There is a kinetic  c e l e b r a t i o n
throughout the entire universe--
both known and unknown;
  each molecule a universe to itself-

a world interconnected;
of sub-atomic celebrators
filling all time and space
perpetually valuing value itself

Value--
who, at its prime core
is in itself
the self-celebration
of hope/value= Love- (tagline) #healing

    and it is everywhere.
                  Yet, we.. are unaware.

Loving words
  (all that is real)
align with the celebration-
   of the kinetic-heal

and they pick up the magic
(the receivable rendition)
allowed into the receiver
through the act of volition

and suddenly we become aware.

••••


I am  melting  into   you--

and in the blend   of us
I am finding   the
c l a r i fi c ation      of me--  a
process  until today

I never believed in.

Once rolling alone
I am finding
the word  h o m e
in everything  
    that     you do

    e v er y- t h i n g.
          
                              -by paulSN

~for Woody’s pilgrimage, his exodus to Egypt~


I’m the mother of your maidenhead.
I’m the widow engorged in Ganges flames,
seeded, raised, in the coal pit born we were,
first mined, sent cross country by red rusted freight
car to the birth sac where we came~conceived.

simple, your beginning, is our end, they could
not never cut this cord tween us with an instrument
of hardened steel, cause it was god-birthed in a
steel furnace in the three river city, where we were
molten formed, fired woman, fired man, too-blackened.

you say come worship me, but I cannot, we are too
samed; the flesh of metal, the black blood of a mountain
seam, if we were to worship in our own imagery,
a sin, of ten commandment status, not a trifling,
imagine, a golden calf, an idol of our own making,
what glorious fury’d consequential if I bent knee to
love an undulating woman, a violation of volition,
between us, there can be never, the tangential of free will.


11:18pm Sat Jul 11

i'm sure
life was a peach
til he was born breach
but the inversion of his excursion
into the hands of the surgeon left him worse an'
the immersive submersion
in perversive subversion
was only urgin'
the incursion
of aspersions
for subversive diversion
as
an apparition with volition
wishin for position transition
fishin for recognition
of  ambitious cognition    
this in addition
to the malicious conditions
that stitched in repetitions
of neurochemical
         composition
       transmissions
    entailing
the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory sensory.

said the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory.

Mind is a dog
that barks, a dog
with a bone that is
never buried,
and thought like
a dog's instinct without
the anchor of volition.

Absent minded
by my own volition.
Warmly embrace
mental attrition.
State of rest
is my mission
on listless and free day

hey hey!
Big Bill
a slingin' his heart chords
Endless visions of bright sunny fjords
sigh
I am yet unescaped
            mind neatly taped
to a lonely widowers table

   mind is unstable
           find an old drunkard
untell this dark fable
i cant sleep and im feeling...
rrreaal tired.


blank unaware

can't help but

stare

into

distance.



I am absent

Lost in a sea of square boxes
these angles do not agree with nature
they do not match up to my mind's eye.
Tingles of energy wash over me
without ceasing,
drowning in energy and matter particles.
I hear what you say before you open your mouth.
I feel the walls of the masses,
crushing in their obstinacy
their willingness to not see the similarity
between the idea of reality and illusion.
For they are ideas only,
labeled and set on shelves
in neat little rows
by the scientists and philosophers of our day.
Their mantra is
"It is only our own reality,
through our individual perceptions,
which counts. React accordingly."
Do they not see that interaction is vital for a reason?
You must bounce against others in order to fully participate,
the intent is nothing if you keep it silent.
Wrapped up in false hopes and fears,
assumptions made out of gray matter fairytales
which are so ingrained,
it might as well be a genetic code.
In order to have the change we ache for,
there must be revolution.
Evolution.
I am more lost now,
with universal answers dripping from my tongue,
stardust honey
which feeds the soul
and yet leaves it aching for more.
We all want to run away from the pain,
not realizing until it's too late that in flight
we cause more suffering than we prevent.
I am older than the hills
I am a newborn babe in this universe.
I love,
I hurt,
I become enraptured
I lose my way.
in all of this I learn, change, transform, adapt.
My marriage bed is shared with Death.
Death of ways no longer needed,
to paradigms grown rusty and stale.
To lies told in good intention and the need to protect.
I have walls no more of my own volition,
nerves raw and jangled.
Brutal truths scrape my throat
grating the ears of loved ones.
How does one say
I see straight through you
?
How do you explain the x-ray vision
past all the masks
to the cowering centers of those around you?
When all you want is to scream and cry in frustration
the answers in front of their faces.
I no longer belong in this place,
chaos calls to me in balance with natural order.
I want circles and spirals
not 90 degree angles.
I want Truth
not brainwashing to lull the masses.
Slipping into madness
this reality is unreal
surreal
it no longer makes sense.
Now a round peg
with a square hole rushing to meet me.
Do I run?
Do I embrace?
I have found that I am truly alone,
trying to make my reality.
My roots are gone,
my emotions a whirlwind
I am the Universe
just waiting to see what happens next.

there are dimensions of time
sometimes entered
not always of ones own volition
a sort of hyper reality where the world
becomes a darkness with red lit shadows
It’s as if time slows down
so it can be experienced frame by frame
as if the consciousness has become
separated from the being
it is the slow decent into something unknown
of which, at this stage
it is unknown if the author will be able to
or even wants to find the way back
for there is a welcome in this wasteland
that makes melancholy love of unknown pleasures
where all looks are concentrated
fixed yet constantly absent
and on looking skilfully
it can be figured out
what terrible riddles
have been created in the head
those who know when and how it is
those who sail in memories
who are terrorized by the imagination
and who get angry with God
ask a question a simple question
which is always the same
as is the answer
an answer that resembles
the rise and fall of cryptic waves
that ebb and flow
scorching a shore of silent sorrows
lapping ferociously at the
arc of a whirlpool within the mind
whose decreasing concentric
circles **** one down
into an eternity of terrible beauty

In the heavens was written the mandate for the oldest child of the Sun and the Sea.

She the princess, oh nobly born, the oldest of three, was the model for the universe for elegance and wisdom of compassion as the philosopher child.

As she suckled on her mother, the volition of the sea, the philosopher child embraced the light of her father's wisdom as a vessel of beauty that all across all lands and in heaven adored to see.

As a gift of divine creation, the philosopher child, as written, taking form, a sage for humanity, was intended for she. The princess of innocence also loved her little sister and brother with the tenderness that is so special as she.

Upon reaching the age of wonder, her father fashioned a chariot for her to ride, so that where ever she were to travel, she could stand on ethics and scruples and not false pride. Her mother gave her horses the spirit of her volition so to pull their child across many unknown tides where on the chariot their child would be safe from contempt, dismay, envy and lost lives.

The philosopher child crossed the lands of question, where deep in its valley of many masks, politicians made laws of convenience, allowing one to wear many as one could, impromptu, they could choose to decide. She saw, that there, things could be fashioned for popularity where the vital balance of nature, being ignored, was foolishly thought not to reside.

But where ever she traveled, her father as the Sun, her mother the sea, felt safe that their daughter the sage as the philosopher child would learn the cost for compassion, and as wisdom would fill her heart so to eventually bless humanity with its redemption, with her kindness that was deep inside.

One day the princess arrived at the dark forest where the midst was thick and deep.  Creatures started to show from everywhere and reached out to hail her arrival. They said - please step down off your chariot, so to join us, as up there you are so far way and hard for us all to see as we are so low to the ground where the earth barely allows us to be.

In the kindness of her heart of compassion, trusting when she did, they then replied, that you are no better than me. The foxes chuckled in grin as making her feel as if she had to apologize for being the philosopher child. They stole her chariot and wasted her horses who cried out in fear in their terror; but yet not to be heard over all the panacea and glamour afforded in the foxes swift tide. The foxes insisted that their familiarity with her was not a contemptible form of their false pride.

In making her way across treacherous lands, she wondered deep in the dark forest wishing to make peace with all. But each who she met could only offer her the blindness of their limitations and deceit where calling it truth and where she, if to wish acceptance, was not given a choice to decide.

This tore into her father’s heart, as being the Sun he could barley shine as years of this went by. His beautiful philosopher child had suffered the evils of pedestrian false pride. The child’s mother, being the sea, wept as wanting once again to offer to suckle her with the vital elixir of life the way it use to be.

But the creatures of the dark forest, as ruthless as they were crafted to be,  had already poisoned her with the devils blood, as it hardened her veins unless she continue to drink just to have a peaceful blur of the memories in her mind’s eye. This is while many after taking what they wished from her would then cast easily her aside.

As a great dragon her father took form to swoop down from the heavens, when she could find no longer any quarter, so as to lead her to the great tree.

Here he said is the tree of life, where the archetypes as the branches and leaves you can relearn to see. Care for the matriarch as she has always loved you; respect this sacred ground and as a place of refuge, you can always return to, to rest, protected and safe from the world that still must be redeemed as you learn to rebalance the flow of your chi.

A little time past as all seemed to be relieved that the princess was now safe from treacherous beings,. But then on a clouded day a toad then did come by. Costumed as a monk with the guise of truth, sincerity and purity, he said - you are very pretty and do you remember me? We had met some time ago, but I have been away up till now  where some others must go. But explanations of my absence need not be.

He made her laugh. He made her feel light hearted as saying, lean on me. Forget all else, as all you need to see is just me. Whatever you wish to say, need not worry as I will fill in the words for you; and if you need to lie to get by, just remember that you can rationalize it as why should you really care why. In this way you can be as care free as me he did say, and I will teach you cunning facades, as there is really no upside in truth, and especially when you do not want to pay when you only want just to get by. Praise Buddha as I say to fools, as then they let me just slip by.

I will show you how in my own way in how I adore you. I will put pictures of you everywhere for all to see. I will hail how great you are and that you actually belong to, and then make sure to associate you for the legitimacy of me.  

We will have a future you and me, the way I had with others before, but as I have hollowed their souls, and with no longer their money, they have become to bore me.

But rest assured, you are different, and you are special in being brand new. For this we can have a future, but you will need to pay for it now, as currently I am a pulpier in practicing as being my own form of monk. But once I was rich as I can easily claim that again someday I could be. Perhaps Iwill pay you back then, but let’s see.

But you need not question anything I say, but just drink the devils elixir regardless if it blackens your veins. Then magically I will appear as that special prince for your eyes in their blur will to see.  Do not question me, as in handing your fate so cheaply to over, I am the only one to now approve of thee.

That tree of life, he said, must be really nice.  I hear the matriarch is a brittle as can be. Perhaps she will crack before too long where then you will give it all to me. I have stayed here and there, and now as your prince should you not offer me this place to now reside.  After all it is yours isn’t it, and you should express your rights. Do not worry as pettiness is acceptable way of life, and I want to carve that tree in the vain image of me.  Sacred what, family who, roots of you?  All this means nothing to suit the convenience of me. You should not regard these things as being as important to you as me.

Cast everything that had meant something to you before aside. It is now time for you to make all the room for me. I will give you everything you need, so don't worry. As I promised before to others, as long as you seem novel and new you will be able to laugh every day. This is the happiness which you can count on from me.  

The philosopher child’s mother did weep in seeing this toad to claim to be a prince.  Her tears as the sea awoke the child’s  father once again.   As the winged dragon he then swooped down once more from the heavens. With fury in his eyes he said, they who trespass these sacred grounds, the fire of my breath will incinerate. No mediocrity will pass unto these sacred grounds. This you can be assured, that in awakening my fury, your life then will mean little to me.  

Deep down inside, although wishing to ignore a pulsing tone, the princess being the philosopher child could in her dreams hear as she slept her soul speak - what has happened to thee?  Oh nobly born have you forsaken everything in life that heaven has written for you to be. Be fooled not by the toad of warts, as he can only be a prince of fools and not worthy of thee. Have the courage and strength to come back to the divine and shimmering form that you use to be.

Have faith as you can be the great sage, the elegant thinker where your beauty is assured. True princes will then kneel one after another to offer their hand in marriage to thee.

Make no excuse, as all can wait except for the matriarch for thee,  and be 49 days in solitude with your loving father and mother as the transformation of thee.  

Be removed from the trash that has subjected thee. Eight of these days are first required to free you from the devils blood. This is so your heart once again can start pumping again the true spirit of volition that your mother had meant for thee. Use the remaining of the days for your rest, repose, solace and contemplation where in the land of no demands no pressure is put on thee. You can face your mirrors so once again to recognize the cherished roots that compose thee.

Oh nobly born fear not and come into the light of wisdom of your loving father who in his tender love has untangled your matted snarls of your life before.  

Allow the volition of spirit of your mother to once again suckle thee. In this time, in self reflection then you can become reborn again, and transformed, the philosopher child, as divine in being, to bless humanity in the scripture you write that the heavens will then publish for thee.  

All across the earth will gather then to be blessed by the warmth of the shimmering light of thee.  Great princes that are destined to be great kings, who, in having searched before everywhere, they  will know then where to find thee.

when you accept the ‘I love you’ invite, coolly quietly
understanding this is but a summarizing way of saying,
let’s enter the gated fence to friendship, locking in & out,
the delving reveals to follow are truths more costly than
any fiction, you see only the too real, how much pain can
exist, survive, be survived, quietly thrive, just beneath the
skin’s preternatural strong thinness, holding us in, together
while yet a sieve, separating the granules of our composition,
the coarser fail to penetrate the finer cells, the molecular level
is where the sensory Alice in Wonderland world coexists with
the blunt exhaustion of so much agony, too much, and in the
early morn these words appear of their owned and freed volition,

do what you must do to repair yourself

...and you confess to understanding that to heal oneself,
you must heal others, and that separate and unequal
sorrows can somehow heal each other, praying for ex,
exfoliation, exhumation, excalibur, expelling all the ex’s
so new skin self repairs, a great miracle that, and that
human reparations are a thing you alone initiate, inhale,
fostering a belief that !we! is the solution, the only...

5:46am
11/28/20

Dear 17 year-old Laura,

Don't worry so much about being perfect
Don't push yourself to get the highest marks you can get

You certainly don't have to do it all
You deserve a break, even if it's small

You're beautiful
I know you may not think that but it certainly is true
Inside and out
Beautiful, that's you

Ignore the imperfections you see in the mirror
For only you are able to see
The "too big stomach" and "jiggly thighs"
You're gorgeous as can be

I know you're scared to graduate
You became comfortable in high school,
But the world is so much bigger,
Adventure awaits you

Please don't think that you're ugly
Boys will come and go
Focus on liking yourself
Though that's hard, I know

The summer did flash by for you
University hit you hard
Please don't be mad at yourself
For all your "unsightly lard"

You became ill and that's okay
None of this was your choice
It's not your fault you spiraled down
From listening to that voice

The hardest months of your life thus far
You sadly had to endure
Because you couldn't forgive yourself
Mental illness is a blur

Shame and stigma rotted your mind
Made you think this was your volition
Like someone gets cancer, you became sick
Becoming mentally ill wasn't a mission

Your life will slowly rebuild
The future will have ups and downs,
You should be incredibly proud of what you survived
Continue to fight those sounds

A whisper ghosts silently
Down the stygian hallway.
Follow Me
Rushes through her ears,
Silencing her thoughts as her heartbeat crescendoes.

Tempted,
She peers into obscurity,
Hypnotized by dancing penumbras.
Veiled in the shadows lie the Universe's secrets,
But she draws back.

Merely a glimpse is enough,
And she returns to evanescence.

If you evade me,
I will not enlighten you.
If you are oblivious of me,
I will not make obvious myself,
If you don't love me,
I will not seek love from you,
I you don't like me to pursue you,
I will not pursue you,
I will do whatever you intend,
Lest my resistance will hurt you,
If it distresses you,then it will distress me,
I impersonate your volition,
and I am your mother,
As an air and space I include you,
As a water you quench by including me,
As a land,I am your body,
If you cry,I cry...
If you are in distress,so will I be,
If you are blissful,so will I be,
and where by your intentions my existence around you emanates,
And I am always with you not as a thought nor physical presence,
but as an air,as a land,as a water,as a fire and as a space....
Always in contact because you are a product of my 5 elements,
And I have a memory,the memories are your intentions,
Every element that exists in and out,
transfigures with your volition,
So,if your intentions are pure,pristine,
Then you shall master my five elements,
If you seek me,then I will reveal myself....
Your seeking has to be super-intense that you could be receptive to the truth,
When I reveal myself,you will dissolve in me,
Into the eternal maternal muse....
Where bliss never cease to exist....
And then there are no intentions but unruffled reverberations.....
Seek me unto "that which is not"

Allow me to speak

Through broken teeth,

Allow me to claw

Through my broken jaw.

-

My grievous fortitude

Denies my attitude

Rejects my failures

And is my Interlude.

-

I pray to Him, my God,

and wish you here,

I ask Him every night,

But He is never there.

-

My soul is lost

In this devil’s eyes

My love for this,

with such heat, makes the seas rise.

-

I am strangled frequently

By the intestines of my intentions

My love for this melody

Was my intervention

-

My quick submission

Of life for this

was of my own volition

and love for this.

It is in the midst of cruel December
That cynicism springs forth
Lush, verdant and fruitful.

As people sit
Firmly fastened in front of computers and televisions,
    Their pale, two-dimensional illumination
    A vicious imitation of the golden glow
    Of which we have been deprived,
The trite uniqueness of each falling flake
Is regarded with the same appreciation
Held by a prisoner for the peculiarities of each bar of his cell
While mercantile endorsements
Perform their annual joyless Yuletide jig
Complete with sullenly cheery music.

Indifference plods with a purpose across the pavement
On feet uncomfortably shoved into boots
And sometimes wielding a shovel.

My own feet angrily railed against the bus-stop sidewalk
On this particular day.

I forfeited the ice-block bench on this occasion,
Preferring to crush my feet into the ground
Than to risk cryogenesis by the unfriendly seat.

I was waiting for the next vessel to drift in on a tide of noxious diesel
And take me home
So that I could put cables through my ears
And stare blankly into a vividly opaque window;
Fingers performing a well-choreographed dance
While I wrap myself in warm, gas-heated euthanasia.

As the bench reclined behind me,
She sat down upon it like a ghost.
Slight and spritish.
Silky black strands dance in brave escape
From their woolen armour
And guard green isles floating on white seas.

Where have I seen her?
This person so maddeningly, forgettably familiar?

A breath of persimmon and greenery.

She extends forth a creamy hand.
The snow eats the vibrant blood as it leaks from her wrist.

Seized by panic,
I leap from my station,
A lifesaving scarf in my hand.

Hers presses to my chest.
Her pale-sunrise lips move to my ear.

"Wait and see." She says.
"Read between the drear to find what you seek:
"That which you remember and yet have forgotten."
The vital stream returns to its tributary by a volition of its own.

Did I faint at this surreality?
Did I go into shock by it and return to my abode in an ****** ambulation?
Did it take place at all?
I awoke at home, seated in my parlour
And watered by the melted rime.

For weeks after,
I would, with expectation and intrigue,
Await her arrival at the same stop,
Search for the silky black strands playing in the crowd,
I even sought her in vain through my nocturnal oneiric haze.

Indeed, she must have been a spectre,
Either of our world or that of my brain.

Nevertheless, this I know is true:
I did feel her gentle hand against my panicked heart
And her delicate voice still echoes in my ears.

It is Spring now, and still my memory of her persists
As does my recollection what she had to tell me.
Her whisper is in the snow-melt water
And her eyes cry joyful tears from icicles.

Looking out
Around
There is a generation
Not the one with angelheaded hipsters
That were laid infamously famous
But truly a generation that is its own

Cold, calculating, as they, we, must
Be now that there is everything
There is everything here but right now
As we are surrounded by the everything that
Makes up our filled lives, we concentrate on
The nothing.
So we, they, them, I all must be cold, calculating
Networking, meeting, greeting, cheering,
Pleading for work in the everything that is
Nothing.

And as I look out, through the window
Into our generation, my generation
There is a warmness
A kindness once
unfamiliar to coldness and calculating
Where despite distance, time, values, reasons
Nothing
everything
Bonds are made

Is it this cold networking, greeting, meeting that
Allows for the kindness that kindles the fire
That keeps our cheeks warm and glowing
A soft pink in the dead of night
As we stand by kegs, cups, tables, cops, cars, bars,
By girls vomiting on their own volition or not
By boys raising hell as their families admonish but
Their cultures praise

We, Them, I, They, Us, can not know
What we, them, I, They Us are doing
Just as others didn’t know what they
Were doing, and meaning and becoming maryters for
On a clear fall day, when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky
Yet turbulence filled the air, the nation and the world.

They, We, I, Us, Them, do not even
Consider their meaning as they ponder
Fake lives on interposed mediums
Or if they are Jackies,
Or Marilyns or
Audreys

Or if laying down somewhere
just as warm as it is cold
As they touch souls with others
Means anything more than nothing
If they can hold on as they try to let go
When an entire world begs them not to

But the teenage desire to rebel is strong
And the pull of the vast of emotions is stronger
And as we seem to be losing
In clusters
The We.
I.
Us.
They. Them
The fire never dims, and the warm pink glow never flickers
Off our cheeks
And the mix of cold calculations and
Pleasant beatitudes
Combine, like a nights plans
In a gin bucket

And the thought of importance, rarely is thought
Of aside from the few
The brave
Maybe a Marine, but mostly
Those who wish to cure things, change other things
Create things, build things, code things
Things Things Things Things.
T-H-I-N-G-S
For a future of nothing and everything
Everything and nothing

The one day I don't set an alarm
that I may sleep in to my brain's volition
my mom barges into my bedroom just to make sure I'm okay.

While I appreciate the concern, how inconsiderate!
I've worked every day but today this week
and I work all weekend, as well;
plus, it's a habit to avoid sleep at night
(it's the only time I can get time to myself)
and besides, I'm twenty-*******-two;
I can handle myself, and if not;
natural selection will sort it out.

At least call my ******* phone first!
I may neglect my phone by your standards,
but that's because there's so much more to my life
than a ******* cell phone; if anything it's a plight
(or an alarm clock, but not today!)

Clearly she doesn't know I like to sleep naked.
Good thing I sleep with my curtain drawn, the music on, and lights off
(except my black light; it's an effective and badass night light)

you say fifty people
I SAY FIFTY GAY PEOPLE
you say nightclub
I SAY GAY NIGHTCLUB
you say the shooter was mentally ill
I SAY HOW DARE YOU PERPETUATE THE STIGMA
THAT MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE ARE SOMEHOW DANGEROUS
WHEN THERE HAVE BEEN COUNTLESS NEUROTYPICALS
THAT HAVE DONE HORRIBLE THINGS OF THEIR OWN VOLITION
you say this was isis
I SAY HOW DARE YOU CONTINUE TO SUPPORT THIS ISLAMOPHOBIA
THIS WAS THE WORK OF ONE MAN
ONE MAN WITH A GUN
AND NOW FIFTY OF MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE DEAD  
SO I SAY HOW DARE YOU
TRY TO MAKE THIS ANYTHING ELSE THAN WHAT IS OBVIOUSLY IS
THIS WAS A HATE CRIME
AND THE WORST SLAUGHTER
-BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT IT WAS-
IN HUNDREDS OF YEARS
AND IT WAS A HATE CRIME AGAINST THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY
SO HOW DARE YOU TRY TO DOWNPLAY THIS
TO A MENTAL ILLNESS AND AN AFFILIATION WITH ISIS
BECAUSE MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE DEAD
AND YOU SAYING well this happens to other people all the time
ERASES THE FACT THAT YES I KNOW THIS HAPPENS TO OTHER PEOPLE
BUT THIS HAPPENED TO GAY PEOPLE
AT A GAY NIGHTCLUB
AND NOW A PLACE THAT SHOULD BE SAFE
FOR MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS
AND FOR ME
IS NO LONGER SAFE
BECAUSE A MAN WITH A GUN DECIDED THAT
SINCE WE ARE DIFFERENT THAN HE IS
WE SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO LIVE

Fearful cows. Proud buckets. Sequestered and barbed.
Three freckles. A constellating of anchors.
Violating space.
The long road travelled and the long road ahead.
Each length, perfect reflection of the other.
You are travelling as a mirror. Roving.
Violating time.
Swallowing hours. Draped. A shroud of volition.
The sky is still crying. The sea is angry.
You hear it sometimes, underneath the wind’s wails.
It can hear you. Sometimes. But always it sees.
Violating mind.
What it sees sends sun to sky and turns rain to
tears of joy, collected in proud buckets, that
drizzle down, dousing the faces of fearful cows.

I think
Therefore, I am
The Frenchman said
But am I a hero
A *******
A do-gooder
A ne'er do well
I know it's up to me
Up to my own volition
To come to that
And it's amazing
How that plays out
In other I ams
Like murderers
Philanthropists
Hoboes
And does God
In some way
Tell us which one to be
He knows me
He is my essence
How could a dark thought come in
Satan is no equal
But it's his hand
That gets the credit
For evil men
But I don't understand
An iota of that
I just do
What my Creator
Put in me to do
And if I hate
Did He put it on my plate
The way to go
Is hard to comprehend
Do I consciously make the choices
I am what I am
But how much of that
Is me

Title.        Never take for granted
the greatest power, the power to choose.
                ( An Acrostic ) of 50 lines.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Never take for granted the greatest power.
             The power to choose !
Every concession,or subsidy in whatever form
       As a contribution or donation to charity
Value this as a highest prize , volition is the          
   Sacred power to choose ,use that power well
Efficacy empowering the production of results
   By marching forward in a positive direction
Ranges of choices sometimes oh so wide as to
   Make a decision very difficult indeed.

Two equally ,typically undesirable alternatives
     We get to know typically as a dilemma
An act of choosing to take up one option as
     Opposed to another to maintain momentum
Knowing that there’s no apparent option rather
   than the real , you have “Hobson’s choice”
Embarras de richesses you become spoilt for
     Choice, is the other side of the coin.

From the comparison betwixt the humble poet
      And the power hungry “Megalomaniac,
Optimising in an act of choosing between the
  two, voluntary ,of one’s own free will Choose
Rights to act or judge by your power of choice
   you may call this discretion,one or t’other

God grants such power as yet unmaterialised
    and unrealised which he labels potential.
Relinquish that potential at your peril
   you may never live to see that choice again
An area of power and influence you may get
    to understand as your domain but reflect
Never take for granted the greatest power,
   the power to choose.
Twitter and chat with all and sundry
    relatives you’re born to, friends you choose
Even if you use your power of wit n influence
   and see it as weight n clout you throw about
Delegate or depute and assign somebody to
    make your choices for you. No don’t quit !

The A to Z of choices takes no time to ponder
    If you take for granted the power to choose
Hub of influence power centre ganglion from
    which nerve fibres radiate to every solution
Even by commencing from “A”. Aha . Eureka!
   you have chosen first time lucky .But wait. !

Great though he may appear as the “Boy”
  of your dreams, will he stand the test of time?
Retiring back into your shell ,your”Colleagues“
  At work never choose to know the real you.
Every “Demi-God “or “Elder”that you meet ,
  give respect to ,spoil it all by choosing not to.
An “F” word muttered under your breath .
    A “Gender” question,which choice of path?
To “Hero-worship” then a real life commitment
      “Interpreters “ of choices thru a Drago Man
Established in the art of choice as lead by
  “Jesus” Christ “Knowledge “that it will not fail

Superimposed, will “Liquidise “and blend
    all the choices that are available “Mmmmm”
To the most “Natural “smoothie that you have
   ever chosen to drink. “Ohhhh” yes. !  

Pause and “ Pause” again ,do we really under
    stand the power of choice. Procrastinate  !
Oh put off until tomorrow, “Quit” whilst ahead
      “Realise” your winnings in the now.
Weather you “Seek” perfection ,or an easy
    way out . “ Take” heart it is your choice
Ethereal choice becomes the mother of
    invention, when and where necessities dwell
React with an un-earthly prowess and ability
   to establish what was to be the right choice.

The “ Virtual “ choice that you could have
   made under the circumstances, bono-fide.
Having and knowing you have the power
    Of choice, it leaves it in your hands.
Even if you get the choice “Wrong” this time
    it is your mistake , no one else’s

Pretty soon you will know the error and mark
  It with an “X” n strive to get it right next time
Only “You “ have this individual power
   To make up your own mind .You do, don’t you
We can all be as”Zealous “and pedantic as
   You like in life but choices win through .
Even if you can’t be bothered to take the
   Choice to read this poem, on and on and on.
Reacting in a moment of impatience.
  “ what am I doing wasting time reading this?”

To have a power of choice is a valuable power
    not granted to all people of the world.
Oh stay with me ! Tell me that you understand
    the meaning of this poem. Do I make it clear

Can you choose? Do you choose? Are you
   exercising a sacred power that you’re given?
Holy power, not given to timid mice sitting
  on the fence waiting for the right choice
Oh no ! Never take for granted the greatest
    power, the power to choose.
Onlookers and bystanders are you learning
   from any of the simple examples I have set?
See unless you see and understand the good
   and bad choices made by man thru ages .
Earth and the Universe would have failed
  In its quest to provide a Heaven that we seek
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip. 30/10/2018.

my mind grasps for words
floating on the wind

thoughts come and go
like great indifferent clouds
ignorant to
the insignificant miasma
roiling in the petri dish
below

temptation and trepidation
volition and admonition
regretful countenances
conduct the vessel
while gently noted
by something beneath

And why is it that with every sip of bourbon
I gaze into your eyes?
How can it be that I smell your perfume everywhere?
What sense does it make that I see your face in my dreams?
I have not seen you in so long yet almost every thought I have reverts to you....
Though I do not complain,
Somehow it causes pain
To see all yearn, no gain, from seeming I'm insane,
I awake with your kiss on my lips,
For false dreams and hopes, your memory sticks,
What's worse, is that we converse with quips
Of how it may have been, yet is,
You sway as the ocean's tide at dawn,
When beautiful sunlight crest's its yawn,
As innocent as a devout deer's fawn,
Yet your guile does show its brawn,
Your vision to me in dreams is steady,
Stagnant at night while my heart grows heavy,
If only you knew, if only I'd say
That the warmth for you yet grows each day,
Each moment that passes craves detention,
Respect for all my admiration,
Betwixt your legs and arms' invention,
I pray to spend each night's volition.
Of all the words in my graspable language,
You escape all knowledge of my brain's sanguine,
And of all the things I could say and do,
The plainest and strongest, I Love You.

The nights are kind
For they let me drift off
Into a deep slumber
In pitiless daylight
I ponder on the not happened yet

The flood of thought
Deadens my soul
Envy taints it
I Linger in the shadows
Perpetuating the stain
Of my ascendants
Volition is an illusion

The silence of my own silence
savagely cuts like a warrior’s machete
Dismembering the remnants
of my authentic self
The design of my misfortune
Was perfectly orchestrated by the ingenuity of diablo

Distress inhabits the catacombs of my mind
Strangling on the lasso of consequence
Perpetually atoning for unknown sins
From another lifetime.

Thunderous footsteps of wolves
Gathering at my feet
Nourish my fear
The demons of recent past are screeching
Outside my door

That which plagues, devours
The blood I lost grew cold
As have I.

When Archimedes jumped out of his bathtub
Shouting ‘Eureka’ naked down the streets,
He had finally found a way to uncover
The deceit on behalf of His Majesty’s goldsmith.

Had he stolen gold replacing it with silver
While carving the divine wreath commissioned by the Tyrant?
The Golden Crown of Syracuse to be placed on the head
Of a goddess to be tested without being disturbed.

It all began with overflow as he dipped his body in water.
It was evident and easy to observe
That some objects floated while others sank,
Occupying more or less, tri-dimensional space.

Fluids rejecting or enveloping the intruder,
Displaced proportionally to the latter’s
Volume, density and mass, led to the revolutionary
Discovery of buoyancy, sparkling new beginnings.

The understanding suggested, that if an object displaced
An amount of water heavier than its weight, it would float.
The opposite being true, an object displacing
An amount of water lighter than its weight, would sink.

Fluid’s volition to reclaim its legitimate space.

Although the system was unable to assess the fraud,
As shape came into account and a kilo of solid gold
Was smaller than the kilo of golden wrath,
Dipped into water discrepancy ignored the math.

Unpredictably, the genius found higher purposes,
Buoyancy to determine whether a steel ship would sink
Or float, make it through the Mediterranean and beyond,
Where the Pillars of Hercules warn sailors to go no further.

Non plus ultra to the realms of the unknown.

The understanding suggesting that if an object displaced
An amount of water heavier than its weight, it would float,
Bigger volumes, lower densities, empty hulls and ballasts,
Succeeded in opening the gates to new oceans and new worlds.

Buoyancy to explain why our bodies float at sea
Apparently rejected by expelling waters claiming back their territory.

Gases being fluids, air acts the same,
With the extraordinary result that a kilo of feathers
Is indeed lighter that a kilo of lead.
By 0,9 grams.

There was a time when words
would gallop through my head like
herds of horses, leaving me gasping
and trampled in the muck

of my emotions. Their hoof prints, scars,
on my mind, on my heart,
marking me as “writer,” though I felt
I did not deserve such a title.
How could I, when horses break free

of their own volition? As weeks
passed, I
began to
learn the ways
of the herds
of my mind,

the strangely
rhythmical
cadence of
their hooves on
the insides

of my skull.
Though I could
never run
with them, I
learned to ride

fast; I learned
to decide
which would run
today; I
learned to guide

their forceful
direction,
while clinging
tightly to
the first horse

I wanted
to work to
a lather.
Sometimes, when
I am weakened, we fight

for control of my pen, my horses
and I, but they
are always
just that- my
horses. Now,

though I am
only starting,
I feel I
can somehow
finally

lay claim to
the title
of “poet.”

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