Thyme for worldly Endeavors
Don't say I am clever
It's a nuisance of thinking
A position for saying
You say mi not
I say mi am
You say We can't
I say we can
Ya'll we gotta get it
2 gattha
We gotta get it right
________________________
We stacked
"4 shipping containers high"
And made a stadium
It's to be used for 10 years
Under contract
They called us cheap
But our goal was to be
Used during the Olympics
So we could have a story
For the state of the arts
Areana built from the revenue
"No Ambitious Suiters here"
For the people by the people
Was our motto.
It's ah idea ah pending ambitious
People's who want to make an impact
In the business world!
Keen Entry Statement Follows!
____________________________________
Have it during the middle of the day
During the week, filmed to catch the
Eye of strangers
________________________________________
You are beautiful
In and out for real
Stances so pitiful
Can't be a big deal
As long as truth lives
And not been stressed
Than necessarily sieves
The least off time to rest
Growing wings far caution
Could trap wind's strength
Resulted to logical abortion
That could hold its length
Flying high your way home
That brings you near pure joy
Dreamt of a branded Rome
Landed reality "a filmed toy"
You would realize one day
The call to order heated up
Out of genuine concern's play
To be your healing backup
Rain diffuses mystically the edges of distance,
while the slant drop arrays slice the silence,
thread the window pane with trembling lines,
I sense subtly sketch dripping lattice on my palm
I trace on the fog-filmed glass with my fingers.
The moist ground exhales the scent of petrichor,
the smoky smell drifts through rain-splashed air.
Outside, everything is splattered, washed clean,
inside, tenderly touched, I feel it all, slowly softened.
"Somewhere in time,"
(not the movie)
poetry
became a narrative
for recording
memories.
It must have been this evening
at my son’s first band concert,
the winter one.
(It was full of songs:
the ones I don't remember,
except for
'Spicy, Chicken Sandwich.'
It was the one
with lots of drums,
and his trumpet).
I told him so,
afterwards.
He was
somewhat less
than interested.
On our way home,
he made me laugh.
My line was:
“I filmed every song, honey.”
His line was:
“Yeah, well
I played every song,
so…”
The “lost in translation”
translation:
"I am a sixth grader.
Everything
you say and do,
mom,
is embarrassing,"
I am the proud:
“Village Idiot."
My mom used to say that
about herself,
when I was his age.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Under a weird, pitch-black moon,
the graveyard ghouls moaned a haunting tune.
Old Edgar’s ghost (a CPA by trade)
checked spectral spreadsheets in the shade.
The haunting rates, he hissed, are too low—
Only one faint moan per week? That’s woe!”
Gertrude, floating around in her cobwebby dress,
rolled her hollow eyes. Today’s kids! They're a mess!
Last Halloween, teens just filmed their TikToks—
They laughed at my chains! Ignored my death-knocks!
Her wail, once chilling, now nothing but a squeak,
like rusty hinges, dry and weak.
Filmed by strangers,
a story doomed not to last.
Beauteous verse
wrapped in barbed wire—
each sonnet
a blade to the vein.
Eyes like jade—
not diamond,
but cut rock.
A granite heart.
Tar recedes
into stone.
Still, the boy covets
with hunger.
And the girl—
she has appetites too.
First love:
a pigtail yanked,
a giggle echoing through time.
Innocence dissolved
with each year gained.
But the eyes—
they never changed.
Breathe life and fire into love’s nest—
reignite the spark of youth,
peeking through years like iron curtains,
framing the fugitive selves
we left decimated.
I still see her—
not in dreams,
but in the hush between songs,
in the way a door closes softly
when no one is there.
She has appetites still.
And I—
I feed them
from a distance.
Let her starve for once.
Encompassing a broad range of technologies
machines to perform what would usually be
the tasks and chores for humans
concepts that form the foundations
that enable assignments and and tasks
to be performed
concepts form the very being of
artificial intelligence and it's various employment
of specific usage
it's premise was to be used as an understudy
to help the thespians study there roles
Prompt desks and musical interludes included
the robots are the intellecail property
the theather and all the actions between
robot and person are filmed and are
the intellectaul property
of the studio
all words in accordance to the theathers scritps
and music. Even the humming and signing
are all the proerty of the studio or theather
rerecodings are forbiddened unless
contracted or allowed.
Scayles and Chords are conducted
Fibonacci sequence and arithmetic sequences
are arrangement of notes in a scale to the
overall form of a composition
Collaberations between humanoid and person
are contraceed.
Music Generators
Big Roy Versatile 1080
The emperors have no clothes on!
People are living in a trance
Psychologists like to call it cognitive dissonance
Perhaps even a carefully crafted chance
To see what isn't there, only to praise a hollow show,
While truth and reason disappear, common senses go.
It’s just simply a situation gone sad
I can’t help but wonder, have we been had or merely gone mad
The people fear to break the silent spell, to voice a single doubt
For they are to be canceled, labeled rebels or terrorists, and quickly cast about
Instead, they applaud the phantom apparel, with oblivious, hypnotic cheer,
Ignoring empathetic whispers in their hearts, that scream truth so clear.
But chatty whispers grow to rumbling cries, a stirring overcomes the digital crowd,
Suddenly, an innocent video, goes viral, distinct and loud.
"The emperors have no clothes on!"
An echo filmed of pure bravery
Hopefully, others will follow, setting truths to be viral and free
Reject conformity and fight for sovereignty
For all to hear and see
The emperors have no clothes on!
• I sit on the couch
• And scooch close to him
• "I love you," I whisper
• Heart filmed to the brim
Yesterday, while walking home,
I saw some people who
Were gazing past the river rail,
But why? I had no clue.
Two cops were there as well and so
I looked to where they leaned
And saw the body of a man;
That’s why they’d intervened.
More people gathered and I learned
That he was still alive.
He’d either jumped or fallen;
No one knew if he’d survive.
Within mere minutes, boats arrived,
The rescue underway,
The efforts of our civil servants
Proudly on display.
They carried him onto a boat
Then to a nearby dock
Where an ambulance was waiting
For the stretcher down the block.
Up close, I saw he wasn’t young
And injured on his head.
I never learned if he pulled through
Or passed away instead.
It felt like watching as they filmed
A TV cop show, but
The victim, sadly, didn’t move
And no one shouted, “Cut!”
Master your temper, don’t speak what is false
Open your eyes and help fix others wounds
Try to do be nice, and never be angry
Hope can be found, no matter your problem
Every confidence is a secret
Remember, efforts are never nothing
Sometimes memories are better not filmed
An expert always feels out of their depth
In life, the best comment is no comment
Do not forget- life is best lived, not dreamt
Estranged by you, alienated
I’m not the one I used to know
All what is me comes out outdated
As if I was there long ago
In previous times, when life seemed shorter
When I was living for one day
To meet your judgement of no quarter
Your disaffection to obey
Crushed in the rain of whatabouts
Drunk with the human kindness I
Fall in slow motion, filmed without
Supposed consent I have to sign
That looks alike a vagrant fate
When there is nowhere else to roam
Inside I go, although its late
But down inside I am at home
There we are, two lost receivers
Of ageless youth you well preserved
For me, a taker and a giver
Of love I thought would never hurt.
Alfred Hitchcock
Filmed movies about folks which stalk.
If you watch one, don't let your fears overpower
You, or you'll never get into the shower!
Hitchcock is known to have been very fond
Of beautiful ladies whose hair was quite blond.
Kim Novak and Grace Kelly
Make men's brains turn to jelly,
And, also, this filmgoer to respond!
Ten times, I've watched every film Hitchcock has made!
Let's watch one in my lonely motel, can I persuade?
You know, maybe, one thing might lead to another,
But I'm not sure it would be OK with Mother.
This perfect setting from the past
An era gone though filmed to last,
Strangely set a wistful thought
As memories and dreams were caught.
How love had lured me to sight
Motion pictures black and white,
To understand the story clear
Whilst living in the yesteryear.
Black and white you take me to
Nostalgia where I feel blue,
Though presently with clear foresight
Merely due to black and white.
I want a daily dose of Perry Mason
(with a sweet side-dish of Della Street thrown in),
the episodic filmed in black and white one.
Give me just one hour every weekday mornin'
of charming Mister Drake detecting where, why,
when Mason's hostile witness will tell a lie,
and then confess murdering his evil boss
without remorse and not counting it as loss.
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