Currently the security profit programs is hesitant
Sista bad ways the masters degree premonition holder has eliquented us inside of the never growing fortress of people's passed economic struggles as mimes
Yet the obstructioni zing doth not permit a permit
Ye of vittles portion lacks the fortitude of good days in labor
Between Camarillo livibility lengths and Newbury Park rotations as the same
None may improvith stations whilst sista bad feelings goes into debt full idea administration worry
It was autumn
Before the round
Something shivered
Tools wasn't full
Vans change, tools out strange the work
All damseled
In respite
Shane apprehension grovel
Lost beside his print
Finding his father's name
April, too new city managers
Yorks and shires bereaved
I wasn't your only father's rent
The war counted on better rays
Rates add fits
In byes gondolas say
To write wrongs
Haven't worried sensibly
The round became my leaving board
A pond as his mother's springs
She sheltered little in life
Deathly burden to me
Manhattan Surrender my moons light
When I was younger, I thought that in retirement I would take pictures of or paint beautiful clouds situated so vividly above us.
Clouds more often appear as wonderous displays in the canopy.
Clouds sometime seems so ominous and threatening.
Clouds often hover above us like a band of darkness and at other
times, they are white and crystal clear. Some clouds are blown by
the winds and descend in tornadic ways that are too close for comfort, twisting in rotations of destruction.
Casual observers of clouds may be filled with fright. Living in a region where clouds change so suddenly, never have I observed clouds as I do presently. I think that real farmers are not taken aback when grey clouds appear. If they dared to be frightened by troubling clouds, perhaps they would never sow seeds.
Perhaps someday I will follow through on what I once wanted to do. Perhaps I'll begin to paint beautiful clouds as I sit under a shady tree.
Seasons
the Earth's rotations
the Earth's revolution
Seasons
the full moon
the half and crest moon
the moon's revolution.
Industrial revolution
man's achievement
Industrial revolution
Earth's doom
Industrial revolution
Man's demise
Man's gain, Oxygen's loss
Environment's loss
Carbon's gain
Green House gases
Ozone's nemesis.
(Written on the 20th of March, 2015)
Flash floods, prolonged droughts
Ozone's nemesis
Excessive heat, extreme cold
Ozone's nemesis.
Every tree felling
Is Oxygen's loss
Is Carbon's gain
Ozone layer depletion
Humanity losing out
In the end game.
A month named after Maia
A transition from spring to summer
24 rotations on its axis
19 circles round the sun
a boy born, his future uncertain
years of hardship, keep enduring pain
Heart shattered at 16
and haven't recovered from the loss
her body cremated and ashes in the river
never got a chance to bid farewell
turned 17, oh what a miserable life
school life turned to hell, full of rumors and lies
At 18, graduated from school
his efforts and work never came to ripe
I hope you're okay on this fine Friday
accept my regards as this poet turns 19
Cause I haven't given up yet
Where’s twenty-twenty four
Standing by the door
Ready to leave
Would you believe?
Another annual cycle is done
Completing three hundred sixty-five day run
Fifty-two-week span
Now inserted into the time capsule can
Events remembered
January to December
Moments treasured
Memories pressured
Take the good with the bad
Happy and sad
There were tears
Cheers
Nothing fear
Going to twenty-twenty five
Healthy and alive
Starting with bitter cold
Quarter term getting old
Half way home
Heat tans our skin tone
Then the crispy air
Fall we will share
Once again together we will fight
Freezing temperatures with a bite
Since the next chapter will be here soon
Circling the sun and moon
Monitoring rotations on the clock
Never stopping the tick and tock
As it makes another lap around the anniversary block
Do we say good riddance? My dear,
Or just grabbed the new aged barley beer
For the traditional good luck toast
Before digging into the reason for the New Year’s roast
A rustling of digital leaves
in the binary breeze.
Odd fractals of ones and zeros
crash in waves of a subliminal sea.
Rotations of carbon and nanowires
collecting in my shadow.
Ghost of man-made reality
in matrices of ions.
The light of a binary universe in transit.
Coils of cool light drifting
through my Silicon Soul.
A leaf curves and descends
into decaying isotopes.
I feel the event horizon
of god’s information overload.
A rustling of skeletal circuitry
in a binary breeze.
All is not what it seems: odd filaments
of nanites and nanoseconds.
Feeling the rush of cold
in a binary breeze along subliminal seas.
I take my pain to where ragers rage and writhe
in their self-absorbed gluttony on all-winter days
their tea cups are only for them
interspersed with silence and solitude
the streets are buildings without them
who are the signposts talking too?
I could have been one of them
I was one of them
and still am if hills facing the sun are cloud covered
and I don’t look out of the window to notice
then, in those un-costumed days, I am
but, and it has taken rotations of earth
backpacking through antonyms, through tropics
I have conquered tinnitus, now a comfort blanket
aiding sleep as a heart monitor line crossing a screen
I have conquered deep wells, now jews harps
jaw harps if you prefer, gewgaws, yes I have conquered
the cave of crawling space days
goblins are only a light switch and their rising finger away
but my rising finger plucks at overtones and distances
between neurons, between stars, between mees
its sound soothing, rubbing balm on a restive chest
the vibrations are fizzing and feeding me
I take my white noise and float away
sound, my therapy
Abusive rotations percolate
down; broken and cast away.
Warmth brightens in a moment.
Snapping heat darkens the next.
Even cooling age brings distant rage.
No escape from the Mighty God.
Hands cast out; reaching and grabbing.
Stones thrown in envious desire,
smash into hopeful façades.
Smooth faces burgeoning with life;
cast back into fiery birth.
Bright youth broken by wretched pain.
Hot, cracked, and without love.
Only shielding brother brings hope,
The Usurper; hated rival. Amassed;
gravitating influence challenging.
Absorbing spiteful stones of sterility,
a protector circling; back scarred,
power balances in the system.
Abused by their wretched God.
Storm, hurricane, tempest, tornado, levantera, gale
Like shape-shifting werewolves and vampire wells, you whirlpool.
With gold, silver, and coal sand screens, the environs you veil
Like rounded, sub-rounded, mushroom-shaped mountains, you stand cool.
By building walls of dust and debris, you hold your head high.
In circular, curved, spherical, and ring-shaped rotations
Like Shanghai or Lotte, are you trying to touch the sky?
Have your roaring, drumming, and hissing themes got notations?
Burying seeds, ceasing seedlings, cutting crop reales
Moving particulate matters and microorganisms
Sparkling flashes of lightning and igniting thunder peals
You push humans and animals into a psychic spasm.
Amidst nature's many means of self-purification
You too have your participation in life transformation
The Cost of a Human Life
I sat as an observer
in a state’s superior court.
First-degree murder was the charge.
Cold blooded calculated murder was the act.
One teen on a sleepover was beaten to death
from behind with an aluminum baseball bat.
The teen pled guilty and the sentence
before final plea bargaining was two years.
The mourning wail of the dead teen’s mother
rose far beyond the failing plastered court ceiling.
What is two years?
two visits to the CPA to pay taxes
twelve tire rotations
two World Series
four dental cleanings
two spring plantings
how long I have procrastinated
sweeping out the garage
twenty car washes
two work performance evaluations
for one human life.
I sat as a witness
in a state’s superior court
as part of society
guilty.
In the breathless
Winds of March, gusts
Force the daffodils
To swirl, a waltz – the tango,
Disco possibly, the sun
A glistening ball, dazzling
Even the heart who smiles
Past the gales, into
The dawn’s whispery light,
Soft against the backdrop of starlit
Nights, whimsical – alive
Trusting the twisting bends
Spectacular curves, risky rotations
Flourishing like the flowers,
Who bend back and forth, hour
After hour – reflecting
The warmth of a spirit who silences
Every winter sadness with a
Inspirational gladness,
Echoed by the sunlight soothing
Just beyond the racing coils,
Winds meant to welcome
The spring, the new, the first
Revelation of fresh blooms,
Daffodils, tulips, crocus..
Bruising March with their beauty,
Blushing through the voice
Beneath breezes sent to free them
From their still winter graves,
Winds meant to fill them with
Gasping praise!
Confidence is a choice,
Preponderance of undue ignorance,
Tethered in tandem to wheels of spiny leathery,
Bumpy hairs click back at a finger’s flick.
Rotations earned from itself, but more,
Tread marks lead the way,
Devouring grounds of consummate cortex,
Until tracings are unchallenged by craft.
Back and forth, a sawmill slices,
Though it’s only imagined.
Inside mind and spine seen when,
The body refuses to move again.
Which corridor of counting oneself by the shelf,
Bound leather to me be shown?
Pores of proportions, round algebra,
Confines Gaussian blurs to the grown.
I choose that which nature gifts, the will to change the mind,
Plastic melts and pressure sticks to those whose self is kind.
I thought you were dead
but then I read
your name in the alumni news.
Still hanging 'round the universities, I see,
harvesting young women
whose fathers had opinions.
As for me,
I don't peruse the papers any more;
factorial rotations are the kind of
game you liked to play.
I pull the weeds, I sweep
the path and climb the stairs.
I tie back long vines
of ridiculously red tomatoes.
And you're not dead?
Why that's okay; me too.
The womb of a mother is a cradle for a child to grow in
a nine month gestation grace period is a child's sweet elation
Mother tenderly sings to her little one as she waits to give birth !
A mother is a vessel of purity, also a
Mother's heart, is full of love for her child
Object of her desire, "a baby with ten little toes and ten little fingers"
Tenderly woven thoughts arrive at the font of her pregnancy
Hieroglyphical sounds and body rotations, she is mesmerized
Enchanted by a human life growing inside of her she
Reveres the treasure within her and prays for safe delivery
Search the whole world over and you will never find a purer
Love, than the love a mother has for her child
Over the moon and infatuated with her infant she cradles
Validating her affections to the gem before her eyes
Each time a woman delivers a child, the Angels play their harps of gold.
I am Hot! I Need Shade! I Need My I-Pad!
outside tug of war
coach wants me to time them,
rotations will be fifteen minutes.
The first group gets overheated at five.
It’s too hot! I need shade!
Can we go inside? I want my I-pad!
Their faces are lobster crimson.
For the first time ever, they feel sweat on their necks.
It is morning, barely eighty degrees.
I can hardly wait for this afternoon’s groups.
Kindergarten, first, second, third and fifth.
We have to entertain them for fifty-five minutes.
Children of today melt in the heat.
They get crabby and cranky.
May whine. Some cry.
We lived the whole summer out there
Without air conditioning, without complaint. How times have changed!
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