Seal the mountains, the peaks, the city—
The little emperor rides waves like in Shanghai Bund.
In the end, the man who loved beauty became a rifle.
Where is the man-made bathing pool atop that mountain?
The princely courage, allies in accord,
Carried martial genes, shamanic rhythms,
Carried cells of herbs and discipline, anti-entropy.
Like Zhang Xianzhong sinking treasure into the Min River—his final aesthetic.
He believed only in genetic revenge,
Mocking blossoms, young girls, and green plums in May.
Some tradition loved empire but mistook beauty.
It collapsed in his beautiful feed for the kingdom.
A sliver of beauty—madness moved in,
A sprite watered by greed,
Denied by earth and the abyss’s breath.
( Poems by Shifeimi
Translated from Chinese by AI with authorial editing and final approval.)
Anunnaki verses the Nephillians
up next....stay tuned in
action like never before!
Welcome back:
the combatants are in the ring!
A stalling tactiac by
Mussumotto
of the Annunaki.. all while
Vallis destractes
the ref!
Ring announcer two...Geniunus on his part
watch this...
chockblock!
the big guy is down.
Big guy all these guys are
huge!
A.#2.. Huge but this guy right
here can wrestle!
He can Move around in there
like
Bandez the Magnificent
he is one of the best tech wrestlers
active in the pro's
right now.
You don't have to
beleive me just watch!
Bandura is great too!
Chunking foul hook
backdrop!
this guy is specail!
Poseidon’s spear slashed out from the angry waves
A tumultuous monsoon began to gather up the sea
The faerie folk went into hiding
When they saw army of sea cupids
Wonder how long it will take them to see I am a famous poet.
See it is nice to see what other poets are doing to help others.
If you aren't helping as a community then what are you doing?
The answer is nothing, put the pen down, and go be lazy elsewhere.
If you want proof, tombstone, “Say when.”
Or get to work, you all have wasted enough time.
The world is a joke, it is your job to aid in fixing it.
Based on a simple evaluation, Keyword: Slackers.
Now of course you all aren’t poets.
That was just a statement, figured you needed the reminder.
Have you heard of Fisher Folk
Masked and disguised
Often difficult to see
When in front of your very eyes
Some will see through the disguise
Once engaged in conversation
Others will never see a Fisher Folk
Blinded by their manipulation
Fisher Folk do not fish
In waterways of any kind
They only fish in ones psyche
Fishing…. human minds
Fishing information, only for personal gain
Needing constant compliments and praise
This is how Fisher Folk
Spend their devious, “its all about me” days
Also known as “Me People”
And other choice names
Pretending to show interest in you
When ‘Self ‘ is the name of their game
Some will never see a Fisher Folk
Being blinded by their camouflage
Others will see straight through it
Quickly seeing the mind sabotage
Fisher Folk are generally likeable
Often intelligent , charismatic ,smart
Though their interest in others is inauthentic
Not from a genuine or loving heart
Andrew Cooper farmer of the land, of Croyde Devon; in old
England decided he'd plough some fields again? as the sun was shining through the English rain, yet some eco-loonies including a judge? hit him with fines and orders and they don't want to
Want to budge.' O K he remted it to the relic's archialogical
Whatsama-thingammy..Cant deny it' and he took a fee' twenty
Years went past, now surely he can till? again.? At last!! No
Mention of a clause; or legal waiver, .' I'd say to farm again is
His right and favour.' Old England will benefit' the people all
Round need the crops to go into the ground.' A balance is
Great between preservation and farming.' Yet this is an
Imbalance. And most alarming in a time of Brexit and
Challenge of change a nations interest are more relevant
And this injustice must be changed.! Give ear to reality, and
Allow the wheat to grow, as in ww2 the fields need to be sown i am with Andrew.! (the Coope-rman)of Croyde Devon,! may he live long and hale to continue farming that land.!
A wizened boy who lived at seventy-two Oak
Relaxed in his tub with a lemon salt soak
Ate a curly pretzel, downed a harsh throat coke
An honest child who sprang from truthful folk
Dressed himself in a red and yellow super hero cloak
Flew around New York City watching for dangerous smoke
News of his heroism quickly readily broke
Giving some fame to this truthful do-gooder bloke
He saved a young girl who was having a choke
Convinced a teenager to give up a maryjane smoke
Chanted a spell pretty difficult to invoke
Created a talking frog who never could croak
If you meet this wizened boy at seventy-two Oak
Tell him his cousin Moke wants to give him a poke
This is a true story, in absolutely no way a joke
Now that I have shared it, I will go have a soak.
JOHANNES
vermeer
sans peer
REMBRANT
look see
s e l f i e
They said this strange man ate his squirrel:
such a lovely arboreal rodent, a creature that nibbles.
First he eats its legs, then its body,
but omits the heart. That is precious.
What? We do not eat a squirrel?
Boiled, broiled, roasted or raw? With sprinkles?
There are strange people who choose
certain creatures of fur. But never one that gnaws?
And those spirited, spunky sprinkles?
There are strange folk who resist a pitter-patter,
with or without a squirrel, whether it be boiled or broiled,
even roasted or raw - without those sprinkles
and, of course, those spatters.
There are funny folk.
They don’t eat an arboreal gnawer?
And do we think of Gnawer and his ark - with squirrels?
So odd how we ponder
on creatures of fur, with or without
those spirited, spunky sprinkles.
Brains do the oddest of things.
(20 Sep 2024)
Loyal companion carved from a sturdy oak.
This eternal gratitude will never be revoked.
You've been there for me more then
some human folk.
I think I may be in love with you and that is no joke.
Please stay by my side until the day I croak,
if perchance we come upon a very nasty bloke,
I will turn you upside down and give him a poke!
(Pema on Turkish Rug, 2023)
The Sweet Spot
Remarkably, right on the cusp
Between the tangible and intangible
Sit the old tribal weavings
Of the near to far East.
I’m sure to many
Both there and here
This subtle distinction of delicate balance
Goes right over their heads.
But to others,
Surely more than just a few,
It goes right to the heart
Which is of course the place we all long to be.
It’s such a fine line to find
Between this and that
The known and the mysterious
And yet…
What else is there worth finding
Where else would you rather be
Than at the sweet spot
Where in and out are one.
(5/24/24)
Windswept shave emulsifies the face
of the Lake.
The fowl in the air bnb, giggles,
as it scans for exfoliant fish to delicate.
She put her order in over thirty minutes ago.
Well before the Cranes and the Eagles,
but maybe they ordered to go?
Wizard Isle,
if you're gonna act like a French snob
then I will complain about the lack of salt,
(waiter)
how hard is your job?
Why this is culinary assault, inn 'salt !
~Discover Oregon
Take a bunch of fine musicians
All ready to play and entertain
With a gig miles away
And you have folk train.
Add a bunch of supporters
A pint or two of ale
And you have all the makings
Of a very memorable tale.
Between trains in Manchester
In a pub both basic and rough
When Mc Garry issued his words
Terry do some left wing stuff
So I performed my poem,
About politicians that we’d got
Paying scathing attention to
Our then current miserable lot
They crowded into the small bar
And the room was suddenly full
As they gave a standing ovation
To a performance poet from Hull
Then he called on my wife
Who easily passed his test
Performing her eponymous poem
Before a poster of Georgie Best
The Folk Train Hull to Hathersage
A memorable and amazing day
When we filled trains with music
Every single inch or the way
R.I.P. Mick Mc Garry, Folk Train Leader and amazing singer.
Henry and Harry were fine old boys
Float the Mississippi on my convoy
They worked real hard, but then I found
Henry’s chased Harry round and round
Henry was caught by the devil’s claws
So we tied him up in a high tuckahaw
He plead that he never meant to do what he did
But then my cow came up and kissed him
Henry wanted Harry to help him in his room
Harry said I would love to see you soon
I came in to see why they were late
Saw that Harry was Henry’s first mate
Henry was caught by the devil’s claws
So we tied him up a high tuckahaw
He plead that he never meant to do what he did
But then my cow came up and kissed him
Harry said to Henry as he hung by his feet
“I miss you now, and again we’ll meet”
The boat went on with a mighty jerk
And Harry fell off into the murk
Henry was caught by the devil’s claws
So we tied him up a high tuckahaw
He plead that he never meant to do what he did
Then my cow came up and kissed him
Aging man your shoes do not shine
upon jagged century’s wooden floor
scuffed, swollen leathers, buckles
not laces, bereft of brush that buffed
they tap your time, just time for you
where ghosts still walk and gather
to hear, in a back room on folk night
plucking on your jaw harp, your empty
pint stoic, but full to you, as is the room
and crackling fire your applause, for off
eyes closed, you journey with the flames
forever the beat of your own story
at peace, long after closing time, play.
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