Annealing bypass accountant funnel package routing
Die stream play overlays
Towards function
Away from heat regulator
Mobile O.S grid independence
Semiconductor dyes/dies
No grammatical syntax coupes possible
The dilapidated building wavers the hindsight
In a single city
Hidden conformity owns?
A previous creation of economy
Current currency in ink creates no mad article
One must adhere in the thick heat while justice witnesses change
The current volume of water "allowed" from water station
From station to station the ear is clipped in interest if reported earnings.
In this fashion panic has created itself a source of retired journal timing.
Cycle of labor markets itself
Not a new nor another
Speak easy
Speak easiest
Differing reason in seasonal appearance
In the space a forgotten person is left to entertain
The remainder of civilization has been acquired
The unfinished civilized area per "your" affront, complaint, insult
Inflammatory remarks is creation of code
Creating colony
Demanding colonization by war
More Info for Email Admins
Status code: 550 5.7.1_ETR
Codified routing policy organization chart
Competent exam
I am the pause in a planet’s breath,
a glitch in the code between birth and death.
I am the whisper in fungal lace,
routing news through forest space.
I’m tectonic gossip, slow and deep,
a quarrel continents keep in sleep.
I am the thought a comet had—
just once, before it went full mad.
I’m birdpath memory, sky-sketched lines,
migration’s rumour through tangled spines.
I’m the echo inside an ancient bone
that never quite learned how to moan.
I’m data lost in glacier code,
truth cached along a mammoth road.
I am not God. I am not Man.
I’m what existed before a plan.
I am what silence tries to say
before it backs itself away.
I am the itch beneath your name—
the part of you you cannot tame.
A few hundred ragtag, rabbinic Maccabees
faced the might of Antiochus’ army
60,000 fighting men strong
The Chanukah story we all know
The rabbis delivered Greece a knockout blow
Rededicated the Temple, and with a small cruise of oil
lit the lamps of the Menorah, eight nights in all
Yet in our prayers, not a single word about
the military prowess of the ‘Mighty Maccabees’
We thank God, and God alone, for routing Greece
Mattathias, the leader, and his sons,
five indomitable priests
we praise instead
~ but only for their spiritual feats
___________________________________________
The Talmud asks: 'What is Chanukah?' The above is
(a much-condensed version of) the answer it gives.
(Tractate 'Shabbos,' 21a - 23b)... Also found in the
'Abridged Book of Jewish Law, Laws of Chanukah,
Solomon Gantzfried, (English version)
Shadow black blood floods flow silently wailing in whirlpools
Volcanoes of endless enmity erupt with vengeance.
It's not humanness. Here, the mores of 'might is right' rules
Against routing quagmires, lotus buds fight for transcendence.
We shake hands like friends while minds float on clouds of fraudulence.
Amidst rocking crowds in digital sounds, we feel alone.
Wearing torn costumes of cleaved conscience, we seek vigilance.
Weeds of weariness spring up, wherefrom seeds of smiles are sown.
Like weak rams, we follow the rushing crowds to hit someone.
Who do we want to hit? Why do we want to? No one knows.
We make weapons and enable our young ones fight for fun.
Roots of truth hidden, falsehood from friendship flawlessly flows.
Why is each one who toils not the owner of their wages?
Why don't we end all dead ends that prevent our pilgrimages?
How the little things can move us
And revive forgotten memories
Like the ones that stirred me recently
And brought joyful thoughts abundantly
Of time with my dad at Rockies games.
He would seldom purchase anything
Except peanuts in the shell.
From little bags the cracking tells
Of satisfaction and salty smells…
Of time with my dad at Rockies games.
It was a kind of ritual there
The call: “get your peanuts here!”
He would skip the sweets and beer
Simple peanuts drew him near
To time with my dad at Rockies games.
His hands and mouth were happy
While watching the game and shouting
Like so many other outings
Peanuts a’plenty went with the routing
Of time with my dad at Rockies games.
It is not the size of a thing that matters
It is the people we love that go with it.
A small, simple peanut I must admit
Is nothing without my family in it.
I miss times with my dad at Rockies games.
Out in the sea, sailing on a stormy night
With the wind sweeping in fury all around
The racing clouds veiling the moon from sight
Leaving the land for Darkness to surround
The soft sibilance of waves
Growing into a tumultuous roar
The rising tides touching heaven’s seams
And the foamy surf breaking in wild uproar
No beacon to brighten up the gloom
Nor a brave soul around to seek for aid
Face to face with imminent doom
He struggled to wrench through dreads’ ugly hold
On a Benign force, his faith strongly lain
With hope newly springing in his manly chest
Braving the tides and routing the pain
He pushed the oars and paddled to the coast.
July 26, 2022
~ Placed Third~
Sailing Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward
What is a marriage?
A joining of two people.
Not as simple as you think,
Not just one tied to a sink.
Not just one going out for a drink,
Not just two folks forging a link.
Try to look at life this way,
Think of a garden in disarray.
If not tended and nurtured every day
Routing out the weeds and the rubble,
Easing your way out of life's trouble.
Planting seeds for a future day,
Working hard for a great display.
Never more than a moment to enjoy,
Never allowing time for Satan's ploy.
Easing your journey on life's highway,
Looking back shows the worthwhile toil,
Working God's way, Satan can't spoil.
We've now done almost fifty years,
Our garden's rubble has been life's tears.
The blooms that fill our hearts with love,
Our beloved children from Papa above.
© Dave Timperley 29/05/2021
Spoke of, as tiptoed through
With trepidation.
"Each fierce life-shaping clue
Throws a possessed look!"
In fables, darkest read.
Darkest of routing
In, out, bamboozling led
None creepier spook.
hold the razor
blade sideways
scrape up and slide
our kind size
straight line marked
like a scoreboard
winner won cards in
routing really
some may stand
up and ready
veined blue blood
circulation it's ok
to say
goodbye and
wait again
'til next time
Mind has gone with the flying withered leaves
Spring moon has dived into the summer pond
Hot ray with golden sight dancing with breath
May lips clutching the hands of rain with fond
June soil seeking the wet cord of showers
Moment of the roaming birds keep no bond
Hearts routing in the fragrance of flowers
Yellow pumpkin smiling with buzzing bees
Ripened fruits craving smell making loser
Sopping little sense is wounded with peace
Orchard of the autumn frost dreaming life
No farewell, let's enjoy the nature pitch
Happy path of the earth life ending no
After sorrow, joyfulness comes, it's true
24.06.2020 Chattogram
Aerial dribs and drabs, a sidewalk canvas
As a toddler chases bubbles her mother blows
from confectionary soap,
Fluttering fluidity in spring air
Child's laugh, a mosaic of innocence, discovery and glee
Her run after each globe, unsteady, twisted gravity
Her footwork shifts in warfare wobble, no sinkhole falling
Her reach to pop each bubble, circus kerfuffle, giddy,
giggles that swing like a trapeze artist,
while a mother retrieves
unexpected memory
shards of recovery
that coat a guarded self
Neverland jester, a child's guileless glow,
routing air baubles
unconstrained by space,
untethered from fear,
avoiding a fall off the planet
to limited mobility
For sometimes life's march
doesn't start on time
Poem revised: April 19, 2021
lon lines
and crowded spaces
are are a good thing.
people needing direction
and people not knowing where
they should be.
understanding that coming
early and having time to look around
and find a nice place to eat and talk.
calling early reserving
items that may be in demand
having the right amount of money to
get exactly what you were looking for.
Enjoying the show and knowing what to chant
routing for the right guy
and understanding what's going on.
You're a steaming pile of poo
With the rotten things you do
Lying, cheating, spreading rumors
You have a weird sense of humor
It might be a funny joke
But one day your gonna choke
On the words you have been spouting
When karma starts re-routing
Its way towards you , do not run
It will be a lot of fun
To see you get what is yours
Bringing you down to all fours
As you feel the torment
Of the pain you implement
On others since you were young
You have an evil spiked tongue
That will get you in trouble
Karma will make sure its double
The horror you have been spreading
Be afraid cause it is heading
Your way with a kick
Then you will not be so quick
To use foul language everyday
You are gonna really pay
Are we like pebbles on the bed
of a great lake when we are dead,
with fate that chose to give us breath
skimming us forward towards death,
gives our momentums skip and flight
in times sequence of day and night .
Propelling onwards, fading rings
marking the surface as each wings,
routing a common destined role ,
do nephesh, jiva, atma, soul,
sink into dark enfolding deep,
cold stone eternally to sleep ?
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