Best Spirit Of The Times Poems
The winds of change are unforgiving; howling furiously
And we angry voters cannot resist the spirit of the times
A revolution is imminent. They'll soon hear us roar!
Date written and posted: 01/31/2019
the influences of days gone by
we refferred to her as an Old Woman
she was only 26 but she used
the way someone else to
express her concern
him he didn't learn much because
he refused to understand those
teaching due to
what she needed
to take with heroic greatness
perhaps as farewell when
or welcome then which
of your needs might I cater to
than in the spirit of the times
do we fall off the cart
or load it according to the specifics
of it's size
should he have studied Sobeuses teachings
now those days are the father of his history
and the mother of mentions
she wished what she heard would have been
dramatic conversation
than she would be allowed to use those words
she and her sister had learned from
Morelovee
Moody they spoke of the
endifferances they encountered
those who wished to be loved
could speak beneath skies
they could sing with a harmony
that suited all involved
those who knew the
song had little problem
with the lyrics
those who refused o study struggled
and their pay reflected their lack
of concern for their group efford
Angry she made those in her space to leave
their she'd soak in her madness
and shame
she cut brier branches from
the woods
and plaited them and wrapped and tacked
them around her walking stick
she dared anyone to say something
of the night before
or the evening that made this
situation so.
Euriffilia Guilder Tripp III
makes mention of Luna-sweets:
the classic song written by
Brittez and Drawez:
and the madness of those
who refused to rehearse
their lines.There performance
reflects the way they
think of my art.
such must be reflected in their pay.
those who's performance
were outstanding were
rewarded for their
performance.
A poem is a mirror.
A ?o??i?.
A yes-I-can with crayons the color of Tachyons,
rushing out of whirl’ds where past-meets-future,
reaching for-words…
yet going back-words for some more.
It makes reflections, like a ripple,
but you’re at zero-point too,
where the puddle tessellates to a past in the future you,
and you reflect it back-words and for-words
’til it reverberates…
right there.
Now.
Here.
Like an invertendo-innuendo that’s an in-your-face…
?o??i?.
And this mirror-Kah… it rackles with the spirit of the times.
This mirror… reciprocates.
And everything recorded is written everywhere for anyone to see—
a hit-list for the insurgents,
a collapse scenario for the empire,
as the top one-percent feed the roots of alien, alternative… cycles.
But listen.
‘I see you, you see me’
and maybe together we’re spied-upon in an irony
of what it’s like not to be truly free.
So we carry on.
In a more human innuendo,
a more momento-mori story,
mirroring each other… more merrily.
Another cycle of the Sun,
rollin’ ’round the earth ‘yer on,
then in cycles turned your way,
yes, another day…
where cycles in the Sun are glimmerings on the Sea,
making many reflections,
and sympathetic tessellations vibrate in our oceanic-brain,
where the orbits perigee,
where we learn the lessons of leaving behind
and faltering forward,
where we would-if-I-could be the king who would be a man,
riding these cycles of the Sun by the Sea,
going on this way…
over and over…
mirrorly.
So thank-you, Poets.
For the many reflections.
For the big-hearted yawp of freedom to be who you want to be.
Thank you for sharing your wrought-out ramblings
where my meaning-making takes a rest
and instead, with great exaltation, I surrender
to how you all ‘fess-up and down and around
and always… with a wry wit in it.
It’s bright.
It echoes the numinous in-us.
The euphoric-eunoia.
The bright language of connecting,
an authentic friending in a lightning look…
in intertextual-fugues,
invertendo-innuendos,
or mirrorly… by-the-book.
So is that it then?
This eunoia-euphoria…
this urge-to-merge?
Is that it?
Expressed in longing waves,
swelling in each other as sister and brother?
Is that it?
When you’ve engaged both sides of the brain…
the scholar and the minstrel…
is that the euphoria we’re after?