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Ken Pepiton Jan 2019
The son of Jung, Achilles

(This is after and during a second or third time through
Jung, by Anthony Stevens, via Hoopla brought to me by LAPL)

libraries with online audiobooks,
isn't that closer to perfect? Imagine
knowing CG Jung's dad was Achilles Jung,
epic, knowing that
back when only real, material-real, rich folk,

(they could not have known, but we can, on a smart phone)

of any sort of the many there were in the co-fusion's aftermath

much of the world may agree with things once hidden in tomes
being eaten by mindless worms, now

no known thing is secret, by right

truth makes free and it's a system.

dynamic
free true free true free

We ident-ify it or id

what ever I and d


these ids (letter i and letter d as a pre
fix identifying us, u'n'me but only I am re-alified,
set to iseate

(is-e-ate is individuation for an idea, this or that, which may be verbalized
prior to re-alization)

t' be for a while, as long as you wish, t'
be fixed ideas in the minds of all

minds culturally touched
by this particular
point of
been
as
in been there done that.

Time is nothing at all
like mortals think
ing no no nothing is re

alone is rare. For us, my pieces of the unum,

we are here as ever.
ever is our role.

guides are made
however, we have noticed a scarcity of read writers
aware of pin points of light expanding

on the walls of his nursery window, nur turer, real mmmmm

screen
really must we be limited forever is ly lying as in

acting positive while being negative and being

entangled
in your self for ever, never for now,

you don't know how.

do you?
ex
per
ienced, per se, are ye?

be yond. yes. be

yond. practice makes perfect, bact to the top

erie canalic real

tote that veil, hide that barge
camptown lasies sang some songs

wrong, as did the ******* minstrels
and gamblers and bedroll
cowboys and hobos
and plain bums,
like us.

You were curious. Does yellow mean anything
to you?
Murrillo, with y's for ll, maybe? ¿ se?

--- un told stories ---

none remain, in re al ity, if we agree

nothing is ever impossible, even
for sapiens sapiens, how much
more, the us in the unum

previously pluribus,
scatter-brained,
that is.
id est, at its best. Muse.

Homeostatic balance,
hot to cool, cold to warm

round and round
twisted in the middle
by Van Allen's belt, or Orion's?

I never asked. I could,
right now I COULD WISH SO BAD THA I'D

not notice allcaps from the teenage wasteland,
(mea culpa, I bury all my misses there, take one, free)
as I,
the grown up number two, I mean,
I was saying I could stop this flow, interefer, dam it

I could ask Google and follow ath
the real thing either real or
otherwise, yet

wise, still.

How well will we be? Should we not

agree, un agree disperse the mob?

become a one, with a mind
we may share, at will,

reason, count, measure, make, see, seek how, find how, learn how

now,
why are you a ware of me while I am
ware of you.

An unread, unspoken spell. What the hell, right?
What the chaos, entropy, dis
integrate
wash away, mud to dust to twisting spirtis seen dancing

dust, this highest part of the dust of the earth,
time will tell, the physician must heal himself.

---
the art of letting things
haps
hap
pen, pen or ready-writer mode,
we can do this, but we must

be leaving the ality re all o'this reality.

And it has been fun, un done
fun is never the final goal.

be yond that. Search okeh. It was
intentended in tension-ality

to be the key we
as u me mist

when we
lied about being
experienced in the comunicito, (wee ity bity)
do you know of
the transfiguration, I was asked that

southside of Sunset at Laurel Canyon, by
that TV kung fu cowboy guy's dad,
Carradine, the old man,
from scary movies,
circa 1960.

that was fun. it happened. nobody noticed,
but me and the elder Carradine.

Real, as best as my memory just
ifies me right there,
that day, there
is where

this point was proven to be
memorable, a point
of a pin, 'pon whose head
merry messengers make nothing of
darkness, shadow, thin light.

Member be, re member
we see you saw
re all ity-ness is fun, if you find time to do it.

Typical assumptions of a man born in his time
and so
cial class. Social, is that a joke?

Follow me, don't be ignorant of a fine refined use,
right use of ordinariable words which have
born the burden of the ages

patiently, awaiting meaning,
on your scale,
the me as sure of the other in the unem,
the measure of a man, any
old man, still standing

under all the knowing Eve ever knows,
hope and time and all this took.
The price of knowing,
is the knowing, learning is easy

At home by right of being, we are such
beings, in a word, two if you reason there is
measurable ratio twixt
iiii in and am out, yamiyam ah yeh

we do. Allatimenolie, my will. The inside
the numinosity of being

me and you in the midst of all we may imagine real,

no, hell, yesses, hell is still a joke you never want to play.
ax Mr. Boo, he was my guide in Bangkok

read the reports, they are more,
nevermind, let's not let the

lie live here. the the right man thinking this thought
at this time, right

Each magi's knowing is the only knowing he can share,
without playing I pious fraud and naming it
legion, re
legion ligated to ob la dee and dah?

Joke, jest, foolish jest. Not my best but better'n
never imagi-ing  bein' good at all.
Good for nothing but
being possible
ly
good to the sense-if-ative troglodytes

with one lit window on reality. It's funny. POV. Seriously

lighten up
you putin me

beyond your grasp… winsome, alas
If it makes you feel, good, y' know. 's all I got, fer now.
K Balachandran Nov 2018
A satellite sails,
Through the frothy sea of night,
To the far unknown!
Let me live at your eyes

One says

You must be a sailor as swimmer or fly

You must have a way to be in her sight

In her eyes, in her heart or in her right

You must be faith with a word you said

"I love you" you must be by my side

You must keep the sail slide

But you must be fair that you may get a slight

That love makes you forget your eat

Makes you dream as a fly or a bird

And face strong waves to your boat
the lover tried to get approach to her/his lover and did her/his best
Eleanor Rigby Nov 2018
You grab the thread
And start walking away
And I, still pinned to a twig
Unravel, unravel
And become but a trail
Behind your sail.


-- Eleanor
Letters from Lia Oct 2018
Your love for your man was like an ocean
Its getting deeper
Every time you sail to see his wonders
You thought you were safe
You thought you could swim
Until the storm came
The waves came running
Thunders rumbling
It destroyed your boat
You fell
And again you thought you were safe
You thought "I trust him, I will not drown"
But slowly, bit by bit
You didn't know
You were devoured by this love
You thought it was beautiful
You thought there were beautiful corals
You thought there were colorful fishes
But all you saw was thick muds
On the ocean floor
You reached the abyss
Dark crevices hovered around you
You got scared
You swam back
Trying to reach the surface
You swam back
Wishing to breathe again
But his gravity pushed you down
Your body became numb
You can't swim anymore
Your prescence disappeared
Your soul turned into words—"My love, I fought. I tried. But I'm weak and I drowned"
—dedicated to broken hearts
siin_li
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
Lo, the waxing moon  
eyeing on heaven
ups a notch high.
The higher it goes
pulls the tides more
down on the sea
the crescent moon sways.

It bows down and prays
as it sails towards
the locked away
heaven far, far away.
The sea spilling billow
floats the key
to the tucked away ally way!
Jason Drury Oct 2018
You pushed me,
off course.
Gray fog resentment,
clouds the stars.
Remote and far,
in my own mind sea.
As distant as summer,
in autumns eyes.
I’ve sailed far,
so far I can no longer,
remember your face.
Jo Swan Oct 2018
Alone I sail across the formidable sea,
Many men have drowned in this stormy weather!
Will the waves devour me to my death?
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?

My mind is fatigued by feeling of doubts
As my body has fought many hours to survive
And navigate the dinghy in search of land-
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?

Shivering silently in the darkness
My spirit crushed by the ravenous rain!
Should I surrender to the sea of pain?
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?

In the brink of suffering and strife,
I realise I am powerless against nature-
Only heaven can bless me with the breath of life.
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?

In the chaos, I made a personal prayer
And felt my soul submit to a serene state
As I ask the Lord to decide my fate-
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?

For the first time in my vulnerable state-
I felt the love of the Lord embrace my spirit
And all the fears and doubts dissipate –
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?

I realise life should move in a motion
Where love tames the wild weather of life
And relinquish all dark emotions-
So the force of the Wind of Destiny can awake!

With this new knowledge,
My spirit renews with vibrant vigour
As the truth of life finally been acknowledge
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!

The sun wakes up from her sleep
The waves gently rocks the sail boat
The cloud calms down from her weep.
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!

I feel my spirit soar
Like seagulls roaming across the sky
For I finally tasted the joy of God’s grace.
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!

What lands shall be discovered?
I do not know what tomorrow will behold
Only courage and determination it will be uncovered
The force of the Wind of Destiny has awaken!

Staring sentimentally at the Sunrise
I feel the fiery breaths of the wind
Blowing my sail boat across the vast ocean.
Where will the Wind of Destiny lead me?
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
the river Eyn, between outstretched hands
flows to lands farther than
ear has heard or eyes have searched
and they say the land twists and shifts
at her end
'til one is sailing up again

She flows like drowsy eyes in midafternoon daze
languidly stretching back and forth before the haze
the foggy mists that sit atop her skin smooth surface
shade from daylight
her sailors sleeping to sail the moonlight

I stood atop my little ship
to see the faces of passers-by
who watch the ships from shoreside

On each face I looked so long
but always obscured was the evening sun
what tree or branch, or mist or shade
I cannot see what faces made

Dreary drowsy eyes begin to close
she will close them, Eyn
so I might sail the moonlight
midnight's rays of clear and blue
and bathe pensive in cerulean hue.
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