Thieves plotted the street-weaver's doom;
and thus he just rented a room.
So "strange"- the pipes burst
and thieves were immersed...
weaver laughed and left with his loom.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
a captive ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
drawn ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ composition
by ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ wandering ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ troubled ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ sinking lines,
the ¦¦¦¦¦¦ bowing ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ of my will. . . .
I have ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ listened to ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
words ¦¦¦ the ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ muse,
and plotted ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ my life,
¦¦¦ avoiding ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ compassion . . . ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of Dolphin by Robert Lowell)
Water circulates somewhere in the US
Where rain isn't left to condense,
To well, like life leaves space for time.
I'm fanning my hands on a street in
London, Soho, where we never went
But an unplaceable conversation is in the tides of heat, one that spoke of Her.
I decided I needed something disposable -
A balloon-buoy swayed with an unease that carries -
Eyes that make mothers cross the road.
I bought one and he gave me two more, haggled, too hot to... fight. Paid, left with this in my hand.
On the bridge. Wish I had a weight.
It's a pain to hold but I don't want to watch my money sweep past Big Ben and the disgustingly scenic city scape.
Water circulates like these e-bikes.
Round the pre-plotted roads -
I think of the Romans, dead in the ground.
There's probably a few still in the Thames.
Death feels so historical.
We discovered clouds that hold rain forever.
I have everything in my pocket.
Within arms
Reach
what if every encounter, accident, incident, meeting was preplanned?
What if there are no coincidences?
Maybe we plotted this lifetime in a heavenly catbird seat.
Planning every nuance, scenario, circumstance before we were born.
What if our goal here is to see if the feelings, we thought we would have
are the feelings we actually do have?
What if our ultimate goal was to stay the course?
He loved me til the end
And called me friend.
For 30 pieces of silver,
I plotted his death.
He put water in a basin,
And lovingly washed my feet.
I chose to take my life
After betraying him with a kiss.
How helpless does one feel, the other gone
To dust of grave or scorched to ash on pyre,
The one that lives the rest of life to moan,
Chewing on old memories set on fire,
Set freed from huge storehouse of human heart
And which, ere munched but on moments of joy
That has now bidden last goodbye to part,
What ghost of death’s plotted them to destroy?
We mortals seem to munch on grave shadows
From life gone by, on glad tidings the least,
And still muse on moments of the morrows--
We, as evolution’s talented beast,
But you my love let me go when I’m gone,
Dwell on joys nor grief, but live for new dawn.
________________________________
Sonnet | 25.01.2026 | dawn, death, grief, joy, love
Peter (my bf) and I are keeping it modest, practicing the art of the small things. Among our repertoire of pleasures are simple conversations, after long, exhaustive school days, in non-technical language.
Shall we wax poetic-ish?
Ever, my heart had blazed as if branded by fire.
Then love finally arrived to sweetly quench that unseen, smoldering blaze..
Fate, for a while, like scissors, came between us.
But having thus far proceeded, I did sorely miss the confections of closeness.
So, I shamelessly plotted to conjure sordid-reunions.
You may damn the force of my weaknesses and think me devilish,
but I am, after all, a living, female thing.
Do I relive that awful trauma? No, living in the past is like reheating nachos.
No one wants that.
Or do we? We take so many pictures, now-a-days.
Are we sore afraid of losing our yesterdays?
.
.
Songs for this:
matters of the heart by lovlaine
Oh Honey! (I Love You) by Peach Tree Rascals
Backyard Boy by Claire Rosinkranz
My parents said I could not keep the black, stray cat.
They explained our canary would not survive that.
Parents out, a sitter, and my four-year-old mind
let the cat in while hoping birds were numb designed.
I am ashamed to have plotted murder when four,
sad an innocent bird died cause I liked cats more.
The whole family loved that sweet cat, “Little Bit”,
plus, I swear, I never planned another death hit.
At twenty-two, I confessed to my family.
Shocked, they did say my child-self deserved a grammy.
Pontius Pilate facing Jesus questioned what is true.
The answer stood in front of him not a what but a who.
But a breath away from perfect truth if only he knew.
Lord may I never be so blinded that I miss you too.
One man hung on a cross finger tips from the almighty.
Salvation within his grasp but too proud to clearly see.
Instead hurling insults for a fleeting moment of glee.
Lord may I never be so proud I fail to bend the knee.
Jealous leaders plotted to extinguish God's holy light.
Foolishly loving darkness acting like tombs washed in white.
Eyes so deceived they could not see the dire of their own plight.
Lord may I never be so fooled I walk by my own sight.
One woman abounding with love anointed with weeping.
With expensive alabaster perfume kept on pouring.
Overcome with thankfulness she just kept his feet washing.
Lord may I be like her with thanks and love overflowing.
That year the earth acted peculiar and parched.
The hatchlings screeched in the pulse of darkness.
Mother bird had nothing much to offer.
Not one insect, hopper, nor crawler.
Mother bird plotted, then hatched a wicked plan.
To snatch a bag of worms from the tackle box man.
Mother bird didn't know they were plastic worms.
By the next day, every last hatchling lay dead.
Mother bluebird never sang a lullaby again....
Forever cursing and dive bombing the tacklebox man.
MY WONDERFUL HUSBAND A POW HE AND I ARE CELEBRATING OUR 9TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY WE WERE GOING TO GET MARRIED ON THE 4TH OF JULY BUT DECIDED JULY 8TH 2016 POLK COUNTY WHERE WE SPENT SO MANY YEARS VOLUNTEERING IN OUR CHURCH MILITARY ORDER OF THE PURPLE HEART SPECIAL OLYMPICS ROTC SUN N FUN AEROSPACE ACADEMY WE ARE VERY EXCITED AFTER EXTREME DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AS HIS WIFE DIED OF MS THE MANY POEMS I WROTE TO HONOR MS SURVIVORS OUR MEETING WAS DESTINED OUR LOVE IS AN AWESOME LOVE WE BOTH COPE WITH PTSD TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY ITS AMAZING WE SURVIVED JAMAICAN DEALERS BREAKING IN OUR HOME JAMAICAN FEMALES LEFT OVER FROM MY ABUSIVE E. HUSBAND PLOTTED TO HARM MY DISABLED VETERAN SPOUSE TODAY WE ARE STILL STANDING WE ARE AMERICANS ALL ARMY STRONG 101 AIRBOURNE POLK COUNTY VETERANS I ADORE FLORIDA WE ARE TRULY BLESSED CELEBRATING SU. N FUN AND US HOLY MATRIMONY AGAINST ALL ODDS WE SURVIVED THIS SENT MY STALKER MY FATAL ATTRACTION INTO A RAGE SHOOTING UP OUR PLA TS MY PRAYERS ARE WITH MY ENEMIES MY IDENTITY THIEVES IMPERSONATING MY IDENTITY HACKING INTO OUR LIVES FINALLY POINTING AN ASSAULT RIFLE AT MY POW HUSBAND HE CRIED IN MY ARMS VERY BRAVE GOD HAS BLESSED ME A D MY HUSBAND
Saying Goodbye to a Web of Deception**
When did it become so effortless for him to weave his lies? Was it after their first anniversary, when the glow of their love began to fade? He meticulously plotted his betrayals, crafted intricate plans, and willingly cheated, transforming himself into a mastermind of deceit. Meanwhile, she wore her mask of a devoted mother and loving wife, concealing her pain as she smiled for their children. In public, she exuded warmth, but behind the closed doors of their home, she was a prisoner of her sorrow, tears streaming down her face in the silence of the night.
Then, that fateful summer night arrived—a turning point. She reached her breaking point and declared, “No more, no more.” When did it become so easy for him to betray the trust they once shared? Now, the scorned wife finds herself on death row, an ironic smile gracing her lips, revealing a chilling absence of remorse.
When did it become so simple to bid farewell to the tangled web of lies that defined her life?
i tried to get away
i tried to roll right on but you ran right over me
and i tried to assure you that, yes, I’m okay
no, don’t worry about it, you did nothing wrong
I said you didn’t do anything wrong so why do you keep apologizing
over and over
over and over
a cycle that will surely end sometime, right?
right??
i tried to get away but you wouldn’t let me
i tried to punch it down
i knew what i needed but i couldnt leave
you wouldn’t let me
not till i assured you
it was okay
but it wasn’t
finally i was bawling
i plotted my escape
but the tears were never-ending
just like they were that day
“you don’t have to be so strong”
but if im not, what am i?
If in my beginnings I saw a photograph I saw that somethings was a mortal fact
A mortal sympathetic pack
My body sympathetic to instrumental tracks
In our relationship in our position within it
Where so relentless on the inside
My heart must beat , I didnt even have a heart
My wasnt cold my heart wasnt there
I brought my heart back to life
On a cold winter night
Sitting there right next to her
Sitting there I could feel the heart stir
And I didnt even have a heart
She didnt have to come to me in the winter night
But she was my girlfriend
Everyday of the week
In the winter bite
We plotted and we scheme to
Rob the bookstore and write all about it
Put it to music and shout it
This is Salem Oregon
From Gra Travieso in the Sae,Gran Travieso said i love you Alabama
Roll Tide
Deep in his lair with a scowl and a sneer,
Gargamel grumbled, "They're still not here!"
He plotted and paced, he ranted and swore,
Yet Smurfs slipped away like they had before.
Azrael yawned, unimpressed with the plan,
Another bad scheme from a not-so-great man.
"Turn them to gold? Make Smurf stew?"
But every attempt just fell right through!
He set up a trap with a cunning disguise,
Dressed as a granny with twinkling eyes.
But Smurfs just laughed and skipped away,
Leaving him fuming the rest of the day.
He brewed up a potion, bubbling and blue,
Chanting a spell—then POOF! He flew!
Straight through the chimney, out to the trees,
Landing face-first with a swarm of bees.
So Gargamel sighs, as he always must,
His dreams of victory crumbling to dust.
For no matter the trick, the chase, or the strife,
The Smurfs will outsmurf him—such is his life!
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