old slag value, as valuable as Value allows it
Then as a valuable secondary source,
the slag resulted from the gold-bearing
electrolytic mud smelting
contains up to 0.8–15 k g t-1
Au and 9–13 kg t-1 Ag, respectively
------------------------------------------------
Coal Ash experiments
sorted theories and Soughted formulas.
Coal ash pits using sewage,
sawdust, and other
dissuaded organics
to recreate renewable coal.
Leaves, shredded wood chipped
wood ash, tobacco stalks
straw hat manure compose
all will be mixed and allowed to
cure to recreate a renewable
source for energy.
Racheter l'ancien Walmart du comté de McDowell,
en Virginie-Occidentale, pour créer un nouveau
magasin et contribuer à la relance
de l'industrie charbonnière locale.
Musique pour basson et cor d'harmonie
Ce genre de musique « Ooh Baby »
The proposition has faded - as if it never existed
those in-the-know are not swiftly pursued
the walls in the halls of this lonely locale are no longer inviting
and they have missed their chance
to replace any sense of reassurance
Abolishing the reasonable and rational
until we're operating in a moral deficiency:
the familiar becomes foreign
and those once family become strangers
The sentiment to give back equally as much as is received
is well-wished for, but the prevailing shift
will not let up, let go
or let the inevitable arrive
just something fun....
ANDY THE DILLO*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Texas town where sun brightly shone,
Andy the dillo lives, all alone.
He dreamt of a pretty gal,
one who lives in his locale.
Together the dusty trails they’d roam
When pillaging one starry night
he met Astrid, "Oh! you're outta sight"
A quizzical nose had she
“You're perfect dillo for me!
Let’s eat worms together, they’re a delight!"
With a twirl and a tap of her toes,
she showed dance moves that she knows.
'round and 'round she did spin,
with giggles and a grin.
Then he noticed her rather large schnoz.
“EEEGADS! Where did you get that nose?
With it, the ground you can bulldoze
You’re a dillo extraordinaire.
I’ll follow you anywhere.
Let’s go get some worms at Joe’s!”
*Note: Poem originally published in Poetry Soup in June 2025 (poetrysoup.com/poem/andy_the_armadillo_1738645)> I then deleted it. This is my original poem.
MODIGLANI
narrowed
necks
CONSTABLE
locale
landscapes
RILEY
migraine
mosaics
TWINKU a double word distich with integral title
Traveling far, far away from home
Leaving family and friends to roam
Did not expect changes it would bring
To a life feeling apathy’s sting
Had much pity from which to borrow
Saw no bright future into tomorrows
Never thought to make goals or form dreams
Caught in a trap of daily routines
Knew nothing beyond my locale
Blind to the avenues I had
Just going along with old pals
Digging cars, music, and gals
Trying to hide distress was not smart
Shielding the anxiousness in my heart
I feigned joy but was acting a part
No one knew the deep sigh in my heart
Then one day to my utter delight
When out of the dark came a light
Circumstance and good fortune teamed
With opportunity to redeem
From plateau low to mountain heights
Life beyond the status quo plights
Came like a shot from a crossbow
Hitting with a decisive blow
Now have traveled from shore to shore
Lived in six states, flown over more
Earned three degrees along the way
Proud of my military days
My sister and I are as different
As spinach and blueberry pie,
Yet together we laugh,
Which reduces, by half,
All the ways our distinctions apply.
Even now, in New York for a visit,
Where the weather is brutally hot,
She, a Florida gal
From a schvitzy* locale,
Will insist that, to her, it is not.
Still, our blood and our family connect us,
Plus our faces wear similar smiles,
So our sisterly bond
Cuts through white hair and blond
And our spinach and blueberry styles.
*to schvitz means to sweat in Yiddish
Eduard Manet au cafe
a typica scene of his day
Plum Brandy* for a 'happy-hour' gal
a 'break' in her nearsst 'locale'
My son and my grandson are up in the air
On the way to a tropical isle.
In an hour or so, they’ll be at their hotel,
Where the family has been for a while.
Sickness caused a delay, so they missed a short time,
But the rest of the week should be fun,
Though like many vacations, the ending will come
When it seems like the trip’s just begun.
Yet right now, I’m aware, as I’m usually not,
Of my son and my grandson’s locale,
Though there’s no way to know, as I usually don’t,
Of the state of their current morale.
Still, I’m happy to know they’re together and safe,
Since the start of their week’s overdue,
But whatever they see and wherever they go
Once they land, I will not have a clue.
a bud-is-to...
bees
unlike
a buddist to...
be's
being...
of a phenomena-...
logic-call-locale-
"all-at-tea"
stan sand
ancients believed time lends...
any-chance for anything
anywhere that science be correct...
so its manifestations not crrrack
however two dozen ancient pyramids sank
into the sands unlike the boats of plank...
that carried the stones across distances
to the desert locale of historic instances...
of stone creations built to float on sand...
ancients science and mathematics was something grand
stan sand
Limpid sprinting waters of burbling brooks
Rows of flamboyant and swishing dark green pines
Embellished with glowing verdure on sidelines
Tender and flushed buds aglow with rich looks
The dense clouds have descended on the earth
Little fluffy white wisps of dreamy visions
Natural splendour with divine collisions
What a splendid mountain view, beyond worth!
Craggy hillocks covered with the snow quark
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever!"
Hark back locale to recall for whomever
A lovely photograph of nature park!
Placed : 1st
Collab with Jo Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joanna Daniel
Date: 01-05-2023
Syllable count: 10.11.11.10
There's an empty space
you carry around and mostly ignore.
It doesn't cause much pain
when thoughts are elsewhere
or you are given facts to explain
away the ache. Nothing more
than an abandoned space
once occupied by gods
whose ghosts danced
in the flickering light
of an ancestral cave,
a residual hollow left
in the evolution of the brain.
Yet it lingers, a constant niggle
not confined to any one locale.
You try and fill it
with all kinds of tripe,
an endless stream of goods
carried on conveyors disappear
down its throat. Fictions
baked in the ovens
of the human mind may
satisfy for awhile but all
eventually evaporate.
There's still an empty space
you carry around that you can't
seem to fill.
It sits at the center
of your human lot,
a nagging need to be cultivated
and treasured
in your deepest quiet.
It's the only thing you have
that draws you towards
the shapeless gravity
of an unknowable God
or nothing at all.
Once the shots rang out,
I saw the bodies fall.
In this peaceful locale,
It made no sense at all.
Just good friends and family,
That were gathered together.
In this house full of love,
Was safe from the weather.
But, on this fateful event,
A gunman trespassed.
Wearing a mask of hatred,
While hot shells amassed.
No one knew his motives,
Or why he was there.
One thing was for certain,
Left the room in despair.
Women, children, and men,
Became his targets that day.
When questioned by police,
He had nothing to say.
After his final hearing,
Was given thirty years.
It didn't soften the blow,
To those drenched in tears.
Something's got to change,
It's absolutely true.
What can stop the carnage,
I don't know...do you?
I experienced an epiphany while gazing at the domain,
That how verdant looks a cold snowy mountain.
My eyes were popped out ,
for such an enthusing whereabout!
The locale kept me rousing,
and surprisingly,
I was thrilled to bits and tickled pink.
The child is the father
of the man, a motto
of the world at a time
a love of it before
and even since a time
past and immemorial
one thing to be recalled
a memory of how
such life went through the row
witting and changing as
if enough is the locale
whose glowing light is it
recall that there were echoes
that nothing is strange but
perhaps, a new way or
if it is let well through
sound of sweet melody.
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