"ANYTHING BUT PLAIN[e]!" a poem for Damien, a.k.a.: "The Calm* Barista Man!" June 24, 2019 (Monday) The Most Efficient (pause) and-Level-Headed Barista-in-Town: DAMIEN! (pause) at-Plaine-Coffee-can-be-found, Brewin' – and-Doin" THAT which-others-ONLY-DREAM, O' – doin' (pause) because [believe-you-me] IT-MIGHT-S E E M, That such smooth speed and a-gil-ity, (Making-it-look-EFFORT-LESS), with-such-hu-mility, Might-be boring!? BUT! – NO! and-even-manners-abound! DAMIEN! … Read More
"OVERWHELMED!" a poem a.k.a.: "Prayer For Release!" June 24, 2019 (Monday) May WAS "Mental Health Month 2019;" however, here is something to shift you into June, which is: "Men's Health Month 2019!" (I can't make this stuff up!) Well, it's SUNDAY! and -"Evil Spirits" have-invaded THE Church! Therapists-need-not-attend, for they're-on-their-"perch," Squawking like birds, saying: "There-ain't-no-evil-en-tities, … Read More
The Amazon Rainforest is well known across the world for being the largest and most dense area of woodland in the world. Spanning across nine countries, the Amazon is home to millions of different animal and plant species, as well as harboring some for the worlds last remaining indigenous groups… — Read on www.disclose.tv/amazon-tribe-wins-lawsuit-against-big-oil-saving-millions-of-acres-of-rainforest-367412 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️
"[SU]BMISSIVE!?" a poem June 24, 2019 (MOON-day) "I am YOUR [SUB]MISSIVE!" SHE kept saying, with a smile! "Oh, GOOD!" he-thought! "I don't have to work all the while, At getting my Beloved – to-agree to-what-I-think's-BEST!" So, he put down his tired head – and gave the thing a rest! BUT! [Sub]mission – to HER! was: … Read More
I don't know what got us here makes me feel that it's all fallen into pieces since the day I first saw you . You know those moments you think that this can't be happening to you when and the world keeps spinning and how your mind keeps straying back to see you again. And … Read More
“BAR OF DREAMS! [Build it; they will c[o]um[e]!] a poem, a.k.a.: “Battle Of The [extremely long pause] Millennia!” June 3, 2019 (Monday)
Are all men pigs; all women, dogs?
Men? SWINE?! Women? B – – – – ES!? BOTH – in-thick-fogs!?
Do men always leave? Come back! Then, s – – – w someone else?
Must women always get jealous [and want-you-to-too] and NEVER say: “Hell’s
Got no fury – like the wrath of me – me – me!”
Won’t she cut it off-and-laugh, saying: “No-one-[including-me]-gets-you! Tee-hee!”
AND – “I don’t want you anyway; I’ll find me A BETTER MAN!*
Oh, did-I-do-that? YOUR FAULT! You-failed-to-have-a-good-plan!”
Is The-Only-Plan-Available: Men are bees, programmed to go from flower to flower?
Have you decided to always be an A-hole & flaunt your “apparent” power?
UNTIL – It’s obvious to all that you are weak and undependable!
“GOSH!” He said; “I really thought I was SO com-MEND-able!”
“No,” she said; “THE WORD IS: EX-PENDABLE!”
[“An old maid, by any other name – is just as sour!”]
The saddest person – waits until THE FINAL HOUR,
Longing to have: him! or her! or IT! or Whatever!
And keeps coming up with excuses about why-IT-won’t-work! HOW CLEVER!
Are PEOPLE EVER REALLY VERY CLEVER? Or just SWINES & B – – – – – S?
Aren’t PEOPLE PRECIOUS?! Are they ALWAYS “too big for their britches?”
DID YOU L E A R N ANYTHING FROM THIS POEM?
NO! because you already knew it, you s-x-craving gnome?!
So, shall we say: “Ohm,” meditating ’til we die?
Or – f – – k until we die!? WHY NOT TRY!?
Or – Give up? or What? Where are you going?
“TO THE BAR OF DREAMS! Heart-broken! HUMAN! and NOT knowing!”
TAKE HEART, Ye sad, “Femme” [u]nd “Male,” / believing that “The Battle of The S-x-s” will always prevail! / For [It’s-a-secret!] every 100,000 + 1 year / TWO “FREAKS,” upon-this-Earth-do appear! / “A swine woman!” &-a-“Dawg man!”/- It-is: part-of “A Divine Plan!” / And they will demonstrate > “proper”-sexual-etiquette”-to-set-things-straight! / And they-AIN’T homo, bi- , straight or late! / Wait upon them; just you wait! / And their love will FILL THE EARTH! / Defining: love!-s-x-stuff!-and-“techniques”-to-achieve-“conjugal worth!” / And you’ll know [when they cum]; you’ll feel it “in your bones,” / For you’ll notice the s-x-a-l transformation – in your “bumps”-&-your-moans! / It’s “The 100th Monkey Effect,” for “in-love-folk!” / REALLY! GET READY! For: “Mushy-Love-Stories,” re: “ecstasy-of-‘the-YUMMY-STROKE!’ ”
fin <3 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCiCcPlMGso
– First sentence? T or F? : ARE ALL MEN ARE PIGS?! Must you always need a more tender piece of pork? 🙂 – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hundredth_monkey_effect
Look closer my love you are mirroring my love inside you beautiful. I am you honey as predicated, what you feel and see is a transference of our love. We are both radiate in wonder of love. I yearn to hold you, touch your skin then I shall be complete. You are me and I you. I’m always connected to you and melt down inside you you’re being. I’m always with you I call you in my sleep wishing you jut once to hold you. I have missed you for so long inside a tear runs down my face honey I found you, we are finally home together where we belong. That overwhelming warmth we both share is heaven on earth. We are completed. Sound of your voice fill my senses with a passion only we are experiencing the wonder of our cloudiness and yearning for each other. We are One my beloved darling raw, intense passion. Enjoy our journey through this sweet togetherness that only to people in love experience. To see you hear you calling me is my bliss. We are each other this is our journey through this sweet life you and me my Darling. You are and a treasure I’m your trove. Allow me to be your submissive xxx.
I like the old house tolerably well,
Where I must dwell
Like a familiar gnome;
And yet I never shall feel quite at home.
I love to roam.
Day after day I loiter and explore
From door to door;
So many treasures lure
The curious mind. What histories obscure
They must immure!
I hardly know which room I care for best;
This fronting west,
With the strange hills in view,
Where the great sun goes,—where I may go too,
When my lease is through,—
Or this one for the morning and the east,
Where a man may feast
His eyes on looming sails,
And be the first to catch their foreign hails
Or spy their bales
Then the pale summer twilights towards the pole!
It thrills my soul
With wonder and delight,
When gold-green shadows walk the world at night,
So still, so bright.
There at the window many a time of year,
Strange faces peer,
Solemn though not unkind,
Their wits in search of something left behind
Time out of mind;
As if they once had lived here, and stole back
To the window crack
For a peep which seems to say,
“Good fortune, brother, in your house of clay!”
And then, “Good day!”
I hear their footsteps on the gravel walk,
Their scraps of talk,
And hurrying after, reach
Only the crazy sea-drone of the beach
In endless speech.
And often when the autumn noons are still,
By swale and hill
I see their gipsy signs,
Trespassing somewhere on my border lines;
With what designs?
I forth afoot; but when I reach the place,
Hardly a trace,
Save the soft purple haze
Of smouldering camp-fires, any hint betrays
Who went these ways.
Or tatters of pale aster blue, descried
By the roadside,
Reveal whither they fled;
Or the swamp maples, here and there a shred
Of Indian red.
But most of all, the marvellous tapestry
Where such strange things are rife,
Fancies of beasts and flowers, and love and strife,
Woven to the life;
Degraded shapes and splendid seraph forms,
And teeming swarms
Of creatures gauzy dim
That cloud the dusk, and painted fish that swim,
At the weaver’s whim;
And wonderful birds that wheel and hang in the air;
And beings with hair,
And moving eyes in the face,
And white bone teeth and hideous grins, who race
From place to place;
They build great temples to their John-a-nod,
And fume and plod
To deck themselves with gold,
And paint themselves like chattels to be sold,
Then turn to mould.
Sometimes they seem almost as real as I;
I hear them sigh;
I see them bow with grief,
Or dance for joy like any aspen leaf;
But that is brief.
They have mad wars and phantom marriages;
Nor seem to guess
There are dimensions still,
Beyond thought’s reach, though not beyond love’s will,
For soul to fill.
And some I call my friends, and make believe
Their spirits grieve,
Brood, and rejoice with mine;
I talk to them in phrases quaint and fine
Over the wine;
I tell them all my secrets; touch their hands;
Perhaps. How hard he tries
To speak! And yet those glorious mild eyes,
His best replies!
I even have my cronies, one or two,
My cherished few.
But ah, they do not stay!
For the sun fades them and they pass away,
As I grow gray.
Yet while they last how actual they seem!
Their faces beam;
I give them all their names,
Bertram and Gilbert, Louis, Frank and James,
Each with his aims;
One thinks he is a poet, and writes verse
His friends rehearse;
Another is full of law;
A third sees pictures which his hand can draw
Without a flaw.
Strangest of all, they never rest. Day long
They shift and throng,
Moved by invisible will,
Like a great breath which puffs across my sill,
And then is still;
It shakes my lovely manikins on the wall;
Squall after squall,
Gust upon crowding gust,
It sweeps them willy nilly like blown dust
With glory or lust.
It is the world-ghost, the time-spirit, come
None knows wherefrom,
The viewless draughty tide
And wash of being. I hear it yaw and glide,
And then subside,
Along these ghostly corridors and halls
Like faint footfalls;
The hangings stir in the air;
And when I start and challenge, “Who goes there?”
It answers, “Where?”
The wail and sob and moan of the sea’s dirge,
Its plangor and surge;
The awful biting sough
Of drifted snows along some arctic bluff,
That veer and luff,
And have the vacant boding human cry,
As they go by;—
Is it a banished soul
Dredging the dark like a distracted mole
Under a knoll?
Like some invisible henchman old and gray,
Day after day
I hear it come and go,
With stealthy swift unmeaning to and fro,
Ceaseless and daft and terrible and blind,
Like a lost mind.
I often chill with fear
When I bethink me, What if it should peer
At my shoulder here!
Perchance he drives the merry-go-round whose track
Is the zodiac;
His name is No-man’s-friend;
And his gabbling parrot-talk has neither trend,
Beginning, nor end.
A prince of madness too, I’d cry, “A rat!”
And lunge thereat,—
Let out at one swift thrust
The cunning arch-delusion of the dust
I so mistrust,
But that I fear I should disclose a face
Wearing the trace
Of my own human guise,
Piteous, unharmful, loving, sad, and wise
With the speaking eyes.
I would the house were rid of his grim pranks,
Moaning from banks
Of pine trees in the moon,
Startling the silence like a demoniac loon
At dead of noon.
Or whispering his fool-talk to the leaves
About my eaves.
And yet how can I know
‘T is not a happy Ariel masking so
In mocking woe?
Then with a little broken laugh I say,
The curtain where he grinned
(My feverish sight thought) like a sin unsinned,
“Only the wind!”
Yet often too he steals so softly by.
With half a sigh,
I deem he must be mild,
Fair as a woman, gentle as a child,
And forest wild.
Passing the door where an old wind-harp swings,
With its five strings,
Contrived long years ago
By my first predecessor bent to show
His handcraft so,
He lay his fingers on the aeolian wire,
As a core of fire
Is laid upon the blast
To kindle and glow and fill the purple vast
Of dark at last.
Weird wise, and low, piercing and keen and glad,
Or dim and sad
As a forgotten strain
Born when the broken legions of the rain
Swept through the plain—
He plays, like some dread veiled mysteriarch,
Lighting the dark,
Bidding the spring grow warm,
The gendering merge and loosing of spirit in form,
Peace out of storm.
For music is the sacrament of love;
He broods above
The virgin silence, till
She yields for rapture shuddering, yearning still
To his sweet will.
I hear him sing, “Your harp is like a mesh,
Woven of flesh
And spread within the shoal
Of life, where runs the tide-race of the soul
In my control.
“Though my wild way may ruin what it bends,
It makes amends
To the frail downy clocks,
Telling their seed a secret that unlocks
The granite rocks.
“The womb of silence to the crave of sound
Is heaven unfound,
Till I, to soothe and slake
Being’s most utter and imperious ache,
Bid rhythm awake.
“If with such agonies of bliss, my kin,
I enter in
Your prison house of sense,
With what a joyous freed intelligence
I shall go hence.”
I need no more to guess the weaver’s name,
Nor ask his aim,
Who hung each hall and room
With swarthy-tinged vermilion upon gloom;
I know that loom.
Give me a little space and time enough,
From ravelings rough
I could revive, reweave,
A fabric of beauty art might well believe
Were past retrieve.
O men and women in that rich design,
Dew-tenuous and free,
A tone of the infinite wind-themes of the sea,
Borne in to me,
Reveals how you were woven to the might
Of shadow and light.
You are the dream of One
Who loves to haunt and yet appears to shun
My door in the sun;
As the white roving sea tern fleck and skim
The morning’s rim;
Or the dark thrushes clear
Their flutes of music leisurely and sheer,
Then hush to hear.
I know him when the last red brands of day
And when the vernal showers
Bring back the heart to all my valley flowers
In the soft hours.
O hand of mine and brain of mine, be yours,
While time endures,
To acquiesce and learn!
For what we best may dare and drudge and yearn,
Let soul discern.
So, fellows, we shall reach the gusty gate,
Early or late,
And part without remorse,
A cadence dying down unto its source
In music’s course;
You to the perfect rhythms of flowers and birds,
Colors and words,
The heart-beats of the earth,
To be remoulded always of one worth
From birth to birth;
I to the broken rhythm of thought and man,
The sweep and span
Of memory and hope
About the orbit where they still must grope
For wider scope,
To be through thousand springs restored, renewed,
With love imbrued,
With increments of will
Made strong, perceiving unattainment still
From each new skill.
Always the flawless beauty, always the chord
Of the Overword,
Dominant, pleading, sure,
No truth too small to save and make endure.
No good too poor!
And since no mortal can at last disdain
That sweet refrain,
But lets go strife and care,
Borne like a strain of bird notes on the air,
The wind knows where;
Some quiet April evening soft and strange,
When comes the change
No spirit can deplore,
I shall be one with all I was before,
In death once more.
“WHAT THE . . . ” a poem a.k.a.: “Wedding Song!” Feb. 6, 2019 (Wednesday)
You wanna fall in love?! Well, THAT’S-JUST so INSANE! EVEN IF it works out A LITTLE BIT, there’ll-be a lotta pain, And people will cry; dogs will howl! Jilted lovers – will-be on the prowl! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND? Do you wanna end up in a real bind?
HOWEVER! STOP THE PRESS! Even so,
Even-IF – it doesn’t work out VERY well, Even-if you two-together- land -up-in-Hell, Even-if The World turns against you – and you’ve got to flee into exile, Well, YEAH! YOU’RE RIGHT!! (of course!) Love’s-worth-it, all the while, Despite any torturous yearning – and the fear of loss, Some jealousy that’s burning – and – IT’S-ALL A-BIG COIN TOSS, But, by GOD! If-it works-out – or even – just a little, It’s what makes “life” tolerable – IT sends us to “The Middle,” To THE CALM, SERENE, DIVINE – UNION OF THE CROSS, Where Jesus Christ WAS crucified, BUT – NEVER SUFFERED “LOSS!” For, when fire and water – across-and up-and-down, Intercept in PERFECTION, well – There’s NO adjective or noun, To describe IT – Call it: Heaven! or, maybe, Sweet Nirvana! The crossing of “the opposites?” – is The Bridegroom plus Madonna, Which creates THE NOW, so, for-God’s-sake, GO-FOR-“THE-BROKEN-RULE,” ‘Cause, IF you don’t, you will have become, the biggest, gosh-darn “fool!” For, when the chance of True-Love arises, it’s-NOT “some-chance-of-a-lifetime!” IT’S-ETERNITY-AND-STELLAR-BLISS, “The Perfect, Ultimate Rhyme!” 🙂 – Whoa!
Kittens help you to find happiness especially when you’re contemplating your next blog 😊📚🐱🐱
Kisses and hugs happy blogging♥️
My first love was chemistry then a journey came and the challenges were amazing. You understand life’s like that, swept…
I’m smiling Katherine thank you for sharing your Monday ♥️
“WONDERS!” a poem a.k.a.: “Cloistered Positions!” February 5, 2019 (Tuesday)
While THEY-were-in – their secluded, and-protected?-“cloistered state,” Watching TV – sipping beers – and hoping on the hopeful fate, Of favorite teams – and , of course, in-vest -o- ments, A ROAD RUNNER ran-right-into-our-yard!!! with hardly a-lick of sense, And grabbed a couple bread crumbs! Some that I had placed, In The Yard for “the-usual-suspect”-birds, who also came and graced, THESE PREMISES! Yet, I wondered: “Who shall ever see, Wonders! such as this and that – Well, at least – maybe me!? And IN AN INSTANT, my-road-runner’s gone! Perhaps-never-again – will she bless our lawn! BUT, WAIT! THERE! a praying mantis! shelling some pecans, And a baby skink – and an EXTINCT hummingbird!!!! not-seen for-many e-ons! Plus, OTHERS! all (amazingly) “extinct!” crawled! and-flew! around-our-grass, While-cloistered-folks-did-work-&-worry, hoping-to-better-“their-class!” They’ll check their phones, I think! to -enhance their wireless strat-e-gies, As wonders all around them, scamper – on the periph-er-ies, Of our property – and-on-all “World Stage Menageries,” Doing strange, miraculous things-and-speaking! Forgotten!? “DISTANT PROPHECIES!”
“HEART OF HEARTS!” a poem for M. January 24, 2019 (Thor’s Day)
I’m such a simple chap, with some-poetry-and-art, To offer YOU! It is not much, but you have touched my HEART, And – What that means, I am not sure I Since I met-you, I’m in “a blur,” .
THINKING OF YOU ALL THE t i M e,
Penning THIS, and OTHER r h y M e,
In LOVE, and, Lord, it is so sweet; I cast my HEART there, at your feet, And, when you ask me WHY-I-love- Y O U, I say: “I HAVE NO CLUE!” “Well, that’s-just-the-answer-I-needed-to-hear, ’cause-HONEY-I-love-you-too!