This is it,
In midst of chaos -primal
Greeny bloom woods,
Riseth the morning- alive
Is Sunshine a freedom?
Or a journey - lone
Wandering on paths - stray
Desires went abode
Yet on lane destiny- future
Memories meeked all momentum
Yearnings of purpose
Contradict the broughtup- slavery
Of genuine home- egypt
Where needs satiate,
Desires met slight,
Blurred every shades-plight
Stationed present edged
the motion independence
Weaved enough - aggravated
To find a sight - right
Now, ye discern
Of way sorjournees
Who sought only physical
Lapsed away from the head - eternal
Me - desperately denied
as them few - natural
Looking forth unto hills - zion
On direction fifth
With faith bodacious - in above
Walking cadence towards
works which setteth- beforehand
Not to prove, but to love
As a faithful bride
In the end.
The Domed Teapot Movie Team stores
good running electrical engineering supplies for
the apprentice vape tester stationed
for training with other code guy
system connectors near the
erectifying rainbow falls of
Mr. Mojo's Old City
WHEREAS(S)
the Eccentric Frontier Goldmine Foundation State has
discovered a recent reference model indicating that
the Eclectic Ghoul Aid Company has failed the
combined skating/scooter/car/bike and
forest river vehicle acid test (though they
did oddly OVER_perform with
dirty toothbrushes while on
motorcycles)
ALL OF WITCH LEAVES US WITH
an Elected Peach Boutique Box Collection of
shadow games and chic cottage band
energies perfectly suited to the
Enneagram Test Cook's home decor
NUT TO MENTION (MUNCH ON?)
the elliptically concentric doctor of the
Goon Power Kingdom where
mad duke predicament bosses are
obsessed with my contraption wheel
drop way of UNDER_thinking the
biased fallacy of self-data camera
set collectors viewing the erect or
oral bored college process that
involves repairing old farts for
recyling at flea markets.
Light filters through my mind,
Finding my belief on the other side,
My eyes pried open wide,
Projecting a reflection of inside,
Like the changing of the tides,
We ride the Ebb & flow,
Knowing where we want to go,
Growing our own field of awareness,
Bear witness to what's before you,
Explore every avenue,
Travel to your inner core,
Theres's way more,
Then what you came for,
A portal to past information,
Is stationed within your cells,
Swelling with excitement to tell,
You never fell from grace,
They displaced your allegiance,
Implanted a grievance,
Committing treason to the soul,
As they gain control of the flow,
Knowing you'll watch their show,
Slowly starting to let go,
Letting others tell you what to know,
Growing afraid of your own shadow,
Tomorrow a scary place to go,
Blow off the dust,
Clean up the rust,
Trust in your unique design,
It was a gift from the Divine.
On a dew kissed morning,
while walking through the country path,
I chanced upon an unpretentious weed
peeping out of the crannied stone ledge with a flower
a lavender blossom with bright yellow stamens
around her navel announcing the mirth
that breathes itself in bloom.
Though lonely, she was a symbol of resilience
In many eyes an intruder, but she could put to shame,
her garden cousins, stationed high-
a testament to love, showing life’s art.
Away from mortal gaze, she survives,
to cheer hearts and waft a mild fragrance.
She nods her head in breeze
as if to invite the footloose ramblers
who might chance to pass that way
to feast on her beauty and taste her fragrance,
before she falls down dead in that wilderness
in another day’s time,
unnoticed, untouched, unsung!
Hands hold tight to the loose ends of hope
As we toil and crack, night and day,
Hoeing up bits of earth and its fragile retributions.
Our crops and little beads of sweat drip to waste
On the ground’s boiling soils.
Eyeh is another name for a deceased generation.
The ones that sprout stubbornly through restive
Delays get re-greened, losing vibes of communal
Watering, ceremonial baptisms.
Birds build their nests in haste,
When bent cusp-blades sprout secretly at twilights,
Behind ethereal curtains of dawn falling
To the consternation of treacly, bitter syrups of time . . .
Is this continuous planting . . . and delirious season?
Has it come to that —when drunken war mongers
Form weapons from slats of pallid bamboo stationed
At the guard posts of violated yams and their flaccid
Tendrils?
I fear.
Such suzerainty over yellowing crops
Transcends the coats of black dust hiding from the disease
Of identity.
It is still planting season, brethren.
The deafening sounds of cannons shake the stalks yonder.
There's a smug dance of weevils on the graves of tubers.
even in a crowd
one can still find solitude—
silence not required
My children got me a subscription one of those services that sends me a weekly prompt, usually something about my childhood, to help get those creative juices flowing. One of those prompts read, “when you were a child, did you have to share a bedroom and possibly a bed with your siblings?”
Wait a doggone second guys. Do you mean to tell me that sleeping alone when you were a child is a real thing? Man, when I was growing up back in Wakenda, I recall the biggest house we ever lived in had four bedrooms. I know that a four-bedroom house might sound like a mansion but when you throw in the fact that there were more kids than you could count without using your toes, plus mom and dad, that sure didn’t leave much space. Heck, even after I joined the Army, depending on where I was stationed, I had to share a bedroom with 4 to 12 other people. Then I got married and spent each night of my life sharing a bed. After all those years, I’m not sure I could sleep a whole night without the sound of snoring and an occasional fart drifting out from under the covers.
The Florida schools I knew—
Were fashioned to undo—
A Child—of unassuming Mind—
They tested—what was True—
They pressed my Thinking—into shape—
Too narrow for my own—
And struck me—when my Answer leapt—
Untethered—yet full-grown—
They bade me show the Steps I took—
Though Insight has no trace—
It blossoms—like a Lightning-flash—
Too swift to Keep my Pace—
And Bullies—stationed at the Doors—
Were given quiet Leave—
While Teachers—kept their knitted Peace—
As if Pain—might relieve—
I wondered—had great Einstein bent—
Beneath such daily Blows—
If Relativity—could of Bloomed—
Where Hostile Classrooms grew—
For Elementary—Middle Years—
Were Corridors of Trial—
And every Day—another Proof
That Learning—ment Exile—
So—long before the Eighth was through—
I slipped beyond their Chart—
Preferring Freedom—Hard and Vast—
To lessons—taught by Hurt—
And though their Purpose—was to break—
Some piece of Me—remained—
A quiet Sum—no Blackboard holds—
By the Suffering—I sustained.
The firing pin is in position,
Primed awaiting the decision to fire,
The target has been acquired.
I require more information,
The operation is under observation.
I'm stationed safely in my heart,
Starting to pick apart the details.
Tailing the target so I don't forget,
It's all in my mind,
I designed how this goes.
Hiding in the shadows,
So no one knows I know,
Cloaked by a coat of intuition,
I fit in tight spaces.
Embracing the darkness,
Facing my own mess,
I press forward to the goal.
My soul flows with confidence,
Growing my experience.
The clearance has been given,
I'm aiming with precision,
The mission in critical condition.
I listen to the breeze,
Before I squeeze the trigger,
Aligned with the bigger picture.
I fire with pure intention,
Unloading my weapon of perception,
Healing a collection of souls,
Looking for their part in the whole.
“There is a central funnel from root to crown ~
It’s the stillness fulcrum, where in bliss we drown”
~ quote by poet
The vertical staff of power within form,
is that around which our body-mind is shaped,
thus how may we know the source of God’s bliss storm,
stationed outside space-time, though soul’s in it draped?
The manifest world is but a projection,
that feeling contrast, we grow to perfection,
yet our true being is always transcendent,
synced with which we shine as light bliss resplendent.
It is the ACT in the goal set that seals the deal
Nonetheless, many a goal are broadcasted abroad
In sheer exhilarations that fades like dusk
And at the mercy of drifting time left rot
A perfect semblance perhaps
Of seeds that by the wayside did fall
And starving fowls obviously did on them relish a meal
In the event of a year almost a farewell bidding
The goal had been stationed a beacon in the vast ocean
A compass for weary seafarers’ guide
Till safely are come ashore sure.
Embalming
your memory
the funeral
dragged on
Returning
the remnants
that pain
had prolonged
The pallbearers
stationed
each side
of the grave
A grieving
reminder
that time
— had enslaved
(Dreamsleep: February, 2025)
Neither one waiting at the bend
Nor stationed upon the hill
Was present to make offense
Or entertain some evil will.
A breeze came, another went -
Rattling the bursages
As a creeping serpent
Going into hiding does.
If I died right here -
How many lonesome clouds -
How many foraging birds
Would pass by before I was found?
Would the beloved sun
Care to kiss me good-bye?
Would the angels of the canyon
Guide me on my flight?
Shh…..!
Don’t scare them away!
Let us watch this macabre dance
and enjoy the art in rivalry!
A battle between
two champions.
both in the arena,
armed with nothing
but
teeth and fangs,
stationed immobile
face to face,
eyes emitting sparks of ire.
A cobra
with spectacled hood wide
hissing and shrieking,
spitting fire and fume
and a mongoose
with bushy tail up.
Who would win
this murderous combat?
Yet to see!
Golly… gosh!
"Hope is the thing with feathers—
That perches in my soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all— "
Prayer is the thing with crosses
That, stationed in the heart,
Brings the Gospel, in few words
A contemplative start
Title 1
"The forest is my loyal friend A Delphic shrine to me." ... by Ralph Waldo Emerson
The written word bears roots abound
Hail favored mist of hallowed ground
Announced breathtaking full-filled air
Spreads out enjoyment summons fair
Forgiving trailed Earth's crowning Star
Forest startup's reserves stretched far
Healthy hoards and wholesome intakes
Fresh novel minds elsewhere, retakes
Obsessed consumed florists stationed
Lives styled out stretched reawakened
Seedlings advanced Heavens promised
Groundbreaking achievements calmest
Cob-web silk thread eight-legged shooters
Tethered roots edged equaled footers
Floods 'neath grounds raise the gigantic
Psalmist summoned lessened frantic
Misplacements sequenced adjustments
Cause coursed through major monuments
Misfortune causeway lengthens aches
Stressed strung-out unmeasured outtakes
Commons traversed rights owned presence
Neighbors challenged core quintessence
Claimed righteousness labors bear fruits
Attributes are well-served ... grassroots.
Sub Categories
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