Saw two love birds arguing,
not a pretty flight – one flew
left while still holding on --
as the other persisted right;
the tree-trunk ahead held its ground...
When we met,
brains went out the window.
Why should I listen to what you say?
When we met,
heart went overboard.
Why should I listen to what you say?
When we met,
you moved me now soul must listen.
# My eight hundred Koalas, emblematic and
Innocent.'
Slaughterd..Reason being.? A bushfire.'
Because of.? Overgrowth.' How many times before has this occoured.? Never.!
Because.? Farmers used to graze the forest.' Thereby keeping undergrowth as just that.' And
manageble.' Why did they
Stop.? Sy-op.? Probably.? You see climactic disasters fuel the false climate
Doom management tale..To allow over control on all life aspects.' Here it enanbled
Enviro-mentalists.? To charter a chopper so the eight hundred victims could be slaughtered, because the bushfire had taken the leaf supply..therby presenting the
Possibility.? Of my Koalas
suffering starvation,.' All because of interference in generationly viable land management..By professional
Farmers.' No experts were involved ( or harmed) in the
Creation of this write.'
Chances of our chums to throw their arms around our shoulders
would be so much more common
if our outcast brains
did not reel in piranhas from invisible lakes.
Brains of our kind have cactus spike reactions to us reaching out
to touch a rose.
It bites
how we go into fight or flight
just from waking up.
I dream that I could invite my pals to the pub.
Our peers cheered about their reopening on July 4th,
and we envied them.
We will always envy those who have it simple —
they like chatting, so they chat.
They have house parties whenever they want.
And when it comes to applying for jobs,
it is not the idea of not being able to stomach breakfasts before their shifts that make them sick.
It's just whether they'll get in
that they worry about a bit.
Our outcast brains yearn
for restaurants, cafés, buses, trains, celebrations
not to make our adrenaline rise.
Then, we would make no compromise
based on anxiety's lies.
This year is off to a rip-roaring start
President Donald Trump is throwing darts
Venezuela got bit
Iran’s next to get hit
Though Greenland will take a few extra smarts
Eating them won’t make you smarter
Flaying them, frying them won’t make you high
Scraping them off the pavement
Certainly, won’t make you fly
Peeling them off some stickers
May certainly make you laugh and cry
At the same time like me
Synchronicity
There’re always two sides to every coin
Just like there are two halves for every brain
The left and the right may just hold a private conversation
Inside the skull, my numbskull sculling time
Scrolling through my mind
Perhaps, this is the time
I reach out to another
Other person with some brains
Who believes like me and who's not insane:
For some unknown reason
Eating poetrysoup
Really satisfies my brains
Isn’t it odd?
All of the little things
that remain in our
little brains?
One day, you’ll
be walking down the
street, just minding your
own business, when suddenly
you’ll stop.
A sight,
A sound,
A scent,
A memory,
Something you have
never seen, heard, smelt,
or even experienced before
will catch your incomplete attention
so completely.
And send you to
the most magical of
places.
Something from your
childhood,
Something from the
small town you drove through
last autumn.
Something from that
department store shelf
at that street corner you
never thought you’d actually
go to. But then you did.
Something from
a bad day.
Something from a
good one.
All of that energy,
all of that time,
and still, I can’t
put a name to what
that feeling is.
Nostalgia?
No, it goes
deeper than
that.
Much, much
deeper.
After a bit, you’ll
wonder a while,
and then you’ll simply
move on.
Maybe all it is was
grief expressed purely.
Because living
in a world where
things are so temporary
is a bittersweet thing.
Better times,
worse times,
doesn’t matter.
It all
sticks
around.
Is AI a staunch friend with double face
that whispers “I love you, but will replace
Do its words capture a thought we just had
write it much better; if so, why be mad
Its chest of words is much greater by far
synonym surplus, its door stands ajar
by the way, their paintings lovely, also
Can there be wrong in the things they bestow
In our minds linger a strong scence of fear
as the future is becoming more clear
If our brains become inactive, then stall
AI will, in a word, shrug as we fall
Shadows fall on the words we try to mix
AI will ask, “why do humans exist”
Perhaps our love affair should be erased
Before we become only Unused Space
~ To the Melody of "Home on the Range" ~
Home, Home of the Brains
Where Scrabble is endlessly played
Where seldom is heard
A monosyllabic word
And American English is forbidden, btw
Isn’t it odd?
All of the little things
that remain in our
little brains?
One day, you’ll
be walking down the
street, just minding your
own business, when suddenly
you’ll stop.
A sight,
A sound,
A scent,
A memory,
Something you have
never seen, heard, smelt,
or even experienced before
will catch your incomplete attention
so completely.
And send you to
the most magical of
places.
Something from your
childhood,
Something from the
small town you drove through
last autumn.
Something from that
department store shelf
at that street corner you
never thought you’d actually
go to. But then you did.
Something from
a bad day.
Something from a
good one.
All of that energy,
all of that time,
and still, I can’t
put a name to what
that feeling is.
Nostalgia?
No, it goes
deeper than
that.
Much, much
deeper.
After a bit, you’ll
wonder a while,
and then you’ll simply
move on.
Maybe all it is was
grief expressed purely.
Because living
in a world where
things are so temporary
is a bittersweet thing.
Better times,
worse times,
doesn’t matter.
It all
sticks
around.
Oh, humanity,
Making a welter of things,
Put our brains to better use....
Let's fly like eagles,
To our grail of peace restored,
We don't do perfect, okay.....
We chose
heroes
based on
sheer brawn
but now
avowed ~
brains too
rescue
(“Corpus Callosum", 2018, original encaustic)
Right Brain, Left Brain
Two halves of a whole
Complimentary opposites
Passive/active, imaginal/verbal
Figurative/literal, depressive/manic
Outside and within time
A master and his emissary
Inside us all.
Yet each of us have our own balance
Our own comfort zones
And range of tolerance.
Like a finger print
Within our brain
Leaving its subtle mark
On everything we think, say and do.
Viva the difference!
I say
While my right brain
Just watches, impassively
As thought bubbles form, drift and fade away
To an ambient soundtrack
Of invisible spheres…
(3/7/25)
Why the judge blew his own
brains out because he refused
to go through on ciro Gargano
corruption packet abuse
of power gross negligence
excessive bullying and
organized crime the judge
sat under a tree put a
shotgun in his mouth
and bam he decided to
blow his own brains out
there you have it children
gathered around parents
corruption is a serious
criminal intent i will never
ever fear bullying from
corruption under ciro
gargano arson murderer
of nine orders falsifying
documents bullying
intimidation by arson
murderer of 9 I will never
fear your threats on
license plates this resulted
in the Judge blowing his
own brains out sorry Ciro
Gargano stop killing your
twisted hell on earth
9 nails 9 needles 9 pins
9 dead judges 9 elderly
persons perished in the fires
Bullies anywhere
They look like educated
Brains not develop.
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