In my wake, if i were to awaken,
O' wakeful wonder to wrench mine withered eyes
Aware'f the withering summer haze
Out in my bright eyed future, out in my cross toe'd path
Pompous poppies t'prop mine withering body
Lest f'saken soil shall chance this chance and enwrap thy very soul
Whole, wholly in unholy disrepair
Where thy feet ne'er make a pair
In my wake, where bottomless bile surely shalln't sate,
Grace be with grace whereth fate form'd nigh near'r thy hate
voracious, inherent, timbered'n barrels
Embedded beneath thy bedded tomb t'ferment
Fraught feminal petticoats bed thy bones'n skin, t'sit within
Barrelled quarrels quashed'n quaint fricatives,
T'lace these afaced wicked motives.
Foot befitting feet b'fore foolish faces reverberate foolish vows
F'petty petticoats liven' lieu'f laced love.
In my latent wake,
Tend t'the petty posies
T'prop mine body
Towards th'lascerating ladle'f love,
And into th'deepening dish'f self-hate.
24//8//25
Word Problem:
What is the political
and economic
and moral difference
between a -1 communist concentration camp
and a +1 capitalist detention camp?
Hint:
Probably the same Christian taxpayer difference
between
-0 (emptiness):
SUBTRACT empowering hope
for a healthy democracy,
Red and Yellow
Black and White
they are precious
in His sight
and
+0 (fullness):
ADD disempowering despair
of stealthy stupid kleptocracy,
pitching Red against Yellow
Black against White
liberal SkyBlue anthropocentric dreams
against conservational EarthGreen realities
Economically unsafe
and politically unhealthy
MotherEarth
laid to waste,
dark stark global disrepair.
Capitalist detention camp distinctions
without communist concentration camp differences
DeGenerative World Problem UnSolution:
a +1 v -1 Total-itarian risk.
ReGenerative Word Problem ReSolution:
a Win/Win +0 and -0 CoBinary
Making Earth Great Again
healthy democratic CoIntelligent
ecological-economic opportunity.
Never again to know fresh air,
Combing worms from my matted hair.
No one remains who’d ever care —
Tied to my grave, this lonesome baire.
I must escape the sun’s harsh glare,
Tread carefully down crumbling stair,
Descend into my crypt just there,
Where I sit alone in dark despair.
Upon my ancient worm-eaten chair,
Inside my vaulted charnel house lair,
Such a sad and accursed affair —
Never to rest, always aware.
This kind of death is so unfair:
No converse, no song, no whispered prayer.
A thousand lifetimes in disrepair,
Unattended, solus, solitaire.
Harshest sentence beyond compare,
Caught in this endless undeath snare.
Naught to do but eternity stare —
And comb the damn worms from my hair.
Only point to matter is the fulcrums peak.
As pivotal, the equilibrium we seek.
Critical mass tipped to offset sum.
Heavily shifts the weight of outcome.
Impressive pressures impart fractional distresses.
Coalesces into convoluted messes.
Broken focus binding fixation to disrepair.
Unified in the disconnection that we share.
Snapping in concert to the beat of your clique.
Adversarial dependency, "it's them who's sick".
Blind fidelity illuminates obscured perception.
Signals interference scrambles any reception.
Contrary dispositions act to characterise.
Spectrum of identity compelled to polarise.
Modalities of agency subjectional by nature
Parallel accordingly by acquisition or endenture.
Does the 9th of March meant something?
Which took a day of mine to sort this out
The day was cloudy, though, but has spare time
Importantly, no one awaiting for me providing a call
The days before this day confused me by rain
By rain, the streets, shops got upset with no person
No person went shopping on the streets seen
The streets seen alike being deserted in disrepair
Living in a desert would accelerate life being decay
Being decay of thinking but boosting wonders
One of them asked me if today means wonders
Something might be significant or meanest, but I forgot?
I used to drive around town for fun.
But this town is now overgrown.
With tall buildings that reach too high.
As I try to look up.
The sun turns toward me and distracts me.
I used to go to the little corner store.
New ownership.
That always seems to happen.
My old friends hide in the crevice.
I try not to.
But my car is collecting dust.
Just like my memories of them.
I used to drive around town for fun.
Alone in my car, with the radio on.
“Today we have a fun song about going to the beach.”
I would keep driving until the beach showed up.
My house is getting old.
I’m in disrepair.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’m a ghost.
They keep sending bills to my house, anyway.
I used to be young.
My mom used to call, but she died.
My car died too.
That rusty old engine.
Couldn’t keep up.
I still can’t believe it.
2017.
When I used to drive around town for fun.
“Life is thickly sown with thorns, and I know no other remedy than to pass quickly through them. The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us.” Voltaire
In sapphire skies, so soft, serene and fair,
a balloon floats adrift in tepid air.
Nonchalant it hovers without a care.
Over and under clouds like they're not there.
It's mindful not to burn from the sun's glare.
keeping clear from branches, so not to tear.
At peace it seems, wandering unaware,
until a storm forms to cause it despair.
Gruesome gales force it to blow everywhere,
grim rain has no mercy for its welfare.
Breathless, it deflates into disrepair,
plunging, it no longer looks debonair.
The pursuit of life can become unfair,
just like the thickly sown thorns of Voltaire.
churning, crazy-making firestorm
upends reason to disrepair
heightens our senses, our esteem
blinds us to flaws unseen
Oh Mother’s reckless devotion
withstands all adversity
delusional in admiration
eyes obscured, see only perfection
friendship’s less passionate attachment
bathes comfort in your presence
shoulder to shoulder in solidarity
resists all faltering objectives
but lover’s glance and glow
a rose-burst of saccharine extremism
the hummingbird of lust
attracted endlessly to Nectar’s sweet serum
yet painful powerful rejections
still intoxicate the supplicant
the moth’s vigilant pursuit of love-light
singes its wings if only to feel the warmth again
love, you dance so delicately before us
then reach back gracefully
you beacon or grab in brash enthusiasm
to overfill our souls to bursting
Lumbering bulldozers grind
and rip trees and shrubs
from the empty lots, competing
with gas fumes, the noise
of trucks, and honking horns
on the busy thoroughfare.
Two gracious houses,
once precious home to families,
but long abandoned
and fallen into disrepair,
smashed to kindling,
hauled away for scrap
Just up the grassy hill
behind our senior residence,
we’ll watch another
commercial business go up.
Recent car wash on the corner,
now another bank? Fast food?
Alongside our apartments,
in the past, a Christmas tree farm,
sweet smelling pines replaced
with roads and new homes,
manicured lawns and two-,
sometimes three-car garages.
Countryside eaten away
by ever-increasing population
with insatiable desire for the
shiny, new, bigger and better,
for the quick and easy,
immediate convenience.
Afternoon teas exchanged for
socially beneficial cocktail parties.
Casual-, even sports-wear, in
the finest restaurants, rudeness
and boorish comments the norm,
“Gracious” suffering a slow death.
The pain in my heart threatens to be my end,
I sought to show the 'me' that God did intend.
Yet, silenced I stand, to the skies, I relent,
"Your will, not mine," my whispered consent.
Hunger ignored, sleep's sweet embrace denied,
Like a treasured vase, now broken and defied.
Familiar with fragments, a constant state of disrepair,
Yet breaking because of you was more than I could bear.
I find myself at fault again, an echo of my past,
God seems to be the steadfast when nothing else will last.
Was my love not sufficient? My soul starts to question,
Is it wrong to give my all, to make my heartfelt confession?
Am I the villain for unburdening my soul?
"Why is life a journey through a deep, darkened hole?"
On this bleak and barren day, the rain whispers of dismay.
The devil, a lurking thief, stole my heart and slinked away.
Swallowing this bitter pill, a truth hard to follow,
I hope to reclaim my heart from the hollow.
Now I sit in the quiet, while God and angels attempt,
To quiet the screams of my soul, vehemently unkempt.
Sad, heartbroken, I feel tears on my face
this face of Rue held in my hands wet palms
audible sobs fill a forsaken space
in my mind are the thoughts of empty arms
no one hears the deep moans of my despair
in a crumbled realm that has begun to fade
to leave my emotions in disrepair
from the cold sharp edge of my lover's blade
thoughts of tomorrow are dreams of a fool
that cry as my memories turn hollow
and passion pours into a stagnant pool
drop by drop to release all my sorrow
a deep sadness comes from her cold goodbye
my soul bathe in tears that fall from my eye
I remember it well- the old Broadway
My city celebrated years ago;
So nicely paved and lined with special stores
And curtained windows, seen in rooms above.
Where we would walk and shop with family;
Attend parades and honor holidays
With decorations and fun spots to meet,
Like the old coffee shop or ice cream bar.
The highlight of our city- old Broadway-
When times were simple- city pride was loved.
Fast forward fifty years- my heart is sad.
A vision now of ruins it's become.
What stores are left- now draped with iron gates,
Or since abandoned, left in disrepair.
Apartment windows gape like hollow eyes,
And litter paves the entrances and curbs.
Not good to walk the streets- daytime or night.
Glories to ruins- Broadway has become;
Now blights the memory of simple days-
When the community clutched love and pride.
Ebony thoughts of misery paint my soul
from her silent brush of leaving
and led me on a road of disrepair
where I live each lonely night
opening and closing doors of nightclubs and bars
in long empty nights of escape
from the constant drizzle of pain
with continuous small glasses of liquor
hey bartender! how about another round
the pungent scent of sweat fills the air
from bodies in motion, I can not see or hear
so I leave
and walk between the doors silent and confused
the streets are a dark lonely world of shades and shadows
melting into a black emptiness lined with broken streetlights
with no way out of my realm of madness
each time my palm feels the cool glass of a door
that reads welcome, twenty-one and over
I laugh inside from the irony
with no will to stop
each step, each night, leads to a door
where I drown in sorrow
trapped in the music of my life
I'm not bent, I'm broken...
Not another word spoken...
No giving... No take...
Just one big ing mistake...
No forgive... No forget...
No time left to regret...
No future... No past...
Everything is far from my blast...
How will I ever understand my past...
No holding on... No letting go...
How will I ever know...
My life is a joke...
Without the coke...
People just love to poke...
No egg to my yoke...
No destiny... No fate...
But differently hell's gate...
My soul is in disrepair that's how I know...
I'm standing right there...
People determined to do me wrong & still expect me to remain strong....
No heaven... No earth...
Maybe one day I will make a choice that works for me...
Instead of sitting on my **** with a cold cup of tea...
Feeling sorry for poor little old me...
Sad **** choices are my only mistake...
My life is a mess, not just from heartache...
Going around in circles seems to be my thing...
Little hope... Little dope...
I wish I could fake it, but nope...
My life & me are the funniest thing you'll ever see...
This Is My Life Unfortunately...
When the rain comes in blunt despair
With swords of Thor's thunderous wield
The clouds drape darkness everywhere
As light surrendered, as hope kneeled
Where desolated gloom revealed
A drab landscape that once was fair
Limbs barren in deserted fields
When the rain comes in blunt despair
Drowning sunsets in silver flares
Tomorrow's rainbows lie concealed
In mazes of charcoal nightmares
With swords of Thor's thunderous wield
This is where all your heroes yield
To stars laden in disrepair
Where souls sink, murky and congealed
The clouds drape darkness everywhere
When suns are lost and moons are rare
The mornings cut apart and peeled
The sky is strangely unaware
As light surrendered, as hope kneeled
When shelter remains unrevealed
And the horizon appears bare
Allow me to become your shield
Against the snare of sharpened air
When the rain comes
3/11/23
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