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Molly Simkins Poem
The very softest forms
Of martial arts
Tai chi
It’s very similar to a dance.
You’re a dancer who dodges.
And aikido
for when things get a little rougher.
These seek to do no harm to a predator
To disarm with the least amount of force. This woman does aspire
Chi point strikes are more dangerous to your opponent, and fellow being.
If you choose to learn them, okay. That’s your choice.
You are always in the process of gathering tools.
It sickens me to hear of advice
Of gouging with keys
And other flimsy
means.
How are you supposed to take care of yourself?
Or worse, seeking to do the most harm with the least amount of effort
S. I. N. G.
That is not a type of “singing” I’d EVER endorse.
It boils my blood. That stupid coincidence-
That is laziness
And inability to feel empathy
Plain and simple.
“Miss Congeniality”
Sandra Bullock
She punches and beats up that man that did NOTHING.
There’s nothing congenial
about targeting someone’s genitals.
And then teased him
And everyone LAUGHED.
Who’s the sociopath now?
Or the SADIST???
If a man punched a woman anywhere
And then taunted her
You would be baying for his blood.
Like lionesses who wolf down dogs cowering
You are not that different.
You’re the same species.
Sheesh.
Copyright © Molly Simkins | Year Posted 2016
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Molly Simkins Poem
So I’ve heard that some kids are bullying each other
Over not having really expensive shoes or clothing cover
Wow.
When did we get so shallow?
If you have to mentally scar someone
Shouldn’t it be over something that actually matters?
Religious and political hate crimes
Seem almost justified
By comparison.
9_9
Branding?
Well.
I’m not a cow.
I don’t need any singular mark to own me.
I think I’ve made up at least three
Or more different designs that could be.
Because art is fun.
I support “freeze branding” over burn branding, by the way.
It’s nicer to the bovines.
Buying generic is much smarter and cheaper.
Don’t get burned by brands. Heehee
I can talk about brand names here, like the cow-cruel Burger King,
Precisely because I’m not published in a book.
That would require legal wrangling.
Red tape that ensnares like a cowboy a rodeo calf
This is just my online space to talk.
Like a blog.
But with rhythm.
Now, I do hope to get a book made anyway,
(Know anyone who might be interested?)
(I also want to do some accompanying illustrations.)
But that’ll probably only be the poems that give such specific names no mention.
Copyright © Molly Simkins | Year Posted 2016
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Molly Simkins Poem
It’s frustrating, isn’t it?
Creating meta hypotheses based on observations and data,
but not knowing whether they really fit or not?
Quantum particles change behavior when you are looking at them versus when you are not.
Cell mechanics will have you up in theoretical knots.
In academia, when data arises that challenges
the main-stream, of any field you care to name,
the old guard resists it. And they think they’re oh so logical.
To make words, what if we were to use random combinations of letters.
Feed them into a computer,
a random letter generator instead of a random number one.
That . . . sounds like fun.
Such words would be completely free from connotations and double meanings. Huh.
They could be rhymed, and slant rhymed, but they would not be recognizable
as ‘native’ words, probably.
The German language has clusters of consonants
that give English speakers headaches.
This computer would be indifferent to things like that.
Even though language is not “logical” in many respects,
it does have many unwritten rules
that you do not even become aware of it
until you are faced with a different culture’s angle on it.
Native . . .
So they would be alien?
Alien words.
Alien worlds.
Of thought.
New discovery.
A fresh start.
You could not do that with Japanese kanji.
That would require artistic creativity.
Wait.
Holy heck.
Well that was oxymoronic.
Japanese “etymology”
is completely different from our system, isn’t it??
Now I want to go investigate that.
Wonder how everyone would react.
Would academia have an entire branch of study
and writings that the common people
Not only had a hard time swallowing and digesting
but literally couldn’t understand?
The elites of Europe enforced Latin on academia of antiquity,
and intentionally kept the people from learning it
in order to have that knowledge, and by extension,
that power, to themselves.
People still struggle to learn Latin parts of skeletons.
I wonder if we could call them more plainly
Would we have more doctors
Who weren’t wrung out by the spools
Of bills and pages of medical schools
All that precious logic falls apart when you realize how little of the universe you really know.
The surety of your opinions melt like snow.
Throw in genetics to all of these twists and turns
Nature versus nurture
and you’ve got a God-awful mess.
. . . or perhaps a God-wonderful one.
Copyright © Molly Simkins | Year Posted 2016
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Molly Simkins Poem
If a book has footnotes, though it is fiction,
How do you classify it?
Historical fiction has made some inroads
To this chimera crossroads
But science fiction
Ironically, is behind the times
I’ve kept writing vigils like Virgil.
I muse ‘neath the stellar stars at night, I sure hope you do, too.
Perhaps a mix, writing while wundering under stars is next on my list To Do
I don’t mean to be egotistical
but I hope to revolutionize literature fictional
A melding of deep research and deep imagination is my objective.
Thank you for being part of this voluntary experiment. Collective.
To cross bloodlines of logic and creative
Though she personally likes them, this avocational teacher thinks
For students, textbooks and research papers can be dry
Entertainment is currently a current vapid like air
But rippling vibrant characters could add life and water
I’ve heard people say ‘no man is an island’
and ‘standing on the shoulders of giants.’
Reading and citing
giants’ thoughts are excellent.
You’ll tower among the peaks
And enjoy their “views.”
But you can create even
small things
with your equals, also.
Long distances of space and time are fine.
Someone who is dead- a slight seance
or someone on the other side of a screen.
But you can turn to the person next to you, also.
The “joyful burden” of creating does not solely fall on your shoulders.
If each “man is a universe unto himself,” two universes combining- how much larger are the infinities?
Yet, most celebrities’ songs are sing-ular singing.
Yet, most books have but a single author. I mourn for all the lost possibilities.
And as they yammer on with their plastic faces and artificial voice sounds
I can assure you, someone in your own classroom or neighborhood has written something more profound.
And, if you look, another person in reach could sing the pants off them, hands down.
Spawn beautiful ideas and solutions and skills and combinations of knowledge and rhyme.
Ideas spawn other ideas, ad infinitum down the line.
Chimeral caleidoscopic chords.
Copyright © Molly Simkins | Year Posted 2016
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Molly Simkins Poem
Her long sleeved robe matched the hue of the plants so perfectly
that it was hard to tell where the rest of the color and her form began.
Her skin was a papery, ghostly white.
Her hair, an intense blond, curled around sky blue eyes
and her laugher pinged like a the wings of a beetle
Opalescent Emerald Green.
She skipped through the air to the avian massive,
bare feet brushing the tips of the lush and sun-dotted grasses.
"What, for you, may I affix,
Creature of the Air, with wings of blackest Onyx,
Buried deep in the Earth, who in the mirroring dark hope to turn to Stone yourself,
Where the land is parched of Water, and the Fire of sunlight does not delve?
My everlasting duty is to you, even when you stray
I, who see life, in its own places and ways
Sprout up, healthy, from newly scorched land ash-dry,
And rise up, gladly, to soar even in a cloud-wet sky."
At the last two louder, echoing earnest lines of the incantation,
swirling patterns began to “Sprout up” on zem, the huge spirit
radiating and carving pearle-scent white through purple-toned Opalescent Onyx.
A new scent spread
The albino vines branched down the length of zeir back and crept
over zeir shoulders onto the chest,
and still moving, “scorched” into tiny, almost floral bursts in places.
They went across the solid parts of zeir wings,
across the two alulae feathers,
painting delicate stripes on the vanes
of the flight shafts to “soar” to the very tips.
At “wet,” moist eyes blinked with new sight
And when she took her hands away, the beak had, too, turned white
The owl stood straight and rotated zeir neck, puffing feathers and shaking head from side to side, Meek,
opening and closing the newly In-her-it-ed mouth from the Earth sprite with which ze would speak.
The now patterned body dipped low, spreading wings flat across the ground in a regal sweep.
In a new voice ze said, “Every gratitude, My Balancer, Innocence Keeper.”
The chosen daughter of Mother Earth floated around zem, admiring her handiwork.
“So depart, and always remember that Innocence, though it can be lost, can also be found again, in many ways.
You may not be as spritely as one you were,
but a sense of discovery can remain new,
even with experience, old bird, old timer.
Childlike wonder belongs to everyone, even you.”
Copyright © Molly Simkins | Year Posted 2016
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