Sweating buckets in the hot seat, losing the ability to buffer the spaces in-between.
Yet sweating profusely can help you come back fully healed.
However what you are chasing is much further away, and what is chasing you feels much closer.
Like in any race the focus is always on the lead car.
Sending them best wishes and a lot more of hidden evil eyes.
Splash boom, dashed into a spin-out.
Spinning out does not necessarily mean to crash and burn.
Overshooting the corner forces you to reset/rest to gain back control.
Just coasting on the low fumes of synchronicities.
Stress must played in this chaotic times or could just be scrapped ahead in-time.
Just as the chaotic race of life, use that transmuting heat to purify.
Do you think the harder you push the pedal increases the chances to be showered more petals?
Theses small talks echo sounds so sweets, with the upgrades of my venturi tunnels.
I see Vishnu on a car plate and on the tv show, edging me to top gear manually to greater higher performance.
Smog, dust, and nails.
In a world where triangles don’t exist…
Infinity gets scrapped away like the grime it is.
I rushed to escape like a photo of myself.
Triangles.
Imagine triangles didn’t exist and everyone told you so, so, so…
But I can conceptualize crazy stuff like that.
Just take a dust pan and sweep up the “you” left overs.
This place has no one who can conceptualize shapes like I can.
So buzz through side quests.
I could totally draw that triangle, or anything, or my smile.
But there’s fewer things that exist like I do.
the accident
When crossing the street, cars had stopped
to let him cross in respect for his age
He was thinking of death; he hoped it would be
sudden, no sentimental last farewell,
no lies
about seeing you on the other side
Should there be another side, he wouldn't
He liked to meet people he had met in life side
A piece of a Russian satellite that has fallen to the ground
days, hit him with utmost precision
And he watched as the ambulance people
scrapped him off the street, the witnesses
We were in awe, thinking it could have been
We have to be nicer to our nearest
Now he was a soul drifting about, trying to
Find an opening back to life
At the hospital nearby, a woman struggled
to give birth, she was 38 years old, and
Therefore considered elderly for giving birth
The soul saw its chance to become a soul
for the unborn, well aware he would not be
able to know about his former life
Great jubilation, he didn't share as he was
too young to know
Gentle tributary
of a hill-born river
suburban lake caressed
acres of fertile land -
paddy rich, growing fields
Schools of fish raced at depths
water-birds, herons, egrets,
warblers, mynas, pipits,
swallows, shikra, barbets, owls
Bowl that held varied lives
The surrounding city
rapidly scales cloud- heights, as
skilled strategists, land grabbers,
investors, policymakers,
now take her on a ride
The silenced birds, once family
to the lively-living lake,
their provider, now watch
from a mile, her being led
like a lamb to the slaughter
chemical sewers, toxic algae
rotting froth, foam, fumes engulf
volatile, fire-prone, wasted,
water body stands scrapped
A stilled lake, beyond repair
Scrapped slew of core concert memories,
they come back to me with an intro;
Set opens with that number one hit,
the crowd roars with the very first chord;
They come back to me with an intro,
taking me right back to that old tour;
The crowd roars with the very first chord,
tickets and wristbands capture the sound;
Taking me right back to that old tour,
endless lines and bustling adrenaline;
Tickets and wristbands capture the sound,
it gets pumped directly to my veins;
Endless lines and bustling adrenaline,
every nostalgic note comes flooding;
It gets pumped directly to my veins,
a portal to cut a rug through time;
Every nostalgic note comes flooding,
set opens with that number one hit;
A portal to cut a rug through time,
scrapped slew of core concert memories.
While Jesus was raring and rising
Our religion we would be realizing
Being an atheist had been disguising
How is that for a few buckles of chuckles
scrapped by barnacles who had been a
natural born sailor named Bill. Ho ho.
After ages was turned into rock
Put on Startrek with name of Spock
While into show ourselves would lock
I have heard about shut ins and sit ins
before but I am not so sure and lock ins
and loose in though. What do you think
and hope all of this in will start to sink.
While Jesus was raring and rising
Our religion we would be realizing
Being an atheist had been disguising
How is that for a few buckles of chuckles
scrapped by barnacles who had been a
natural born sailor named Bill. Ho ho.
After ages was turned into rock
Put on Startrek with name of Spock
While into show ourselves would lock
I have heard about shut ins and sit ins
before but I am not so sure and lock ins
and loose in though. What do you think
and hope all of this in will start to sink.
I've scrapped the last one off,
No more hair there!
Each whisker removed,
Forth width,
Only took a little bit.
The fur coat I grow,
It's ridiculous,
I know!
On the way out,
My hairs do shout!
"Do not forsake us!
We will,
Will out!"
Tomorrow, we start again,
Perhaps I'll start with my chin.
A waxing job would take all day,
My skin might up and go away!
Looking at all the positives I see:
Cold weather insulation for me!
A soft fuzzy pillow to nestle my rear!
Possible transplants for the loss of my hair!
Being bald is nothing I dread!
The hair on my body being knitted just so,
Will cover any spot my hair doesn't grow!
Swinging watch of a hypnotist
Look into my eyes
You’re falling into a deep deep sleep
Forget who you are
In a red tie
I duck out my work backdoor
Stop
Stare
To a baby robin
Sways upside down back and forth
Suspended before my face
In the breeze of a luscious June afternoon
Chirps madly for rescue by its mother
Leg strung to its nest
By a wiry line meant for fishing
First flight
Plenty of blame to this tragedy
I guess you could even tsk tsk the mother
Who thread her nest with grass, twigs and hair
But also plastic and string
Scrapped to our parking lot below
I cut the fledgling down with scissors
Takes two hands
To hold its ruffled orange and brown body
He cries
His mother screeches from a perch near by
This leg is broke and nearly sawed in two
I snip the wound line from the worn slice of its leg
Creature flops
Its wings won’t extend
What to do
A shadow joins me and says over my shoulder
“Ah, nature.”
And walks away
But I stay
Remain in trance
Quietly weep with the choir
For the Earth we have re-birthed from Saturn and fire.
"The Illuminati is the Mafia and the Mafia is bad. They send people to Hell!"
by _poet
Into the darkness I will travel
Where the demons hide in the deep dark shadows
You'll see my fears begin to unravel
As I'm scrapped across the brimstone gravel
Don't cry for me, it is my pain
Acquired by a lifetime of shame
God has abandoned me years ago
So into the flames I will go
How many more days do I have to live
and how many more tears do I have to give
The ship of damned souls is welcoming me
to what extent they'll set me free?
If you look into the depth of my eyes
You would see how long I've lived
Scrapped and healed
Over and over again through the years
The nemesis keep repeating itself
It never ends
I always yearn for better days
But no one can contain my selfish self
Just like a kaleidoscope
I color so many life's
With love and cheers
But it wasn't enough, they want a bit of me
A part of me, I can't share
Some secrets I hold dear
Even in a game of truth or dare
Never will I share them
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
A Brian Strand premiere No 1217 poetry contest
Date: 05/18/2023
Do you know what it’s like
To be required no more,
To be put out to grass,
To be kicked out the door,
To know your work’s ended,
No more will be done,
To be slung on the tip,
Pushed aside by the young,
To be pensioned off
In an unceremonious way,
To know you’ve had yours,
Every dog has its day,
To have an appetite for work,
But be left to hunger,
To be replaced by someone
Less able but younger,
To be told you’re too old,
When you feel in your prime,
To be sent on your bike,
Before it’s your time,
To be all washed up
And flushed down the drain,
To have no physical wounds,
But still be in pain,
To feel your age,
Find you’re no Peter Pan,
To see your life going
No longer to plan,
To recall when you felt rich,
But now you feel poor,
To hear your heart slowly pumping,
Alas’ it races no more,
To experience an emptiness
That nothing will fill,
To have no medical symptoms,
But still feel ill,
To be out of control
Of your own destiny,
To be constantly asking
Why me ... why me?
I have been sold plastic gold twinklets
by Bedouin children at Beersheba
I have collected eggs from squawking hens
under some azure Kibbutz Hasolelim sky
I have seen the inclarity of the religiously saved
at Mea Shearim
But I have never crossed the green line
I have been to the biblical Safed, which lit fires at festivals
or scrapped my knees at Mount Masada
I have been adopted by 2 families in Ashkelon
one ostensibly poor
the other deemed rich
But I have never crossed the green line
I grabbed fear firmly by the hand and said sternly to it, let us go.
Fear struggled to get free from my grasp, for it knew its negative energy could not flow.
I held faith in the other hand while I heard it repeatedly say, run, leap and then fly.
Time to increase all levels of awareness realizing you are boundless divine energy that expands far beyond the sky.
It is time to increase our human frequencies to a much higher spiritual dimension.
Time to connect the heart and mind to elevate the spirit during this time of personal ascension.
No longer shall there be weapons of war, nor ailments or sickness, and an absolute absents of fear.
No more famine nor low self-esteem, no more control, or inequality, and no more need to shed another tear.
Fear struggled and scrapped, scrambled, screamed, and fought to be released.
Fear realized its fate, that it was inevitable to join the ranks of the deceased.
No more lies or deceptions, no more hidden agendas, theft, or conspiracies, that is why fear was afraid.
Fears time is at an end for it cannot compete with truth and the ultimate plan that our Father, Mother God has laid.
I flipped the drawing
In the plastic drawer.
Its back facing forwards.
No longer will it be what I’m seeing.
I tore the drawing
From the blank wall.
Its laying downwards.
No longer will it be what I’m hoping.
I scrapped the drawings
In the digital folder.
Its all hidden away.
No longer will they be seen.
I erased the drawings
In the vault within my mind.
Its inspiring creativity locked away.
No longer will they be.
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