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rolanda Jan 2014
there was a lonely poet
who bled his sonets to the imaginary Muse
he had never met
and gave it read to the  outcast
he met hanging on the streets and some bars..
once he met there a goddess-like looking femme
wholy destitute, he imediatly felt in love
love to the marvelous *******
it was love from first glance

yes, she was a harlot
who is usually  short on time
he somehow managed
to afford her time
in motel
with blind windows
he came
and said her he want just
drink with her wine
on what, she wanted to throw him away
but he trembled by every nerv
and she said ok,
I will meet you after work
we will drink tea
she denied the hand reaching her money
and in two hours they met again

the man shined radiant
like he catched blue bird
she was tired she asked him
what do you want?
He tell, I want paint you in words
Not for you give me a kiss
Nor for you answer on my instant love
I love you just because I dont know you yet...
she laughed...
well, ok..
you wish to know me
out to touch me?
say, why are you so afraid?
He tald,   Oh, no, I afraid nothing,
since i have nothing to loose..
but in this life I feel the immerse grief..
my mother will never love me
in the way I need
said he, and tear shed on his cheek..
the mistress looked full of intimidation on him..
she seems never sow the man tears..
and he cried suddenly so bitter that she
fehlt eerie,
this big child touched the long forgotten string of her
heart and she also began to cry..
so they cried together  quite long time
poet took her hand
and they tenderly interwined the fingers..
she said, I didnt cried for eternity,
I thought all my feelings are dead.
My mother never loved me too
but because of this i never cried or fehlt any regret...
you are so vulnerable, my stranger..
you awaking me feel something beside
my only fact, that  I am luxurious toy for the spity men
let me show you my very ****..
you will perhaps recognise that I cant be your girl...
I didnt deserve this tender tears
I am Alaska, I am numb, cold, yet I am ok with that.

No, please, dont speak bad of yourself,
I will write for you funny poems
about wolfs, sheeps, dogs and cats..
your heart will slowly melt and mend,
you will again feel and may be one day
you will let you be my lovely concubine...
I joke, he added..

but howeverwhy.. god works on mysterious ways..

since that day poet find his true muse
and she, with her wanton delight, find a waiter for her sleeping heart
this is of cause just a fairytale, but somewhere near or far away
somewhere may be it happened in real life.
jmm May 2019
you took me to your house last
night and held my mother’s hurt in
your arms made me whole again.
again i feel a sun of
an opportunity i haven’t felt since
the last time you

took me ice skating when i was five.
the snow has always felt like
entrapment to me
a boots on the ground
brawl to get above water.
as we slide on the
ice it threatens to crack beneath me and
break me by the leg that has fallen into the
thunder-rolling
ocean beneath.

but you tell a story of the time
you counted the slivers of white on the ice here,
the trembling pulse of a child’s whisper in the air
whistling through the trees.
and you dance with me without being careful
i’ve never felt so free

one day after your work decided to industrialize the father in you to death
and you decided i had died to you
and the feeling of the sun on my heart deferred
to a space on my forehead that my veins pulse out of
that next day i felt emptiness for the first time.
the ice underneath me broke me into an
avalanche of rumbling teardrops that shattered glass
and ice and
lasted for four long days.
the adult birthed in me breathed
and grew outside of my child body
and the little kid in me just watched until
her silence strangled her to
death?

today i know she’s living
child whisper whistling through my lungs and
learning how to dance in the day time
nurse the grown up to sleep
and take my space for her own
take my space for my own

for the first time today i played outside
found a frozen pond instead of that ice rink
and laid to face the sky,
fearless in the face of the wholy sun
but knowing that i am just as whole
-jmm
Jay Aug 2017
She's my manifest destiny
Queen of my whole being
She brings out the best in me
Sees me for wholy me
****, this **** is freeing to be seen for wholy me, only me
******* I've been living lowly
Living without the curves of her mouth
The spouts of sweet songs her voice moans strongly
The acceptance without judgement of decisions I've made wrongly
The commitment to forgive what we have grown from
The acceptance of the fact that we attracted life lessons that shed blessings on the future we both will be bold from
There's certain **** I can't replace like
The simple caress of my face as I lay cross her supple breast
Hearing her heart beat in her chest in tandem with mine
Heaven sent is her presence
It's life changing
Time frames hold limits within loves parameters
Don't matter to her or I for all we got is time
Time is what made us realize realness
Oh four loves jones turn out to be my whole life, whole wife, future baby mom type...
Crazy how it all turns out, how every obstacle paves the way for greatness
Blessed is the life I pray we get to make
She's destiny, I'll leave the future to fate.
KD.atl
Sienna Luna Jan 2017
and isn't strange

that i'm sitting in my car

in a parking garage

thinking of you and missing

your stupid plumb apple face

or maybe it's carved from soap

or shaved glass

fragmented by pieces

collected in bindles

followed by bundles

of the joy i used to have

of the sleep i used to get

of the energy i used to take

and isn't it strange how

i have no desire to have you

all to myself for you are

an automous being that

breathes and thinks and acts

wholy different than me

but i can't help but miss you

and your kiwi colored eyes

with the seeds cut out

dipped in a ring of gold

and like smegal i yearn to

hold that precious ring of gold

in my shriveled hands

even though i know

it'll corrupt me

but i'm drawn to mordor

all the same



that's what it's like

missing you



wanting to go there

even when I shouldn't



and isn't it strange

that my world is shifting

complicit and complicated

a deficit of the senses

a pull from the void

a shake of the head

with such filigree i am sated

but blinded by such yearning

to touch your hot skin

feel it rest

against mine



again but



maybe i'm too addicted to sparks
TJ King Mar 2013
News Flash:
                     Religious Science has created life!
                     With heat and pressure
                     and Sounds Sounds Sounds!

                     Watch their lead-boy
                     dance and sing
                     recordings placed in his
                                    chest
                   ­  by People Who Know.

                    Listen close
                    to his strictures about what
                    is abominable
                    you can hear their voices
                    in the crackling gray
                    noise:
                    
            ­        The buzzing of cieling fans
                     in offices far away, Oz
                     The humming chatter of
                     "The maid found a dove
                     drowned in the pool!"
                     "Oh, how unsanitary,
                      truely abominable."

                      You really should see
                       him dance
                       in the Starstudded Ballroom
                       where the wicked pace
                       in the side-halls
                       dreaming of childhood summers
                       at the lake
                       and kisses in the morning.

                       Holy Science has smithed life!
                       Holy bullets smelted a fine
                       man.
                       Wholy Holey Holy Bullets.
When I was young, they would look at me and say
"Who ever heard of a kid
With his feet in the clouds
And his head so far away you don't even know
Where to look for it?"
They saw that crazy energy in my heart
And those weird ideas in my head
And they looked at me and said
"A kid like that
Could never succeed in school
Because he's too wrapped up in imagination."
So I decided they were wrong
And I poured my soul into it
And when I had something I felt I could be proud of
I brought it forward
And they looked at that perfect test and said
"Whoever heard of a kid
So proud of some story he wrote
For some silly exam
That he wanted to show off?"
They saw my happiness
Over this thing they thiught so trivial
And they laughed
And they said
"A kid like that is proud of all
The wrong things in life
He still doesn't have his feet on the ground
He's still too crazy."
And so I, determined to be what I thought I should
Looked at myself
And took stock of the things they
Thought were silly
And I put them in a little wooden box
With a little iron lock
And little black letters on top that read
"A kid"
And I marched off to be something that
They had led me to believe
Was better.
When I got there and started to toil
To pour ny heart and soul
And all that I could into this work
They looked and me and said
"How can some teenager
Ever work this hard
Without stopping
To be a kid?"
And they sneered at me and pointed and said
"There must be something wrong with him."
So I took a few things
Out of my box
Being sure to lock it again
And when they saw these new old things
And watched me using them
They scowled, and shot me distateful
Looks
And they turned to each other and said
"He just wants to have fun
How is that going to help him?
He ought to act more
Mature."
And I, now at my wits end
Broke my back and sacrificed sleep
For coffee and textbooks
I, now at my wits end
Sacrificed long summer nights for hours
Spent staring at a screen
Straining my lifeless eyes
To work when I should have been playing.
And I returned to them
With all my achievments in hand
All my worldly work
And they looked down at the pile
And they said
"Shouldn't you try to have fun?"
And finally I lifted my headAnd I looked at them and at their
Bitter looks
Hollow eyes
Their tight mouths
And unhappy, looming brows
And I asked myself
"Why do I want to be
What they say I should?
Where did it ever get them?"
And I dropped my things and ran home
And prayed I was not too late
I pulled out my little wooden box
With the little iron lock
And the black letters that read
"A kid"
And I picked up the things inside
And gathered them out away from the box
And back into me
When I was done there was a little part of my soul
Where there had once been a hole
And in little black letters across the front
It read
"A kid"
And I smiled once more
Now wholy sure
That I could always, in some way be
A kid
Willow Sep 2018
There on the tar
Lies paint with a purpose
We wander too far
Over the lines of hierarchy
Destined to face the consequences
Set by the ones whose eyes
Have experienced this all before.

Troubled souls state simply
That lines are meant to be crossed
They say this with impulse in limbs
With zero regard for the tarnished ending.
Souls of this demeanor
Will never wholy construct the finish
Solely being because of velocity.

You’ve state the line is blurred
The paint is worn or faded
Yet I still stand here listening.
This road has been shattered by youth
The less weathered assume the sun
Would’ve dried the paint by now.
Little do they know
The paint has always been wet.
Pt. 1
Hira malik May 2017
What she finds in him
When whole night he keeps exploring her body
Every night, and other night
As if,or might be some new plant has sprouted from her seed,
As if eating fruits from its branches, mandatory!
But,
What everyother night her seeking eyes see nothing,
For the tenderness she needs ,
Only!!
For a woman is made up of light bkue sky
And pale coloured sand
Wind v fragile
And spark too shallow
And this tenderness encapsulates her wholy!
With trembling hands
Everyother dark night
While her stature he loves
Her hands goes to his heart
To find tender part
But it still is a story of everyother night!
PK Wakefield Oct 2013
who are you
to peer beyond each thing newly
truly to
beyond peer things newing? (i mere things knewly

when yoully
were but twoly

truly.)

Beyond peer things

, wholy?
Thomas W Case Mar 2021
Religion and faith are
for naught, if there is no
heart change.
The only thing holy about
Some people, is that they
are wholy mean and cruel.
Once again, I'm ripped out of
my daughter's life, because
her mother's religiosity is
In vain.
Even with her pretend
relationship with god,
small g on purpose,
she's still the most brutal
human being I've ever met.
I miss you baby girl,
Daddy's just a prayer away.
I shall carry your body
Across misty mountian ways
Wrapped with
linen and holly

And lament the crooked paths
Of the leather footed thieves
With restless
dirks and brandy

The earth shelters your secret
Under water weathered stone
And i'm left
ever wanting

While grieving and broken breaths
Sing through outlawed ancient pipes
They focus
grief so grandly

One more lonely kiss goodbye
Upon painted wordless lips
A last wish
whispers wholy

But shouting and sullen eyes
Scream my naked barren name
While grinding
Dreams to nothing
Not all doors open once they have been shut.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
i never write "anything"...
i'm claustrophobic when its comes to
exploring cognizance...

'wow! what a fancy word!'

i hardly beg to differ...
i hear of people fathoming the novel...
and...
i'm a monolith monstrosity...
some bourbon, some german:

ich bin gut zu gehen: ja!

spucke bourbon au zu mein gesicht!

i will never write a novel,
i deal with butchering an animal
for: ein stück von fleisch...

"a novel" und barockarchitektur:
sounds similar?

oh but it's a freel available tattoo
in the anglophonic frame of ref....
Hastings, 1066...
hard to come by when the tattoo reads...
ahem...

Tannenberg, 1410...
Vienna, 1683...

clear-cut... almost safe-net catch-em
while you can...
the Hastings folk were pagans...
don't you know?
don't you know that only white
people can be racist?

pst... ask the russians "about that"...
see what you come back with...
i will have to...
S'****** at the reply...
no... honestly: "because" it's forbidden for
us former iron curtain "roma" folk...
**** dastardly's dog: muttley... S'*******...
giggles in...
we former folk from the eisenvorhang...
coming across the californian:
siliziumvorhang?!
where are we... polacks...
hunagarians... czechs... estonians...
lithuanians... ukranians...
yugolz... at?!
we don't fit the narrative... do we?

it's the 27th of december...
and i'm "thinking"... it's mighty fine...
to celebrate something with the aestigermani!

the children of ***** sought a father...
the children of gomorrah were akin...
i do not know whether i am
a father figure or whether:
there's that pointless safety question
to mind: did i wear a ******?
i was assured! i was assured there were
contraceptive pills involved!

i'm tired on the usual steaming-heap
pile of warm ******* and ****
to give a psychoanalyst his rhetoric
elevated status of disinhibition...

cocktail! madonna's papa don't preach...
dusty springfield: son of a preacher man...
and any other formidable calypso
study of salsa... should this sugar baby
this sugar baby be my baby
and if i would never become a sugar daddy...

and because i was only ever looking
for the six oops-stones of womanhood...
infinity: eh... bag 'em one weekend...
forget 'em the next...

god... let me this one type of racist...
Jefferson keeping "green things" akin
to Zoe Saldana in some variation
of a "basement"...
i'm good with green...
use enough cumin, coriander or
cinnamon powder in your cooking...
you'll ask: what's wrong with green?
i'd **** green! i'd **** green sitting down
i'd **** green of the sort sleeping!
i'd peacock myself in many variations
of drunk to stage:
that one sober sort of **** with her
and... it's no samantha 38g and...
classics come to mind...
homer, horace... and plump models
of: extra cushions!

ha ha... i make myself laugh:
i make myself laugh because:
there's about zeo chance of me...
conjuring up a novel ambition...
me and a novel...
a "supposed" schizoid and a novel...
ha ha! Noel! Noel!

there was a time where i grew a beard for a reason:
i.e. exercise less..
grow a beard, hide the pride of a walrus
minus the harem...
double chin and the...
Zoe Saldana in green skin...
octopus fucky-fucky or what?

- never mind -

grow a beard... hide the shar pei...
i figured over time...
my beard became a giza pyramid
focus of my eyes...
it took some persuasion...
namely 4 years and my grandmother
finally pointing out:
oh look how thick it is...
she wanted to play g.i. joe with...
prior to: my hair...
like some thor meets barbier universe
dolls extravaganza...
a hard-on waiting...
with an ava lauren limp twist...

"oops".

now the beard is all about...
being 34 years old... while donning
the *** leftover skivvy look
inflating the organic body for a media
frenzy to "compenstate" it to be aged:
49!
ha ha...
i keep forgetting why i'm in such a good mood!
today is today! and i'm...
and i'm not allowing myself to succumb
to an anglophonic seriousness
of staging an elvis costello seriousness
of: everyday writing the novel...

pst: sounds better than that obvious...
"nook 'n' cranny"...

my alternatives!
minnesang - neidhart:
meie din liechter schin!

weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt:
lassen uns singen!
lassen uns geben loben!
lassen uns männer verlassen
der mutterleib!

ensemble für frühe musik augsburg -
mayenzeit one neidt...

jetzt kommen der lieder:
zu gesungen! für alle das jahr!

i guess i grew a beard to hide a shar pei...
then again:
perhaps i grew a beard to pretend to
fiddle with a throng of violins?
perhaps i found growing my hair long...
i had to compensate!
i had to exfoliate in the downward
spiral and exchange...
oi! baldy! baldy!
i can juggle! i can juggle!
i can grow long hair and a beard!

but never the two at the same time!
germany and the nazis...
i just can't stiop thinking about
the lucky... those frivolous drunks
of the holy roman empire...
esp. when peering via their folk songs...
i call it: having to succumb to
english prune and pristine pressures...
even these days...
being wholy saxon is to be:
most unwholesome when it comes
to the german federation...

it's called cheating:
eatin saxon white soy
and not... riddling oneself
with Bavarian rye!

i'm drunk! it's the 27th of december!
the little ******* is born!
now i can celebrate!
chevalier, mult estes guariz!
on the 27th of december i can sing
german, and french crusader songs!

on the 27th of december i can celebrate!
nothing has to be left so innocent
and passive! so coddled!
and if they weren't singing byzantine
chants... prior to this day?!
let them sing no more!
i have found my happiness! once more!

Ö dies freude!
jetzt ich können: singen!
einst die kinder und engel...
ar legen zu bett!

if i am to be the integrated kind...
now i rejoice!
for i have all the reasons to rejoice!
i do no have to pander
to a babe!
i do not have to force myself
into elevated expectations with
a pre- litany of the omni- suitor...

now i can champion the romance
of the crusade...
i am... freed from the utopia...
that only one heart is allowed
to feel... and its feeling is to be contested...
solely by the sacrifice of a crucifixion...
not by iron maiden outlets "etc."...

now muttererde...
ihr liebhaber: wind - seine unterschrift!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!

it's the 27th of december and i can finally
celebrate with songs...
that... celebrate the sort of christianity
i am accustomed to...
french crusader songs...
german folk...
that i can stomach...
not this... pandering...
expecting the nuns to not...
somehow, not, become...
the ****** of the christ-harem!
a nun is a nun is a nun is a nun...
is a nun...
but i very much like...
being considered...
for... the better part of the feminine whim,
outside the realm of:
the usual rejection tactics of:
the aborted... i like my exercise of yielding:
DAS WORTE... ooh... chisel that
with a base goosebump strut to be worth
being added!

em... it's almost like that...
time-travel question of:
why not travel back in time...
and **** the baby adolf ******...
dunno... no point doing that with a jesus...
since... m'eh... his cross is our
genuflexion... yes: kind sir...
yes mr. greek and mrs. hebrew...
esp. in this script...
esp. when its alive and "we" debate...
the pronunciation of:

nil admirari prope res est una, Numici,
solaque, quae possit facere et servare beatum...
hunc solem et stellas et decedentia certis
tempora momentis sunt qui formidine nulla
inbuti spectent: quid censes munera terrae,
quid maris extremos arabas ditantis et indos
ludicra, quid plausus et amici dona quiritis,
quo spectanda modo, quo sensu credis et ore?

there's nothing to be surprised by, Numicious,
in this life's mainstay, peace of soul and happiness;
others, onto the sun, the stars, azure bodies...
on the round year of orbital changes, look with
a calm... and you would, upon the gifts of earth,
pearls of the sea, what of the distant Arabs,
Indians beyond the Arabs,
on the Kwiritow (googlewhack...)
Quiritus' honours, questionable plaudit: peer
raptured in awe without measure?

a very ******* bad a very ******* terrible
translation... as you do...
as you do... sinking into bourbon...
thinking about... maritza mendez...
sylvia loret... samantha 38G...
and all those lost plump classics of *****...

i would have sunk the Potemkin!
drunk... i wouldn't even require
a sober catch / scrutiny of "character"...
because now i am yet to translate
some latin, use this... ahem...
pseudo-cuneiform text:
"LATINE QUOD MORTUS EST"

perhaps that's mis-translated as:
qua: i.e. "as being"...
perhaps MIT... some runic...
or glagolitic... we AWAIT: the revival!
of the grand h'american protestant church
of apocalyptic wonder!
maybe, perhaps... "then"!

but it's the 27th of december...
the... "messiah" is born!
now we can reroute and go back to our...
current year... ***** and gomorrah type
of *******...
the cosmopolitan whoop-t'd'ah is 'ere!
come easter, come spring....
come the crucifixion! come the resurrection!
Qualyxian Quest Apr 2019
No, it doesn’t work
But Yes, I still protest

Sure, they think I’m cracked
At least that’s my best guess

I wish to raise my voice
Before laid to my rest

We’re better than Donald Trump
But we’ll be worse unless

We open up our hearts
better angels, Yes

the future for the brave
the brave the whole to bless.
Ken Pepiton Nov 10
Incorporeal,
in bodiless form, in spirit
in truth;

from out, looking in,
from now, seeing then
from whence all laws arise;

thinker thoughts,
tinker toy's and dams,
tin solder solutions

"Solutio!" or did he say
"Salute!" loose salubriety?

Endlösung, wholy reforming

all the whys in Userous tyranny,
all the reason in Balance of power,
all the mastery in War against peace…
knotting
strings
of coincidence crossing the wake
of where we were truer sets
of posed causal effects,
twist and shout,
your own salvation,
in the end,
work it on out,
when you live ever after,
what you gonna do?

If it's up to you, of course.
Unbraiding dread knots, loosed from mortal coil, then what... there being
after waking here once more, to offer a thought in the empty after math.
When I was young I didn't understand,
I was mislead and not taught right from wrong.
So I stole, I lied, I fought and I misused my hands,
Damaging myself and how my future might stand.

I grew up among many gay friends,
Who had flipped ways and flipped days.
But I wasn't aware of what this was,
And to them it was cool as the bees buzz.

I always had a bad feeling about their ways and how they act,
But I thank God he always had my back.
Because when I learnt what and how this abomination would end,
I didn't want to be friends no longer with them.

It's a disgusting and a disgrace to mankind and to all that is right,
And yet still mankind let these abomination get the chance to speak, get up and fight.
So now gay marriages, couples and their influences surrounds the earth,
Causing damnation onto babies before their very birth.

And the funny thing about it, is that they know they are wrong and will fall,
And they know that they are an abomination onto God and to all.
But they still smile, dieing, knowing their guilt,
With corruption in they hearts and their minds full of filt.

Judgment to the foolish who stand with them to support them and make them feel hype,
Making them feel like what their doing is right,
God will continue to test men in some of the worst ways and in the worst days,
But in these days men will fail and turn away.

So they blame God and say they become gay because they were abused,
But they sound so ******* stupid and so utterly confused.
At the end of it all every person has a choice to make,
And being gay isn't how you were born or become because of anything, or of any affect in life,
Its because of the choice you made and the path you take.

So I'll forever dislike their ways and the choices they make,
Because God is good and his love is powerful and great.
And remember He hates the sin and not the sinner,
But if the sinner doesn't let go of the sin then the sinner becomes the sin.

Are you discouraged by the way you were born or how your body appear,
Don't be foolish, there's a person meant for everyone out there.
Yes some may say your ugly, fat, skinny or what ever they say,
Just remember that everyone is unique in their own way.
Nice defines the person on the outside,
But beautiful is the purpose within,
So there's no sin by the color of your eyes, hair or skin,
But by how you choose to defile yourself and the effort you put in.

No drop of sin shall enter the kingdom of the Holy,
But shall burn in the fire not yet felt,
A lot of gay people have change their lives wholy,
But some want to feel the heat of Hell fire and melt.
An abomination is an abomination,
Because big sin small sin is still sin.
So if you think you can ask for forgiveness on your last breath, well try,
And see if it's Heaven's gate you'll enter in.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
imagine any Chopin...
well Chopin might just have stopped
the impromptu barrage
of jazz...
bill evans - portrait in jazz (1960 Album)...
but a Satie?
but a Debussy?
oh, mein, gott!

john debney: the aramaic
and the music brings me to tears...
i know i know it's a mel gibson
fetish fest...

it's either bill evans or it's
sonny clark...
and there are those
who: putting it lightly...
have some gravestone grief
over what michael
hutchence did on
the loose abstract of the noose...

not my "thing"...
at least jazz allows
the soloist pianist...
the crescendo...
the bass player
the sax sexed-up whizz...
no alto please no alto:
trumpet!
and we're all right in bingo...
rolling besides there's
this grand spectacle known
as the Niagara...
and it's neither Niger nor Nigeria
nor Bulgaria nor:
oh... right you are sir...
******... we will need
this excess on the rubber-ball
bounce severely excused via
Broadmoor "ltd. esp. if your name
is not peaches,
or jackie o lem(m)on"...

mr. bananNa to you:
heathen disbeliever!
the joke reaches its conclusion
when all the people laughing at it...
are somehow: dead...

it was such a dandy place to hive...
abrupt when the bass...
did its solo:
and it was this higher tier
of the plucked cello...
this rembrandt of the 20th century
moving some distance:
toward a "forward"...

this would most certainly require
the most bleak defence for all
this creative bulldozer...
an auschwitz to be certain...
some germno-esque
and a Vienna limitation...
a mongolian gold-hoarding...
the mongols that remained
in europe... and called themselves
tartars, and this the neu-crimea...
and this lesser love circumstance
of the London dating scene...

my always reserved
and my always "missing" / otherwise
sub-plot jazzy London of
an elsewhere...
bill evans handshakes a cousin IT
of a chopin and the world is allowed
to spiral out of control...

jazz on piano and rain is cascade...
what is felt and what is not composed
for the advent XIII...
raindrops on the forest floor...
raindrops on the begging
frank sinatra...
raindrops of tinsel and some will
have to propose...
when leisure was a synonym of leather...

disorientating piano...
jazz piano...
give me the trumpet and let's forgive
the alto sax...
to each hell his hounds!
to borrow, to beg...
to growl and to scuff!

to each hell his mercenaries of choiced
hounds!
blood-thirty cherubs of ****-mongrel
hinter of cerberus: standing before
the log indigestion of the fore!

this angelic face and the woman
to come!
to have to have "innonce" being
whispered in my ear...
as nothing more than:
**** this Jezebel while you might...
it's not more a metaphor...
when what's gagging is
to also to be applied for: minus literally...
wholy within the confines
of the dostraught metaphor.

as does the jasmine...
the flower prospect matches
the beauty of the genitals...
but sure as ****...
it doesn't match up to the face!
the face is a schizophrenic's nightmare...
the flower is the genitals
of that i am most assured...
but the face?
"androgynous"... sorry...
what's that? "cute"?!
Ken Pepiton Oct 16
get in line. What's your excuse?

Ignorance and lack of spiritual insight (ghaflah)

true understanding and illumination (ma’rifa)

just plain ignorance (jahiliyya)
==================
Today, we  answer, for before;
today, we answer, for after.

The ideas of limits.
Enclosing mind, holding time

Professing to know what cannot be ignored,
every speaker, each in turn, accounts
today idle time, free in turn to use
redeeming idle words, meaningful
for cursing, and promising hell
you pay mere attention,
to detail, unbelievable
for all willing not
to lie after knowing God cannot lie.
Truth known frees those who use it.

Is there any possible faith that ignors this lie?

1948 Anno Mundi - Abram  Kaballah
World year 2000 Abraham teaching oral Torah,

Let this mind be in you, this new mind, after
all that has called war God's soul correcting plan.

Cultural agricults, first the blade, then the ear…

"For without culture or holiness,
which are always the gift
of a very few,
a man may renounce wealth
or any other external thing,
but he cannot renounce
hatred, envy, jealousy, revenge.
Culture is the sanctity
of the intellect. "
[William Butler Yeats, journal, 7 March, 1909]

And poetic arrogance arises asking if,
one could envision war, as war occurs,
as anyone may, make a reason up for it,
since we all have seen now at a distance,
we all are aware of the destruction, none,
of us are aware of the holiness used,
the catechistical exercise in faith,

think only of the offense to Allah,
by calling all the invincibly ignorant poets

fools who bet mercy won.
------------

The poor man suffered, as a lad
to come unto Jesus, as a he was,
allowing what is true, his state reported,
as with any child suffered so, Is one angel's job.

As true as anything taken to heart for testing,
a child born into a long line of poor folk,
never in seven generations too poor
to offer travelers succor in need,
in deed, training up the lad,
to know, for certain, it is
better to give than take.

Time, the whole, none can hold,
aging, becoming wholy finished
by faith emitting substance of hope…
epiousion - plenty enough to share,
enough for the approaching need,
in deed, as Wisdom comes to lighten
one side's reason, with a touch of joy,

all children are made commonly good,
all children are formed in familiar wedom,
inside knowing's chosen fold, all blessed

with truths that balance years gone by
experienced against today,

perhaps the final chance to measure worth,
what good did you do, once, if once is enough,
what harm did you do, if once is not enough?
---------------

If we can measure a parsa walk,
while sitting still before a lit window,
looking in on all that's on the world minds,

many, many made up minds, truly granted
privileged exclusive inclusion in those good,

by grace of faith shaping conserved why tales,

reproved by wars… one side must be known
good for nothing but labor, twisted into duty,

as one must relate the military minds powers
and authority to deceive in righteous order,

rank and file, about
face, forward, at the double, march.
----------------

Run to the rock,
run through the ligation
split wide the healing wound
reach out,
feel the piercing point make
a way where no way was, made

plain as one when there was none,
now is our time to tell the mindless
to re think re stitching,

let flow the sacrificial blood of youth,
burn the idolatrous haters of religious
authority trading in holy terrors, free,

in exchange for single minded order,
accepted places, accepted tasks, duty
to truth only revealed to true believers/

good, beautiful, make it stick.
**** any thinker of otherwise.
------------------

Tension, taut, twanged to pitch,
strum a conceptual whole note,

humm along, one string, once
struck
pinging step by step, past then to now.

What cost each step, past when to ever?

Was an hour made from a day,
a day made from a string of second thought?

Was an instant made the cause of death?

Walking life's last competed parsa, a scenario.

-----------------

Knock, it opens,
ask it answers, think once

knocking heard, a door, appears,
closed on my side, I hear the knock,

and, lo', thinking no danger nigh me,
I open wide, welcoming any near

enough, to have knocked.

-----------------
In spirit form, a mind imagines
everything ever named in times past,

duty, classes of deed, when done, indeed
can never even once become undone, alone,

there are knots and there are stings…
and after all that was before, here is now,

when each ready reader asks what good
is done when knowledgelessness
causes the liars confidence to perish.

Contend for contentment, proud warrior
mind, let this mind be in you, eh,
be not afraid, thinking your self,

spirit in formed.
-------------------

Rule, point to point, draw
the line, we plan to follow,

or cross, this time, we have, Ai
be it measured in ancient times,

in minutes of arc as measured
from noon, until now, our while
in mindform thinking we an entity
in a message, pointing at an end
as in a point made for being
a thought, if nothing more.

We won a right to appeal,
perhaps we rethink times best used
produce second chances.
Yes, this is all I ever think about...

— The End —