The artist is absent, i guess i killed her off. Built her, just to break her- like a ceramic cup in the decor. A sway and the pieces fall, broken down in chunks of her pain. In the story of everything, the art suffers- tight ship, bad weather- nothing helps. There's no shore to go to. You stay with the wind, flock with the waves like a clueless bird, hoping someday you'll reach a comfort of a place you get to call home. I didn't feed her soul- with words full of love, hate, sad, happy- all she can feel is a hole, in her life where the content used to be. Where the quill-and-ink rested along with a page, ready to be scribbled, ready to be filled with her mind's rage. The ink bleeds once or not at all. It's tiring, having to walk in the spring season, fresh air, new hopes different dreams and yet feeling like the fall.
Every step she takes, every mistake she makes, all the roadblocks that make her feel nothing at all. Carnations over her gazettes, no scriptures, no memories to recall. It has faded into nothing yet she bleeds it somehow. The writer is absent, I think I've killed her off. Clueless in her own world somehow.
Differentiating between Christmas and Easter is important because they celebrate two completely different foundational events in Christian theology—Jesus's birth and his resurrection.
Early Christians used paganus as a term for non-believers or outsiders who did not follow the monotheistic God. Pagans and Christians "jive" because they share deep historical roots, celebrate similar seasonal holidays, and value the same core ideas about community, love, and respect.
Christianity and paganism share a complex history of theological opposition, cultural borrowing, and eventual transformation as Christianity expanded throughout the ancient and medieval world
Christians and pagans often avoid marrying due to conflicting core beliefs and values, but some choose to marry based on mutual respect, practical compatibility, or existing commitment. Opposing beliefs often overlap, when one is serious there thoughts might be laughed at. Opposing opinions and differences often clash.
Will you remember
your
routes
trafficking
among the
self-driving cars?
Barking. Off, away
By Frank Daub
She is UNAWARE that she cannot stay – too long.
Her time is limited to short intensiveness,
so, she doesn’t hold back, but plays
and zooms in circles through every room
open to her padded paws.
Stopping suddenly short –
she remembers the love we share
and she pads back to sit looking up at me.
That is when I pray that pups are part of Heaven.
Heavy relief.
Weighs almost as:
An orchestra.
Which is nothing more.
Than splicing stuff.
Almost predetermined.
Heavily predicted.
Heavily cries out.
Heavily circling.
Heavy relief.
It ‘twas watching lift off.
Knowing they’ll turn to an orchestra of a tin can.
Instant as coffee.
In this day and age when every commercial slanders someone, it's a turn-off
At Nambucca heads, upon the shore are the beds where oysters were galore
I climbed upon them ragged rocks just
A kid, I got a shock, i slipped and fell and
Out i reached, grabbing the boulders
As i lost my feet.' Now oyster shells new
And old; are sharp and cut, some blood did spurt from my right hand that steadied me against worse hurt.'
So i had luck indeed i see, and learned a
Lesson for life; as you might see?)
The plaster in Rick’s place was always flaking near the doorway,
eaten away by damp heat and cheap tobacco smoke
that hung like dirty lace off the cedar joists.
Back in the corner sat a stunted, yellowed box—
a five-octave upright slapped with salmon and faded gold,
its pedals worn down to raw, scuffed brass.
It wasn’t built for concert halls. Just a pine-cased crate
that smelled of spilled Cointreau and stale olive brine.
Heavy teak doors kept the street noise out,
but couldn’t block the shuffle of black-market transit papers
passing under the low oil lamps.
Then Sam laid his knuckles on the keys,
cracked ivory, half-sticking from the salt air,
and the room went dead quiet.
She stood in the entry, silk coat catching the light,
asking for that song from Paris
before the tanks rolled in.
Rick didn't yell. He just stopped dead in his tracks,
watching the smoke curl off his cigarette
where it rested on the edge of the wood.
“Play it,” he muttered, his voice flat as gravel,
and the little wooden box gave up the only thing it had left.
One day, my son asked me, "Which one of us do you love more?"
I grew uncomfortable and I looked down at the floor.
It was an answer that I didn't want to hurry.
He's an only child, so his question made me worry.
Could it be that once I dropped him on his brain,
or had I forgotten a child (which would have been insane)?
Should I tell him, "You have always been my favorite.
You should take satisfaction in that and savor it",
or should I be fair and diplomatically proclaim,
"I love all of my children pretty much the same"?
Perhaps, it would be more circumspect for me to say,
"I love each of you, in your own inimitable way".
I finally chose, "I love you more than any other child by far",
and he said, "Good - can I have the keys to the car?",
to which I replied, "It wouldn't be any bother,
except that I've already lent them to your brother".
You have my
vote
But not my
mindset
Where once
engaged
I’ve moved
along
No longer
hooked
On every
soundbite
Big picture
focus
The right
— from wrong
(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)
and salted sarcasm
just like the air
I forgot was there
I always needed you
Mermaids laugh
at my cutting semantics
and manic mannerisms
on calloused rocks,
because they miss
the texture of sound
They listen better
than two-legged fools
Everything has limits
This house has 90 degree walls
This mocking bird will tire eventually
These words keep a flat straight line
This skin keeps the blood inside
warmer than love
Break through Ben,
even if I hit the ceiling of Heaven,
break it down, Ben
Break it down
A polar bear unexpectedly washed up
on a beach of sun-soaked sand, blinking at palm trees
like they were part of some cosmic prank.
He tried to build a snow fort out of coconuts and optimism,
but everything kept melting~
except his dignity.
Soon he learned to waddle in flip-flops,
sip pineapple juice through a straw, and fan himself with a leaf
the size of his entire head.
He decided, with a shrug, that life is mostly about adapting~
even if you’re a creature of snow
learning to love the warm, ridiculous world.
God
loves us
all
then si-
lence
From far away the mountains rise,
blue-silver shapes in morning’s glow.
Their ridges catch the sun’s first throw,
a shimmer brushed across the skies.
Warm wind carries the meadow’s sighs,
wildflowers breathing soft below.
From far away the mountains rise,
blue-silver shapes in morning’s glow.
And though I watch with open eyes,
the peaks stay wrapped in distant snow~
a pale, bright hush I long to know.
From far away the mountains rise.
i dunno why
but have you ever come across a Somersetshire mob?
i'm talking squalls and screams in the night
sister of Satan stuff
i'm looking for people with a reputation for learning
and sobriety
will i find them?
i look through other alarms on my phone to see what they are called.
one reads, 'pretend to celebrate St. Crispian's Day'
i was intending to get in tons of balloons and pie
i saw the F1 movie and have recreated the press conference scene
in the kitchen. i am getting cheekier by the day.
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