I was incased
in an igneous abode
you could not discern
my watermint sense
but catadromous
unwind
their pantograph
linearize
crookedly bladed link
rosinweed and spoonflower
outgrow technobabble
stratification
calcedony bicolor translucent
zymogen expectantly
diffract southwest
we were burdened
mammalian carrier
through telescope
transparency
never
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 31–September 6, 2026)
The roots of man go so deep
Some little rodent perhaps
Thoroughly relieved the dinosaurs
Are at last all gone.
And here and now
Always a mid point between past and future
The future likewise unforeseeable
Other than a vague sense of continuity.
From that future
A hundred million years from now
This past I sit in
Will be as unknown and unrecognizable
As my little mammalian ancestor’s.
Does this make it all meaningless?
Hell no!
It makes each step and stage
Miraculous.
(8/11/26)
owls sit in the dark and listen
for mammalian prey
tunneling
through deep snows
below the
trees
plunging, they seize
their next
meal
len
Bias has for animals better named Beasts:
Creatures that could us shake in strong seats
They are the ones Satan ably schemes their use
In battles real rather than a ruse…
And he had been chiefly The Selective,
Their offices never The Elective;
A good distance keeps from one this hour
And the next is back for just its power…
For a combat The Beast usable,
Mostly one to Man unthinkable;
An increased tasking of The Reptilian,
Time and again contacting Mammalian…
The scaly slipperiness of snakes
Elusiveness matches that record breaks.
So, it had to be Snake at Eden
To help shape The Question he had asked then.
It was Christ who had Swine linked with him
In a sermon and a hostage to him
But Satan would sooner he wasted one
Than dispatched it to wars that must be won;
Yes, after him, God began to use Snake,
With it dealing with Jews who’d dared rake!
For disgrace of Stoned Godly Naboth dogs:
Nicer than further hitting corpse with logs;
For new slain Christians in fields vulture!
Does trust The Vulture’s Carrion culture…
And A Dragon for Mother and Child
Fire-spitting, Huge Success from being wild.
Gaia’s womb the ocean,
births her children with aqua love.
Mammalian heartbeats intermingle with
The sound of the tides;
harmonic echoes are recorded in
every abandoned shell.
The wisdom of those who traverse
this entire world amid the waterways…
immense and timeless; borne of eternal-mind;
the consciousness of the universe resides in every soul.
A spiritual connection deeper than life
each grain of sand holds the magic
drawn from the cosmos.
I reach to touch a conch, Lifting it my ear;
listening to the wisdom it provides
in the language of surf.
I hear the voice of a dolphin,
“We are one and the same”.
The spirit of the Manatee asks,
“Come swim with me.”
Wading into the surf, I feel the cool
of ocean embrace and dive in;
a rubbery touch of manta says
“Hello, let’s race.”
I find myself among friends.
A wave plays upon a liquid canvas,
in colors of brown, gold, aqua glass.
Globules mingle in 4/4 time
chiming songs, a crystal voice, sublime.
Somewhere in a distant keep,
are echoes of that briny deep.
Ingrained in oceans memory,
mammalian song is mimicry.
Dive down into the aqueous abyss,
you’ll enjoy a crystalline bliss.
Ride a dolphin into the sunlight,
they are personalities of delight.
An expedition to the coral reef,
gleans the beauty you may seek.
Aesthetic marvels, can be found,
among the corals, that abound.
Mammalian marrow, however brutal it tries,
It will always be dreadful.
Megaloblastic, mismatched, mammalian marrow.
Does the mammalian marrow assist you to shake?
Does it?
I cannot guess but stop and look at the passionate, additional affectionateness.
Are you upset by how lustful it is?
Does it rip you apart to assure the additional affectionateness so passionless?
An experienced eye is a weeping fountain.
The weeping fountain his experienced eye.
Never forget the cosmic and heroic experienced eye.
I saw the zany spirit of my generation destroyed,
How I mourned the secret soul.
Does the secret soul assist you in shivering?
Does it?
A moderate middle, however brutal it tries,
It will always be the size.
Does the moderate middle assist you in shivering?
Does it?
Don't believe that a healthy heartbeat is slow?
A healthy heartbeat is firm ludicrously.
Does a healthy heartbeat assist you in shivering?
Do it?
I’m a titch like a detritivous dust-mite,
Yet taller than a boiler-hauled trawler.
Little like the winter mice’ whittling bites,
Brained bigger than a floor-fallen brawler.
I have stories smaller than memoried whales,
More shallow than trills of the trenches they’ve seen.
But my weather is the wind in their tow'ring tails,
And we're tuned by the lies laid by those same submarines.
One day I'll be sea-sized and shaled with loot;
I'll look fond through palm fronds as poor as a pond.
A tale in the gauze jaws of larval brutes,
When lures limped by my eyes too small to respond.
I will be brassy like cows chewing dew,
Strange like your mammalian four-legged desk.
In my dray I feel sometimes I'm not in life's stew,
And I’ll be smaller in there than the lonely drones grown,
by cells of electricity in Battersea's beastly eggs.
There is this thought,
in Leagues of Voters,
continually arising
from East to West
and South to North
and Left to Right,
That we need to make win/win nice
with our mammalian cousins
on land and sea
or only mean old reptiles
and hungry predative birds and insects
will remain
to design Earth's future cultures
and regenerations.
Others feel this prejudice
for wombs over eggs
and nuts
and seeds
is merely ignorant elitism,
as if humanimals
are not capable of reacting
like rattlesnakes
and scorpions
wherever and whenever our environmental climate
fails to comfort
and entertain us.
Womb supremacists
and egg empiricists
and seed originalists
all agree,
regardless of ZeroZone resourceful structure,
win/win cooperative economies
are healthier than win/lose ego-empowering constitutions,
whether capital declared
or politically implied
by organizing skills fostering more wars and competition
more than love and cooperative education.
This reminds me of a Japanese saying,
There is luck in the last portion.
Whether good luck or bad,
well-wombed or bad-seeded,
this saying leaves to us
to predict and actively hope for
or against.
Never I thought I feel this way,
I cannot understand this feeling of true love,
Never I really to fall for a woman again,
The man like me living on this earth, loving not meant to be.....
Until now, anything I would have given to obtain true love,
For you, for her, for them, any woman will do.....
I never asked much, I only wanted to be loved, cared, fondled...
The replies came and disappointing followed,
I became humiliated,
Stranded on cold love,
The heart became frozen in the midst of hope,
To hope,
To dream,
To long for,
It is a one-way street to torment......
God only knows if I have wild desires,
Loving is not a cause lost by the time
It only diminishes by death when it comes to meet me,
Yet, I'm still waiting for that heart......
A woman’s heart.
Until now, anything I would have given to obtain true love,
For you, for her, for them, any woman will do.....
Loving love that belongs to another....
It destroyed my emotions by time) i
Until death, I keep my wild desires,
Till death comes to pick me up and throws me into oblivion.....
Till then I keep waiting for that heart ready to give me love....…
This kindred of separation
this breed apart
this top of the food chain
and its self distinction by the manipulation of thumbs
This arrogance of intelligence
with its pocket-sized reasoning of knowledge
and by default applies its logic
this incongruent species of taking everything for granted
These nations of waring factions
and the tyrannies of their religions
and all their obsessive obsessions with death
and all their cognitive dissonance of life
All the distractions
the desperate intentions
to impart some measure of meaning
some inkling of purpose for a life they have never really lived
Predisposed to elitism
by their own sense of division
this bipedal predator of vertebrate mammalian
assumes all of creation was only created for them
And in their frustration
and with their playground experience
they build all manner of weapons
to beat the crap out of the people living with them
Still the sun shines
and only by its grace do they continue to exist
all the quantum theories and universal singularities
do not help them with catharsis
they survive only by the elements of a planetary symbiosis
When confronted with a panic or fright,
We think - OH NO! FIGHT or FLIGHT!
But we're deficient in counting the signs,
Given such politically charged times.
There are two other responses besides these,
Most commonly... scared people will FREEZE!
But whether you're a neocon or a lib,
The fourth is the safest - just FIB!
Wow! you thought it couldn't get stranger,
Totally fake bravado Trump's danger.
All those deferments will carry a cost,
As we mourn for those we have lost.
Poets often loose their groove
When entities dearest to them cease to be
when their natural instinct
to think wayward
fades away
and the remedy for artistic loss is unheard off
Life loses its jazz thereof
I was at cross roads some times back
on a pilgrimage on horse back
as told of by Robert frost
We play with words and bake love
but are we to also have the cake
we affix novels on single scripts
but are our conquest worth a headline
We decode the language of love
to those alien to mammalian emotions
find meaning to each ripple
of the saline seas of a humane pupil
I had my third eye plugged out
My endowment, my gift, my artistic touch, my woman
the whole subscription, cut off
She wasn't your average Cinderella
no, she was rocked in blue jeans
nothing close to a face portrait
she barely graced any make up
her face undefiled
Her scent sweat and pure passion
Lips of a new born, only hardened
Buy the equatorial rays of the suns glare
She was an endorsement of true beauty
at the threat of double standards
this century swor to alianate
Took just a stare
Fate on two feet
To heal a brocken pen
The wind moves us
Even if accidentally or unwillingly
I love a great slab of life along with an extended slake of thirst
I love that there is an intense need to curl into a shell
When others spell out life by computer chips
I am the antediluvian agency
I occasionally get mobile via bivalves
Or tricuspid consistency
Only
Due to my mammalian genetics
As I watch the kinetic possibilities of moss
Determined as a scientist with fingers made of air
Now the trees sing in a special aria
I love your face
It's ridiculous with all its perfections
And
You simper
At the thought of this
Which makes you even more free and worn comfortably
Around the edges
I join in when possible
Landscapes reheat me to the core
Love Watts Geothermal and Kernels of the 5th dimension
Sail most by north, by west the least,
until the moon sets in the east.
There, in a sea the colour of custard,
ye'll see the Ile de Deux Sans Mustard
where locals speak like buccaneers,
calling you ‘me dirrr' and us ‘me dirrrrs'.
Their pirate accent's quite inexorable
though, than ours, their grammar more is flexible.
They appear to verge on being mammalian,
a little bit like South Australians
(I'd never for the sake of mirth
deride the folks who come from Perth).
Hard left, first manatee you see,
or right, your choice, you're free as me
(it's nix to do with politics,
a pox on all elected plicks).
Sail till the sea turns sweetest violet
and there you'll spot the cutest islet
(had we to rhyme with ‘sweetest red'
it'd be a continent instead).
Here, when poetry is long dismembered,
lies the place of rhyme remembered.
Yes, you have come upon a land
that any poet would think is grand,
where almost everybody aint
any kind of ffffflamin' saint,
but seldom use the worst of curses,
when they converse in freeish verses,
or communicate in playful rhyme,
pretty much whenever they feel like it.
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