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It doesn’t grow; it lingers.
Clings to ice older than regret, green with memory no world was there to gather.

The silence hums like a forgotten vow, not broken, just orbiting its chance to be said.

Moss dreams in spores and spores of maybe.
Each tendril reaching for a gravity that will not claim it.

This is not nature.
It’s ritual.
A fuzzed hymn to the act of staying where leaving has already begun.

So the comet loops, wearing time’s soft refusal.
And we, the flinch, the breath halfway drawn, call that orbit "now."
Mud bug Stew, Black beans and rice
Collard greens and fat back boiled up Nice
Nothing like a Bowl of Fila Gumbo
Boozoo Chavez play the Crawfish mombo
Blind drunk Betting, and Letting Dollars go
And he blew it all on horses and **'s
Boozoo got a taste of Cold Cash And Cadillacs
Clifton Chenier in Lake Charles too
Snook right past ole drunk Boozoo
His accordian tunes Ripped right By
Boozoo Chavez who did not Know
How Clifton Chenier became
The KING of ZYDECO
*inspired by Historical basis...
true Story from the Bayou... The very first Zydeco Song ever recorded was "Paper in my Shoe" by Boozoo Chavez the Flip side was "No Paper in my Shoe" well Boozoo got a taste of Cold Cash And Cadilacs and he blew it all on horses and **'s, While he was partying it Clifton Chenier worked hard and played long nights ending up the King of Zydeco
both had songs in 1953 both from Lake Charles Loisiana

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
"Listen to elders"
I always hear here and there
"Even fools grow old"
This haiku is not meant to offend or disrespect elders. While many elders are wise and experienced, the poem serves as a reminder that critical thinking and respect should be earned, not assumed. It's a humorous reflection—not a harsh judgment.
My hand moves left to right,
over a blank piece of paper,
smudging what I write.
As my sleeve
absorbs my pens red ink,
The edge of my white sweatshirt
turns a shade of light pink.
"just roll up your sleeves"
I can't, not even a little bit.
It may not seem like a big deal to you,
but that's where I hide my secrets.
You may be okay with sharing yours,
But I try to forget mine exist.
You write your secrets in a diary,
and I write mine on my wrist.
#sh
no matter the cause
of your tears

whatever the hurt
which bruises your heart

for any terror
that haunts you

it is a grief to me
that you should suffer so
Lenity - Compassion shown by being understanding, patient, sympathetic, and tolerant
We all search
for prescience
the future
on hold

As each
dying moment
forever
unfolds

We all crave
the silence
preparing
for death

Its welcoming
stillness
a last
— final breath


(The New Room: July, 2025)
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