f ervid
l ayered ~
a rrive unbidden ~
s napshots of joy
h earten same ~
b ully reviews
a dmonish ...
c austically
k notting
s erenity
Ambient noise, the silent song of day,
TV static, and this high pitched ring.
Creating a vision through bloodshot eyes,
A vacant gaze meeting solemn void's stare.
Dreaming those vivid details as they play,
Savoring each moment and bitter sting.
Knotting and untangling all the ties,
From disposable camera that we share.
** In Evidence **
Go now! Get a title down
……………………………before the ending
E va por ate s
leaving
as i praise
Our Most Holy Lord
— glorious, omnipotent, eternal ——
yet approachable:
Ever-Present
God
weaving our lives together…
securely knotting the threads
and
as our prayers rise…
His quick blessings quenching
rain
——————————————————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 5/3/2024
Thanks be to God
Hey A Diddle, Diddle
The Cat has a riddle...
So when the dish ran away with Spoon
What station did little dog craft
giving big dog reason
to laugh at noon...
"... she works the wire..."
Regulishus!
More Regulus then Romulus
and brighter than Remus
I’d say
but not quite so famous
the heart of a Lion
called a raven shameless
ah but distinctly
I remember
once upon a Knight
in a dreamy September
flying embers knotting
in quaint surrenders tapping...
I nodded into nearly
and almost gently napping
when satin robes rustled
so I awoke to wander
“...It'za visitor...”
I uttered almost laughing
as his gentle naughty clapping
pleased and shyly grinning
in the decor of my room
was quite inviting...
So I asked about the Moon
"...Who, I said, am I..."
*Image of Freedom Pub
Freedom Pub
Marred fictions of emus, ostriches
dip their heads neath, were hailed
by Ancient Rome's false divination,
of individuals, whose conquest of
enshrining their implied role.
Emancipated exacters, whereto,
the subjugators of the unlearned
majority, daily context by untruths,
orientations hard-pressed, by
tainted thumbs of paperwork,
loads conveniently,
mache for obvious design.
Decaying precursors demonocracy,
aptitudes knotting promotes,
a panache promenade of quilted
quids, as characters clash with
reality quarrels, as a shoreline
of sculpted castled sands, drift to
its emptiness of their costly
noted, S.O.S.
The absence of freedom is a true
reinvention for the masses, to
rummage and further wander, its
lineage of class enumeration
liken to some zombie apocalypse,
clueless beginning.
Lo and behold, its keepers adrift,
salty surges hath rise o'er, the
fresh living waters.
2023 January 07
*HM*
Freedom Pub
~~Joe Maverick: Judged 2023 January 09
Leaving very comfortable warmth
I didn't want to come
Forcefully I have been sent to
The blazing fire of the earthen furnace
Even there was no relief of huge crying
From the bone crushing claws of the Harpy eagle.
Seeing a lot of claptrap and complexity
Seeing the dirty politics of knotting pubic hair
Sent myself to the solitary forest from scratch
To be lonely in this manner is the best in the world
Staying inside the shell like a snail is an immaculate beauty.
From the time of arrival there was a rush to go back
However, Chand Miah , the fact is that-
At the time of departure, looking back-
I don't know where, I see a hard twist,
I feel a pathetic pull inside.
You make simple things
become crudely entangled;
Knotting up a string;
Strangled thoughts and emotions
constricted to bated breath.
Beyond permission
and the endowment tree
The wind blows constant,
it calls to me
Freedom is born
past entitlements whim
The ends of infinity
—knotting within
(Dreamsleep: January, 2021)
Winds blow, soft, insistent
knotting my hair, tugging my clothes
begging me to run, swift
and surefooted as the antelope.
Rain falls, tumbling down the
hillside, filling the creek
until its swollen currents roar
by, banks overflowing.
Feet pound the earth, blindly
seeking solid footing, pushing
past the pain, pressing on
until the body is worn.
Scents of sage, wet earth,
and stone fill my lungs
as my chest heaves, smelling
of things both old and new.
Wind blows, rain falls,
water roars, heart pounds;
amid the voices of nature,
my mind is at peace.
Blessings
For your pendant fingers
Coconut skin
Heart chakra third eye visions
Knotting off Void
While we shared a harbor
Now
Unmoored in Loss
Waves greet the sky
My blessings sink to cyphers
Of a language buried
In the din of
Ocean
At Sunday Market in Srinagar
---------------------
My son pulling my arm,
Pointing with his finger dragged me
To the little (Bihari) boy,
Selling toys on a cart
In a corner of a busy street.
I said," Son, what is the price? "
He replied without looking at me, knotting the toys, "Fifty Rupees."
Will you give us at Forty?
He just cut the hanging nylon thread, with his small scissor!
As I handed him a hundred rupee note
He hurried to a not far away pushcart, a thin black poorly man(perhaps his father).
Take, he said to me as he returned back,
Four ten rupee coins and a fifty rupee note in his hand;
And a ten rupee note in the held behind left hand.
The poor boy's poor calculation
Dropped a stone into my well
And made a resounding shake!
Therefore, before I returned the tiny innocent fellow his coins,
I kissed and kissed on his brow
And oh had a long hug!
Scantily skipping imp,
Feet floating
Like an electrified shrimp,
Shoe sole flapping
Like an unpaid pimp,
Flamp-p-p
Listing limping imp,
Toes knotting
Like a ballerina chimp,
Shoe tongue flopping
Like a deflated blimp,
Flimp-p-p
Your existence lingers on my being.
My heart pumps the ink with which you write;
The more I live, the more you do
Your countdown begins the day I die
I don’t need you to survive. I don’t.
You need me to breathe. You need me to live
I may be nothing, that is my collateral.
I am life to you. I am your god. I am.
I discard disdain’d garments.
Clothe me with respect, lest…
My nothing was knotting. Depressing.
Now my knotting isn’t nothing no more
Epiphany has been kind to me.
I see the truth, but I do not feel free.
My emptiness fills your belly and
Makes the shiny shimmering metals
Glitter in folds in your folds.
I may be nothing. So are you.
Today, I choose to choose.
No more rains for fountains.
No more obscurity for me. No more
The fixed looks upon the ground.
I have found I am your bridge,
I am the reason for your living
I am the source of your existence.
When two energies collide
Knotting together a great divide
A new energy is born and grown
And their souls are together sewn
An inch of skin is all it takes
To fix and mend any breaks
Much is shared but a lot is created
In that second, long awaited
The angels’ divine essence
Produces heaven’s incense
The nectar of the gods
Turns around all the odds
In that second of purest bliss
You’d be insane if you’d miss
The chemistry born of love’s fire
Burning and raging in desire
A wish to merge closer and closer
A longing to go completely under
To become forever as one
Blazing stronger than the sun
And then in another second it all ends
Leaving a longing that extends
From the one to the other
Leaving a feeling of strength and power
The suspense it leaves grows stronger
The love it brings becomes deeper
A longing to unite as one soul
In body, mind and spirit as a whole
forgiveness, may, me, spoken word, word play, writing, game
OH FOLDERAL AND FIDDLE-DE-DEEDS! ©
Polite use in ‘words’ does astonish----
Creating a good reference when stated…..
But ‘red tape’ always ensues.
Going about ‘knotting’ a halt to its very ‘charm’----
Waylays ‘to question’ on just how ‘sincere’ is it given?
Unmemorable accounts of ‘dueling’ rallies could go on----
Jostling clashes to and fro if politeness was amiss…..
Just to come to an arranged ‘agreement’ of sorts----
Which is all that is questioned at the beginnings.
Excuse me, allow me; pardon me, if I might and forgive me---
Oh, how should I word this to ‘stream’ in a correct polite manner?
It becomes all, but a game of charades ‘with words’!
While with our ‘tongues in cheeks ’and as ‘puppeteers’---
We frequently are ‘played upon’….
To life’s folderal and fiddle-de- deeds!
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