I wish to die whilst I might slumber;
Let Old Age smooth my path away;
With no accounts remaining proper;
No innocent worlds in disarray;
And should a peace exist in vision;
Which legends, myths and cults do sow;
I hope with my true love reunion;
Or wait if they be yet to follow.
And yet, should my account be tainted;
And legends, myths and cults beware;
A journey to a depth recanted;
With restlessness as common fare;
And there alone in spite and fury;
No love to balm and bound my geist;
I wish regret for a life unruly;
No eternal angst to be my price.
So knowing not when I may exit;
Nor having sight to know what truths;
I wish this life devoid of conflict;
Where Nature smiles as balance rules.
For what then life if then not sharing;
To not see death as sweet release;
We are not human if not caring,
A mild and worthy life finds peace.
Germany give up bad actors..Divorce the
Eu and n a t o, then search for your soul
Get pro active.) Search for the light only
Found in Christ, take the citizenship of
Heaven, jetz ist.. Ihr zeit.' Translation
( now is your time!)
Food for Thought...
You want puns?
How about on buns?
Written word fun
From the fruits of the Earth's sun
Thought about cruisin' on my bike to grab some grub, but it was two-tired.
Decided to ask the cow out to the Stampede, but he was grounded.
Caught some fish that was wailing from some a-salt and batterin'.
Went to the vineyard & stepped on a grape, but it was too winey.
The sunset blazed on as the lettuce showed tall in the field, a head above the rest.
Clouds settling in for the night realized there's no contest for a fowl-weathered friend that the ghost of the poultry-geist leaves behind, egg-credibly the best...
Boiled eggs are hard to beat.
And, hey... ya know? A girl's gotta eat!
swirling stars of snow amidst lightning spikes
electricity of stark midnight strikes
a wicked wind, silk toss’d canopy bed
pale Cassidy resurrect’d from dead
dress’d in thick black, mourners wailing in hall,
soon see the shrieking ghost coming through wall
wraith sights the witch who killed her in his arms
‘geist snatches wench-face, recalcitrant to harm
10/25/2020
Contest: 8 Lines of Spooky Rhyme
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
A Tortoise
By Stina Lu
You keep silent,
In all seasons.
Like the Buddist,
Meditating
Even your breath
seems redundant.
You reject everything
Food or water.
Your are blind
Smell the direction and danger
You desire for nothing
Not care life or death
You're Diogenes,
Stand in Plato's Utopia.
You represent the beauty and justice of Socrates,
Your shadow is the absolute Geist of Hegel.
You're a little philosopher
On my balcony
Gaddafi
I see America dancing in oil sodden nights, nostrils stinking the scent of death
Your ghost exorcising demons of colonialist clout, walking along banks of the lost river
River that lost its freedom
Your shadow suffocating under the smell of exile and scent of slums
Gaddafi, propaganda is fart, fart deodorizing the winds of the villages
I have a burning passion to bring back the dimples and wrinkles of this country.
Ghaddafi
Ich seh Amerika tanzen in öltriefenden Nächten, Nasenlöcher verströmen den Duft des Tods
Dein Geist treibt Dämonen kolonialistischer Macht aus, schreitet an Ufern des verlorenen Flusses entlang
Fluß der seine Freiheit verlor
Dein Schatten erstickt unterm Geruch des Exils und dem Duft der Slums
Ghaddafi, Propaganda ist ein Furz, Furz der die Winde der Dörfer deodorisiert
Ich spür eine brennende Leidenschaft, die Grübchen und Falten dieses Landes zurückzubringen.
In the Meister Halle
The Geist of musicians
Feed on Zeit
Your mind is beautiful
Your soul draws me in
With its delicate calm
And I have neither the strength
Nor the will to escape
I want to die in there
That I may know heaven
Dein Geist is schön
Deine Seele zieht mich hinein
Mit ihrer zarten Friedlichkeit
woraus zu flüchten
habe ich weder die Wille noch die Kraft
Darin will ich sterben
Damit ich Himmel kennen darf
down along 42nd and cypress street
the allegorical prostitutes say their not street
hookers but just a symbol of sex.
just like the walking sign post
stop, merge left, bump,
narrow road ahead.
cracked pavement and raindrops,
concaved inward and downward
awake the cornerstreet prophet and
pattern out a little mercy for the junkies
spinning double helix faith.
such a beautiful gray angelican.
the cigarette littered sidewalk somehow
seems to resurrect its stone geist
with dreams of a sandlewood
gossamer in its head.
but he must know just like all
the others to the east, hawthorn st
and alder st, birch st and ash st.
he must remember that things dont
change for the good much at this
time of year.
the gentrified saints have all
moved north, to sit in hipster
bistros and drink organic
sumatra fair trade coffee.
down along 42nd and cypress st
little was said and less understood.
mostly train horns and mumbling,
mostly sleeping nocturnal birds
with a few leaf clogged storm drains.
Unspoken words
Only some strange thoughts prevail
In a drifting mind
Illusions of a better world
Presence soon becomes future
------------------------------------------
Ungesprochene Worte
Nur einige seltsame Gedanken
im unruhigen Geist
Illusionen einer besseren Welt
Gegenwart wird schnell Zukunft
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