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Unpolished Ink Jan 2020
Fly
In the eye of a fly

The world rushes by

They see it all trippy

And fractured and zippy

As if they were high

Not sure why

Perhaps we should try!
Francie Lynch Dec 2019
When I finally found the fly-swatter,
I couldn't find the fly.
Such was my excuse,
Why I didn't swat the fly.
Preparedness and opportunity equals success.
relahxe Oct 2019
Sometimes I wonder whether will-power is all
that I need in my life in order to feel whole.

If I learn to never follow my instincts
and rather rely on my rational thinking,
will I feel better, will I feel whole
when I scrape off joviality from the edges of my soul?

Won't I feel bitter, won't I feel low
that I have not smiled sincerely since ages ago?

Is everyone capable of experiencing love
or is this what is said by the Man from above?

Aren't we all delusional enough
to blame God and religion that our lives are so tough?

Are we blind for the realization
that all of us are a creation,
perfectly fallible and right, but often wrong,
yet much like a rhythmic sensation in a song?

Why are we rude and envious of others
when we all should behave just like we're brothers?

Everyone is suffering under the rain
perpetually waiting for the arrival of a plane;
a plane that could carry them to another dimension
but we all know that's just an absurd pretension.

Life does fly by and it's a well-known fact,
yet few can even maintain an eye contact
with that beautiful woman or that handsome man,
standing at the corner of the room with no plan.

Life does fly by and it's a well-know fact,
yet it's just an idea, so abstract
as not to even make an impression,
leaving us deal with our own depression.

Life does fly by, yet that woman can't leave
the man she has married, the man that would deceive.
She's lying to herself that it's all for the better,
swaying down the tree's branch just like a feather.

So, don’t be so anxious, so scared and insincere;
Life is indeed too short for that, dear...
Ken Pepiton Oct 2019
uncommon ways of thinking are more subject to be
friending,
odd ionic quests are  trending---
what is the most noble quest?
like
What good am I, peace and safety wise
be me
as a wild bird might feel safe with you near,
as you quest on, leaning on the lift, rolling in the flow

life lives, ideas find shapes that fit,
moreso than a similar unit of your own mind's
left-behinds

just-in-case

we are commanded, be first
he who treads the grain eats first,
as the grain is tread,
or he stores his treasure in an imaginary vault,

safety deposit rule being if I was in the spirit,
as witnessed by the breath
filtered from gnats, and flushed of flem,
Ah hem, Aachen, is back.
Say he has a silver wedge worth risking the wrath of god,
you ever felt that urge,
to taste,
partake of the growing and harvest and decarbing and steeping
first partaker, the husband man, wombed or un, who labors,
must be, then
be the little red hen who shares the over flow,
--- what is being asked of whom, in this room?
not the filling,
let them be only thy own and not another's with thee
but the flood's free
running, whirling vein to one artery to another
we share the air.

My grandsons all can make that clear, the youngest,
three and one half swirls,
lefty lucy, righty tighty, one way or another
no no no … I'll follow the sun

twist again, like we did last summer, oh the
world swallowed me whole

as if I, not Faustus, I am bond to stand toe to toe
with old Mephisto,
by any other name, I tripped

on my feet I land on my feet Agri-industrial experimental,
oil company loss producer to allow tax credits
maybe useful toward avoiding
hundred and forty acre water
that, ****** if they didn't, we was plantin' trees
the names of those reaped
the fruits of our labor,

I see the rod, of an almond tree…

Ich kenne nicht I hid mein heir under the standing
pillars of right we learn
to live under, standing up right, relative to
who our DNA proves,
close enough for Perry Mason,
in the white of the egg, is there any taste?
it is an acquired taste,
a select strand of ancient as we, as a family,
mito-chondrial DNA,
is this not poetryscumbagthunderword getter
good, we

see the flaw, no flaw at all, a short cut for the trout, see

see the flaw in the flow is a matter of matter it self.
Self it sel, per se, same same logos I heard a meta
knower of something or another,
expert, in the literature of his field.

we seem the fruit of a life examined and found lacking nothing,
each day's evil sufficiency settled to gentle predictable waves,
marked by the red tent in the stories
of when there was so much grass and so much wool

every shepherd was feeding three wives in exchange,
for making life livable as the fate spin us
to true rest remaining for the people of {as we all agree, the idea does exist and is believed, though you may not know or know you do and know this form of reality, me and you bot reading thishit}
God god gods and sub beings with
From out of the culvert, east on 66, see I said then
that's me, I'll see what that man sees

you need not reprove the signs,
shake the dust and wander on samsara, as they say, one way

Child eyes, no fear at all, sees himself, a
strange old men
lurking where he remembers only old drunks,
smell of ****,

once watched a squaw in velvet skirt,
drop a qew outside a white outhouse

these windows persist as windows,
no doors if your ligends don’t match the receptors,

fret not, worst can happen,
but not here, time being as it is, you know, variable

In states of mind I can maintain for longer periods than i…
I take that back,
this is the real binge.
The last round. The words form constant ever after
bubble, **** I guess able to bubbles in milk
bubbles of being being my whole metaphor for life inside this one bubble we can sort of see the edge of…
synchronos compromise signals life change…

Invest in a three year old boy who is on-the-ball-*****-trained,
constant barking trained seal balancing the world,
beneath his feet, gripper stockinged ,
but a way can may be
still slide in the hall is if you put 'em on
grippers on top,
aha
life in a child
loves knowing any thing, for as long as knowing
happens along with everything else,

Like," Grandpa", from this blonde head with adult sized eyes,
seeing me look him in those eyes, signal
eyes touch, he sees his reflexion in the glare on my glasses,

I know, I saw my reflexion in my grandma's glasses,
when I was three, or so.

"Grandpa, stars come in all the colors." They do,
I said. I told my daughter, she shone.

I feel sorta Norman Rockwell, 2019.
I noticed last year, in Oct and November, through the year, voices change.
but smooth as yesteryear morphing to now
Bec Aug 2019
Our love is like winter flies
Hopefully winter flies by
Because I feel your lies
They settle on my skin
Searing my flesh
Akin to being set
On
Fire
Bhill Aug 2019
Those pesky flies will land on your glasses
And buzz your face till your insane

There always seems to be nothing but masses
It much too hard to maintain

What to do, oh what to do
How can you even relate

All you can do, to see this thing through
Is expect, that you are the fly bait...

Brian Hill - 2019 # 199
Who hasn't been buzzed by these pests?
Derrek Estrella Jul 2019
The wayward boys of the forever sun
Waking away the horizon
Their passions defined through rosemary plums
They formed in the swallow lagoon

They ventured wide, they ventured tall
Smothered by Eden’s visions
Over the mountains, a nomad conch called
Of salvation coming soon

Far away, far away
Is the ship passing by
Far away, far away
Goes the dreams of youthful sighs

Far away

The skyward beasts in the splintered minds
Bumping the night ever slowly
Fantasy left the human behind
And rain shattered the sea

The spectacle of the suburban youth
Never fulfilled quite wholly
When what’s found in rocks may trouble the truth
Then paper is burnt out to flee

Far away, far away
Is the grip of society
Far away, far away
Are the visions of marmalade trees

Gone away

Schism would rise and drinks would fly
Under the closed constellations
It is no strain to desensitize
A dreamlust, starving nation

But wash it away in brevity’s breath
And visages painted in peels
Their illusions linger for cerebral death
They hid behind wooden steel

Run away, run away
For the painting is stripped bare
Run away, run way
There is fire yelling in the air

Run away

The sun has become irradiant green
And planes lumber through the sky
Hollow hands softened the screen
The sand bleeds, the sirens are shy

The forlorn kids of the Turquoise Lagoon
Have given up more than life
When the head of bliss begins to croon
Entropy will yell “good luck”

Far away, far away
Are the hands severed in the ground
Far away, far away
Lies a shell and its sound
Juhlhaus May 2019
In the sunbeams lake flies dance
Away the days like decades 'til
Exhausted from their revels drop
To coat the water with their dead
From where on Winter's other side
Unseen young will hatch and rise
To dance away their seven days
In the sunlight of another Spring
The prophet was crying
The leader angel was ordered to ascend

He asked," your God asked you
Why do you cry?"
(The God knew why did he do!)

Mohamad said," my nation, my nation"
Do you know?
Mohamad feared on his nation

He said," my example between me and you
As the man made a fire
And the flies fly around

They wanted to get into
The prophet tried to prevent
But they escaped

They fell into
So he cried

The God answered,"
In the meaning of the talk
We will not humiliate

You at your want"
the prophet fear about his nation and who did not believe on the God
Aisha Mar 2019
As flies buzzing around rotting flesh,
the sound of loneliness remains.
Incessantly,
surrounding me.

Alone.

Afraid of everything.
Afraid of myself
and the thoughts inside my head.
Afraid of being alone and afraid of not being alone.
A constant paradox which I can't rid myself of

People hurt you.
expectations hurt you.

There is a scream trapped in my throat.
A scream for help,
scared of coming out.
Better off kept away, safe from the world,
as its owner suffers in silence.
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