Sweat beaded at his brow,
Tears streamed down his cheeks
As his heart began to pound.


Short and stern was his nose.
Untwisted and steady were his hands and feet
as he clenched his fingers and toes.


The residue of saliva was sticking to his eyelids,
So he wiped it away.


When he looked, there she lay,
Shriveled by her effort,
Dead in her unspecified grave.


The witch raced til night,
to give him her purpose, her life, and her sight.
And yet in limbs and features, they were nothing alike.
He was exactly her paradox
with only one thing in mind:


First, to clean up her mess,
Then, to sculpt the clay
into a form to paradox himself
Until the dawn of day.

— The End —