20 number ten steaks
1 gallon of chow-chow
10 loaves of potato bread )Homemade(
30 sub rolls (homemade potato bread)
20 homemade sausage links
20 store bought polish saucasge links
cheesey cabbage cassole
carmelized onions with brandy and beef au jus
sweet and white potato french fries
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The delisous Delight......Assouvir
by Sympally Readiness
Since morning I had hungried
that the day my want for
delicoiusness
should be satisfied
that my craving for
simplity and grub ready
delights are to be
readied fom
the need of
my want
--------------------------------------------------------
our heart’s responses in dreams has steadied ~
for God-realisation we’re readied
active at all times, is our soul star node
as we sense therefrom God’s blessings in-pour
this form is readied to be His abode
so we burn in this urn but keep no score
afloat in the boat God Himself does oar
we’re breath by breath by bliss magnetism led
in truth leaving nothing more to be said
From the beginning, I came with my fists held tight
When I exited my mother's womb, I screamed and readied myself for a fierce fight
A fight I didn't understand at the time...
Way before the development of my prefrontal cortex and mind
But something peculiar sat in my spirit...
Coyly poking and nudging me to be intuit
And into it I was
But over time I started to lose my buzz
As I grew, no longer was I mirthfully floatin' and stingin'
Still, I was in the ring, and the fight they kept bringin'...
Fighting for a seat at the table___
After I was released from Dad's steel hands and Mama's nurturing ladle
Fighting for my voice to be heard in a world with stuffed ears
Fighting, just fighting to abolish my creeping fears
Fighting for my sweet, sweet dreams...
With my clenched hands, I still hold them, but so far away they seem
Fighting, fighting to experience peace and joy in the golden light
But soon--oh, too soon-- the fists become less tight
Aurora: "the rest of the summer, its blank night sky, that twinkles softly with graceful tries to blend the softness of the night with deepening lulls that musically alight."
Lucifer: "I vaingloriously instate another well of darkness upon the firmament escape, little doves and coy wolves, deities like us must press our luck."
Uraeal: "Insipid, really."
Kate: "The longest field in this place of woe should call the calling pigeon and pigeonhole our goals."
RK: "Oui Oui these said it was best, I'd look to a new heaven but havens come rent."
arophc varuag: "I came for lit happenings I see now today, the main little droves have gone to back horseplay."
PW1: *Realizes he is needed near the well, but turns for a morsel of the usual melody*
The forbidden one: *Catches up with the gamblers who have gambled with the day*
Zeus: "I venture forsook thee as thy often finds the book is readied its spine in its prime."
Helel: "Only the few have found such fortunes like a cookie from China that has yet to be opened."
DR Dragon: "For half of this time, I shan't read a thing that isn't the bribe."
---End of act III---
When the light returns...
A lighthouse never takes you home
its beam circles, then vanishes,
spins, returns, and vanishes again;
reminding the lost, stray, stranded
that light beamed out there can awaken
the lamp readied for your return
moored to the pier within your ribs,
with a heavy hauser belayed to ride
the surging pulse of choppy seas
prowling the wharf, inside a safe harbour,
behind the rocks of an old sea wall,
where the tide ebbs and flows, in and out,
rocking the kerosene ship lantern,
swinging on a wooden ship's beam
waiting for the message in the bottle
to return to sender, assured.
Fire- fire- fire
A scorching wind of the four corners.
Lava breaks the ground beneath you.
Igniting all that surrounds you.
The alarm blares at the station
Fighters of fire scramble
toward their readied engines.
In a flash, like a spark on this heated moment-
Vapor rises like a cold mist melting the alarm.
Your vision fades-
The station is silent.
Reality reclaiming its ground,
sending you back over by the fires,
You watch and wait,
trailing on the winds of ash and smoke.
Comes a branding thought-
caught by your ears:
"Be patient, wait for your help.
You will not see it,
nor know its ways.
But you will survive."
Deafened by the roar of the blaze
and crackling of the ground
Screaming "I have nowhere to go!"
Patience- Patience- patience
The message melts across the fires.
Baking its way into your ears.
"Days are fleeting and will end.
Years are hard with labor but will soften.
Decades fade into the fires, those will cool.
Remain patient,
and wait for your help.
You will not see it,
nor know its ways.
But you will survive."
Saying not a word,
he took up his vorpal sword.
There was no talk.
A jabberwock
put on his sock.
A frumious knight
readied for a fight.
A jabberwock he knew
put on his shoe.
What happened next?
Read Chapter 2.
radiant palms and vibrant soles of feet
feel light strobes emanating from the heart
aware that all nodes in form are upbeat
sensing with each breath, bliss ignition start
readied for action, adding love to cart
seek prayerfully from God permission
to spread love and light, as soul’s emission
let heart’s intent simmer awhile
gentled in effulgence of love
magnetised in cauldron of bliss
that when thus readied for action
soul senses Divine Mother’s kiss
Gone is the quiet. Gone is the holding back.
The war is here. The war is back.
We are readied from the fear, of loosing all we hold dear.
We fear all for we care for all.
We destroyed the plights drowning our dwindling lights.
We will make it right.
Born in the dark.
Nurtured by stone.
Forged by the core.
No longer shall we be broken. For now we break.
---
A dwarven song, newly crafted for an old friend. Saved from horrors and now they know that war is back, they will not flee like they once did. In the war then never really ended.
The very ground quakes with their words, their hum, the ground echoes in odd ways and begs for them to heed their words. Begging all to help.
-On to war-
It cries. Not in blood lust. Not in wanton destruction.
In a plea to make the echoing pain stop. If even just for a moment.
Just to break the cycle once.
That's all that's truly needed.
Never still the mind of God.' continual motion
Growth of purpose' rythem of love, making..'
man and woman' comes from above.' Growth of grass
Errosion of cliffs.' Waves upon oceons work
To shift..Grit in oyster, kernel growth.' Denotes
Wisdom and tears..Indeed; my oath.! Wind that moves
Emotions to change; sadness to elation such
A range.. Snail or Eagle slow or fleet Earth and
Universe.' Of all such I speak..Can you feel the
Intended.? Do you reach? Do you yearn? Are
You commited? Such is helpful. If of God
You would learn.' satan apes God even as he dies
A burned out relic with rhetorical lies.' Who
Offers most often (that which you have!) yet to
Rob is his intention...I'll call his odds.' May I
Talk the Truth.? For it brings him down.' His
Is a tawdrey glory..His is the volatile crown
Dry as paper..If i may.? He readied he is basted and he will climb in the tray..Be seperate from him.' Always seek the Lord by
The way of His waters upon His holy shores
Travel through the ' red sea ' turn not aside.'
The Great God of all motion.' Intends to take
Him, HIs bride.!
Physical and soul’s eyes entwine
The head ovoid begins to glow
Orbiting heart all nodes align
As boons of grace God does bestow
Light of Self pulsates in our chest
Spine acts as a seamless implant
Breath by breath we are by God blessed
Within resounds the cosmic chant
The soles of feet and palms glisten
Readied for action when ordained
Silence speaks, we gently listen
One without oneness, our soul’s unchained
The light of Self now drenched in love ~
Is the symbol of God’s peace dove
Blue Cheese and Old Pickles – 3-14-25 Dedicated to my Grandmother Pickel and her famous pickles.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blue Cheese and Old Pickles
Forgotten in a tapestry of shadows
Woven in long twilights and long rows
Of blue cheeses, tomatoes, daisies and flying salmon
Shelves, birthing dust bunnies,
Give up the last jar of her pickles
Sealed in clear mason glass
Still smelling of dill and garlic and her hands.
Her handiwork still looks
As fresh as crisp cucumbers
Gathered in fields wearing sunflower bonnets
And the scent of new earth readied
To grow round again
With new seeds
Not to forget the children she gave into angel’s hands.
Brought into the light, her love shimmers
Through the artistry of her hands
A rhapsody, sealed and sung across decades,
Plays as I ladle jam and new pickles into her jars,
Savoring my harvest with gorgonzola on toast
And raspberry sherbet on a waffle cone.
energised palms are readied for action
but with ego having long since vaporised
and recognising God in-dwells all forms
there remains no desire to rock the boat
save poised as a conduit of divine energy
attentive to spontaneous will of the universe
to perform a loving act here in this density
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