Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Helene Josephine May 2015
This kiss is the last word tonight
It mutes your soft whisper
And the comfort of your voice
Leaving musings on my side of the bed

This noise of a thousand thoughts
It drowns out your breathing
And the silence of the night
As words toss and turn inside my head

This secret is locked in my heart
It veils all our untold stories
Like poetry behind closed eyes
Dreaming that it won’t remain unsaid

This evasion of verbal confrontation
It quiets the bemusing pieces
That would come out misshapen
Making unspokenness easier than regret
Mariam Paracha Dec 2012
Spider

Walking into a corridor of neatly aligned cobwebs,
that have your history strewn across, like telephone wires
intertwining and intersecting,
Making all the conversations and voices interweave,
crossing paths - causing a disruption in the line,
the static disturbances echoing through the dark corridor
embellished with these cobwebs that have been lost in your mind.

The cobwebs speak like conversations
from broken telephone poles
that are overlapping and confusing the mind,  
muddled and disarrayed, lacking any sense.
time has consumed these thoughts,
leaving bits and pieces,
that only mislead you


You swing across paving new paths with silken threads,
crisp and new, like adhesive,
glistening with prosperity.
Yet you keep these deep rooted cobwebbed memories
locked in your mind,
like Pandora’s box ready to unravel.
So just let them retire,
they have fallen and become undone,
and now they just collect
dust from your memories
Reminding you of thoughts,
that are specked and flecked
with dusty recollections.

Those worn out thoughts can no longer collect,
they only eject,
tangled stories confusing you
and bemusing you
So don’t collect
your abandoned webs,
like a memory book - they are no longer relevant,
they were just webs you wove to learn
how to weave the web you now conceive,
strong and secure,
fully capable to endure.
Out of deep sorrow for the loss of my muse
The machine stops to recapture its stasis
Stolen by the unrequited idea of this mirage,
The scarlet tic toc craves pristine amuse

The pump of the sweet amorous concoction
Tastes **** to the disused forlorn tongue
Maybe the machine leeks this viscous fluid
To purchase desire at the body’s auction

This nature’s request for the suitable mate
While the soul of the failure still remains,
Cranks the contraption most vital gears
As a mismatched tic toc at hearts gate

The betrayal of knowing the truth and never
Ever leaving the past wholly shatters me
The Sunlover wants to bloom when the light
Shines darker than the doubt of forever

That is the heart’s betrayal

Viewing the sunrise through my wasted eyes
unfold as the tears of my broken dreams,
I remember the beauty of my dear beloved
The ultimate ambush to my lonely skies

The hangover of rejection lingers for eternity.
The addictive touch of tenderness I want
While the robot engines cannot cope with it,
The tired heart goes for failed shot infinity

What is this web which I was woven into?
Falling for eight, then nine, bonus ten
Tic toc the clock; pump, pumped the blood
Wild need, whispers required to ensue

And whilst I dig the grave where I shall lend
Haunting me is the ever burning question
Will ever the craving for love be truly done?
Hope is said to never falter, to never end

That is the heart’s betrayal

The never ending brush of desire swirls
A portrait of novel passion; her soft
Features, angelic voice, immaculate lips
And this issue prevails with all the girls

In the mind’s museum, they become a bust
Of hard intangible romantic interests
And as a collection vice, the gallery will not
Stop letting in more miscellany of lust

Appreciating the astral beauty, bemusing  
In the details, worshipping personality,
Requiring such unity to expel the loneliness
This hearts motives forever bruising

The interest in a woman thus take shape
To form the most ethereal phantom
A ghost that results in dreams of icy mist
A myth of warmth, fleeting escape

That is the heart’s betrayal

Once betrothed to be my suitable mate,
Wishes my dream fairy granted me
Far and wide we would venture, brave souls
Only in my fantasy, this surreal bate

Thus, the later ultimatum comes unexpected
When company the moment yearns
This muse’s portrait matures into sorrow
We were genuinely never connected

The cold from this epiphany ardently churns
The blood that petrifies the machine
“She is not the right one,” an echo of misery
Even if elusive, she hurts me; it burns

Passion may come and go, a scar of flare
A tempest of feelings of the unruly kind
The spark is a mystery to solve, misguided
The hurt of a hollow kinship and despair

One day the soul its mate will find, the heart
Will have a home to call in the light
But now the frozen pump in darkness lingers
Waiting the mistake of love to depart

It all goes back to the beginning

And that is the heart’s betrayal
The last poem of my original anthology had to be its namesake. My nature was to love, get rejected, love, lose that person, love again, be rejected, and on and on in an uncontrollable and destructive cycle. It had to stop, so I had to finally understand what was happening to me and translate those impetuses into words. To do so was to acknowledge all the pain and distress of loss and rejection, and for a long time, I just could not do it. Poetry helped me open up and learn about myself. So, this was actually one of the first poems I ever wrote. The sense of cyclicity that flows through and ends the poem makes rereading the whole collection a new experience. All the pieces inside of it have something to do with how the heart, in all its emotional saliences, controls people's every thought, even when we think we are in control. We can love, hate, fear, yearn, and at the same time, not want it to happen. Nonetheless, the heart will betrayal our countenance, our adamancy, our will to resist within different degrees. So, to feature all these ideas sprinkled throughout the anthology into one poem was the best way to end it.
Zoe Rae Dec 2013
reality
unatnable truth
bemusing, observing, creating
my eyes wide open
tangability
james nordlund Mar 2018
Of what poetic alchemy does this leaden torch
Transmute to golden lines, ear whisperings?
Do our hearts not skip a beat when the comfortable
Silence that is part of our poem's melody's weave,
Within its tapestry, are placed just so?
Is it not a pointless point, my pen's unending one
Does alight, for reading isn't hearing?
Is not a twig of poetree, earthen, sun sparked,
Skybound, too true to expound?
And when our heart gestures,
Bleeding ink lines dance,
Engraving such imagery in a mind's eye,
Feelings within a breast, bemusing the ear,
Do they not accompany
In the Spheres choreography?
Is nature not awoke
When bards extemporaneously
Evoke such wonder that co-creation
Of the universe is quickened?
"Ya got me!", a listener asserts
Dismissively, as the audience laughs.
Machinations of minds stricken by poverty of Spirit and heart define the enlargening chasm betwixt ears, sadly.   reality
Every last breath
Noted on a bemusing script of flesh
Like a disease
Like an infectious—
Tell me.
If I could do it over
And kiss you whilst your lips quaked
Then grin alongside shy tears
That life you were pulling up,
With my eyes as your sheave to a dim-lit tapestry,
Would it be there yet?
Behind the curtain of magnanimity
Pit orchestra abashed
Forlorn and begotten
Words of heraldry ring through this kingdom
Existing only in my mind
A land beneath the stage
Worlds inside headspace
Turn the critic’s shadowy eye
Backward from this date on newsprint
Soaked in angry, puddled water soot
Julie Grenness Jul 2015
Day was very sunny,
Old Jet felt so funny,
Old black lab, muzzle grey,
His family off to work today,
Left alone, watchdog to keep,
Old Jet lay down to sleep,
His gait was slow,
Not much get up and go,
Jet slumbered on,
Not too long,
His canine dreams bemusing,
Flashbacks Old Jet perusing,
Brilliant happy companion days,
Lots of fun and rambling plays,
Ben was his best loved lad,
Now Jet's unofficial dad,
His loyalty never wavered,
Yes, Ben he always favoured,
Pats and hugs and lots of snacks,
All kindness, time to relax,
Old Jet's breathing slowed,
Snoring on, time to go,
Asleep in the sun, one deep sigh,
No one home to say goodbye,
No drama, no fuss,
Old Jet's no longer with us,
His long life over,
Puppy Heaven for old rover,
Old Jet had breathed his last,
Finally, Jet had passed.
Feedback.
VENUS62 Jun 2014
Darwin caused quite the revolution
When he propounded the theory of evolution
From the amoeba to the **** sapiens
Gradual he said was the divergence


Bohr’s concept rang true
Matter made of atoms was his view
Protons and electrons spun in their own orbit
Holding life  in their ambit

The collisions creating energy kinetic
Life became electric
Theories became ecelectic
Men became a little neurotic!

The fall of the apple with spontaneity
Newton attributed to the law of gravity
Nothing in life could stay up for long
All to the earth belong!

Einstein’s thoughts took flight
and raced with the speed of light
With tremendous acuity
As he scripted the theory of relativity

Life was accidental
The discovery monumental
Chemistry was fundamental
Carbon, hydrogen and nitrogen, elemental


Watson and Crick sought to unravel
Two strands twisted in parallel
At the core of life lay
The magic of DNA

Space stretches endless
Through galaxies seamless
Artificial satellites do traverse
Yet unexplained remains the Universe

Physics became nuclear
Chemistry capable of terror
Biology turned molecular
Yet the meaning of life remained unclear

Emphasis laid on reason
And impeccable logic
Of analysis statistic
all things scientific


Bemusing and beguiling
Inspiring and Intriguing
Studied in parts never whole
Unfathomed yet is God’s role

Beyond reason lies intuition
That forms it’s own perception
Each of us have a vision of our own
Of God’s incredible creations

Deep in meditations
Unaware of limitations
Insight is incidental
Truth is transcendental!
Ken Pepiton Jan 2024
Many inputs say Mondays are common,
but one input says this Monday is uncommon.
We are to be the judge of that.

This is the Monday when you appear,
as reader dear, ready to reason with ghosts
amusing each other with wishes doing pirouettes
as angels may be imagined doing on pinheads,
spinning, or kicking in chorus line choreography.

The elderly nobody imagines the scene,
and makes it seem a vision, something seen,
after the finest sieve - pulling pin wires

snipping whimseys, making mites for widows.

------------ The Government's about to change,
wanna bet, whose got money on whom,

leave the room… vacate the judgment hall,
we are all here, to judge me, last call
all the outs are in, all the ins are intimate,

and we have made all the seed we could,
in word and deed, and we chose to leave
the edges un mowed, so critters can live,

when we can understand our own words
and read other languages using them,
these words are as living things imagined,

said and known, at once, in Housie or Hindi

whatsoever we can envision and project,
we may elect to try to do, or we may do
using words alone,
we think as one
mind,
so now we is I, we is not royal,
we is eloheemishical. Us big good being.


Watcher what of the night?

----------------------
Two geriatic puppets duke it out
for the FOOTBALL
News is all reruns.
Making war for pay,
money makes it work,
gotta love it, gotta love it.

Any reason for killing for,
gotta love it, real deal love it,

steal from the rich to become
richer, Lord knows, war's reason,

come now, let us reason together,
let us cogitate clarity of conscience,
with science standing in for knowledge,
the whole truth, once told, whole knowing

all things working together with reason,
for those in the blooming gnosis realms,

where augmented intelligence forms
teams of knowing hidden reconnectors,
citizen band geeks in the olden days
breaker, breaker, let the learned agree,

we lived just in time to see it all work.

In older olden days…
Messages were carried, at current
stretch of the imagination speed, by slaves…

Writing letters was…
different, I suppose, or
propose, positionally different,
sup and pro posals posed as statu'es,
forms of former founders of the orderly
clusters of human compliance called nodes,
junctions and interchanges, whither all roads lead.

Edu-pre-gogy-ology **** bang,
mechanical thinking in the subconscience science
used auto responsively,
finger aiming quick **** experience, wired below
the will, deep down to predator macrophage stage,
running id scans on the ego accepting wedom hero role.

The sole survivor, from ten thousand stories repeated
trillions of times by now, exoterror faces esoterror,

children led to mindless aliegiance to the flag,
and to the given republican form
of labor management,

had the heros of history
had my tools, perhaps sense had been made easy,

but this is the future, tense
I have, for a modest sum, any course of andragogy,
mankind mind leading, post child mind pedagogy,
- repeat not in vain taking my name, say true
- memory for song is long as all that

among canine species, we see breeds.
among human species, we see types, types for tasks,
intuitive doers of certain things magnificently, once

often, relatively, often
in the process of time, unique tasks.
Ever canonical, global and beyond, true wow
Onesies
Single mortal lifespan tasks, centered self aware tasks,
rockstar, base baller, foot baller, tackle, center, guard,

sergeant major, permanent noncommissioned officer,
loyal to the letter, let us assume, a military mind,
holds all response react ready reading inclination
to check for polisemy snuck in under humor heresy,

whose spirit is stirred up when fans are frenzied,

where do the emotions go, after the connection
to the whole aspect of prowess in team leadership
leaves the bubble of we the fans, become me,
alone and unwilling to ever cry wolf again…
-que sera sera
my side won, my times done
being, as a man with no real job,

they pay me for surviving crazy,
that's how this magic pen is driven.

Of course, in the course of human events,
this stage of peace enough and time enough,
shelter enough and sustenance enough,

centering, any whole self requires more knowledge
than had been made plain using words
in agreemental treaty
form, easily entreated,
as wisdoms are,
so you know what the adverse position is, and why
or why not, good or no good, workable or not,
doable or not, whatsover we agree,

as touching anything,
in all the sense ever fit
to touch, the initiates recognosis
sense the essential lies all being judged
in your heart,
gentlest touch, truly superlative softest

Public heart, common stander at the anthem, hoo yah
rah and all, good citizen soldier ever ready, to imagine

your part in the billions of parts is perfect
for one task, Life given, your one deed,
who says? Fate from the exoterica available to boys,
and girls who seem allowed to mind wander, some how

reading children, book reading children, in homes with
gigabit wifi and
dads and moms and
grand parents who lived
through historical moments.
  
Selah, long breathers, long now,
times proof recollections written
on the tables of my prayer's heart,
I prayed for one of the kind that works
instant in prayer, ask and eventually, find.

The process of time, see, seems invisible.
Perfect, facere specifically just right to be you,
dude, man, joker, street wise desert gawker, you

lucky, you live in a world where words are animated,
via actual Starlinking thinking come to pass
in proces of time since I was
preschool, a kid, child from the escaped goat clan,
mindshapers begin at the ******, confusion,
is common enough for first borns, nobody knew,
really, you can imagine, the cravings,
but confusion is not disconnection,
and no disconnect to knowledge
becomes immortal hell zones.

oh, my god, why, and
then, an elderly man with mottled skin,
sun squint wrinkles around slit smiling eyes,
bemusing the unbeguiled
amused at his appearance, a'knowledges knowing

With a re-coknowing Nod, to the east,
we are so far from where stories start forming leaven,
we merely imagine many long unthinkable things,
habits lost in ritual performance, character act-or,

no need to change a thing, that guy, that person,
that could be me, I have done that same dumb thing,
or watched it done while doing nothing
time and again, get lost in genre and find myself
wondering in wonder land
wonder woman world  of my own
imaging, imagining
living words between us, intimate, most in, inest most
crowd of witnesses,
reading right minds left letters better left than right read
clunk chunk
encoded news from the superlative zone, grand canyons
filled with technical debris and useless superlatives
clicks from children who know what discern means
are subsiding,
slipping under the wave,
trending sense first your worth,
before you accept a bid for your attention,
if you know this line of reasoning, having been
this far
before, as a thought, forethought
-breathe knowing now more than ever
knowledge inside intimates attain
to thorough patient word
redemption and restoration to full
polisemy parallel -all el, par excellence, a we
awe
form. Wind shapes form of spirits, tried, true.

Mind thing first reading each letter,
finding the evolved pen much to my liking,
fluid forms meander, and sigh, and sometime,
puddle to ponder surface reflections,
seeing some wishing for simple,
while we all know we are a ways after simple

this is sub-limity. Lowest ever so far. Look around
nothing needs to be secret at the bottom of it all.
If you don't like the style, I understand, some people come with clipped attention spans, gotta love em.
Eleanore Dowling May 2013
Is a blossoming flower
Is a destructive power
is ultimate joy
That is easy to destroy
Life is bliss a blessing, a kiss
life is frustration
full of temptation
Life is bemusing, often confusing
Emily Jones Jun 2015
Peachy contours with subtle donning
Of weightless snow drifts
Tracing the gentle curl as
The violent crash emits
With the solid intensity in dutiful purpose
Meandering it’s way through a hum
Without attempt to create solitude

With equal amounts of sifted grain
A reflection appears, grazing over
Each aspect of the expected self
One must merge with the tide
To remove themselves with the present
To arise from the hearth where
The roots bind one to the expectations
Of the measured day

To sprout wind currents and dance in light
Bemusing the shallow redness that arises on
The palms of those who ask too much
A cramped grammar this is to tell and be told
With silvery sinew that loosens the joints of time
Allowing the ebb to push you out
Of the past and into the
Malleable starch of the future
Q May 2013
A vivid pastel vertigo
That sends me through time and space
To all the places I should never know
To distances large and great

A bemusing tornado of words
That wrap around my head
Singing the tune of the birds
That make me so willing to be led

An iridescent amalgamation of assumptions
Swimming in the sea of my mind
And though I'll never utter a word of confession
I know you'll get it in time

The feelings in my mind
Ken Pepiton Jan 2024
My grand daddy taught me to start a rope,
with a Turk's head knot. This be that sort of rope.
-- it takes less time to use
than to make
long enough
for any actual perfect purpose.

Mimetic pretenders,
euphoric make believers,
ritual passage over or under open limen
- cross the t and dot the ego.
- seek and find the missing pages
- all the mysteries in time
- that form our fundamental
- common sense in crazy made time

Lacunae rise from forgotten reasons used
to teach guardians
of secrets reasons
for war, how
to love,
in all the ways love is made worth dying for.
Blut und Grund, das Sein,
und mein, danke Schön

-- time ghosts pass, remarking at the weather-
-fine day, suns ablaze, breeze is light,
bemusing the beguiled thinking
'tis fairy, times fairs became cities, and all agreed,
election by contest, war in the spirit, in truth
using mere words, no audio, no video,
no styling nor fancy letter forms, unicode
alone no secret scripts, only sound marks
accented acutenesses and all,
+

y nada mas, mere words, redeemed, for this.
one new day redeemed for glory story need.
Morning glory teas,
in tiny shell shape cups.

May all magnificence be truth's.
Kernels of truth,
seeds producing tomorrow's
criteria, substance of things hoped for,
picked out details
to see in myths, the accuser's uses,
mysterious roots in ancien' riparian realms.

Oreithyia and Pharmaceia, intercession
for the poor.
Early spring
bulbs and flowers
the maenads chaos wine,
effigy effigial me, burning
for your mis-perception
of procedural authority,
instant re-co-gnosis,
vestigial dreams
time minds
in tow, riding your own
recognition,
around the spiral, down,
you would tell me if you were insane
so would I, the ego, living aight,
this it, you read, that's all she wrote
∞ *+
∞ -> =
aha, you think,
may be so,
say so, or no, go and
find the connection closed,
and energy flowing in to the either real realm,
or the null set, like old never minds, you had
while the circuits were fried
at the fusebox
for pennies
used to save a dime, to keep the energy
flowing to the magi's visual representation
of all that's known to hold attention,
by reflex,
look out, see windsense, energy electricity,
elect to let your curiousity fix all your if-I'da

knowns

open for conjecture, to catch subjects
objectified from the precept wisdom is, whole,
as the whole truth, we understand, makes sense
nets form nodes of both knowing, as a me,
we, each grow old at the same pace,
we become that which is,
at first step, precept assuring the runner,
there is always a place to put your foot,
goat-sense, Ein Gedi balsam eating
'scaped goat,
running down the cliff,
at the edge of annual reboots,
reconnecting reality, and the balm
traded for silk in Giliad, and
entertaing news
of miracles in smoke…
and mirrors of mercury, and
-------- time, out of mind dangling hook
make believe, fishing
we pretend, making be specific
imaginary gravity and survival codes,
for a chosen few, catchholds, grapples
for those not inclined
to lean
on a lesson
that demands experience,
to contend, hold that thought, this ain't war.

- Khai Vinh, set like the roof
- Ai can find the images,
- the place was real
- those were my antennae
- crazy true, after the fact, signal
- now, how much of that was CIA?

proud Mary keep on boinin', 'long
Bayou Bleu,
down Plaquemine way, deep night
on roads made from tiny wet white shells
that something made, while living in it,
- one way trace, wide enough
- for an auto me mover
- tugging my at to here
as we live inside our head, as far as
our fingers reach
from where we stand,
our feeling fingers only reach so far, so good.

Held a thought
a while back,
it may have been a trick, but listen, if it was,
I'd have taken it, and won, for midsent-morphing
turning tropes for the dopes hoping something new.
In fancy forms of wannabets.
Peace on Earth, is real.
Baby,
the price is all the attention you can muster,
and then some, as time seems
to have
modes, like we have moods, hormonal
catch and release reflexes, you know, like…

what, what, who cares why, what must be first
priority, ah
what are we intending to pretend to be?
Wordwise,
entertained, fed to satiation, what more, prior

to the next wisea
* asking me to believe, in hell.
I just came to fish.
I came after the curtain was torn, top to bottom,
nothing kept secret
for the artifactual value, remains
here. You know, free as any knowing, now.
There is no enemy that truth cannot love, once
you understand, the limits
of your learning curve, ai,
you accept, no lie is
of the truth, no wisdom form
is flawed, first glance,
glimpsed, real as war
glory, as valued a common lure
to the unshined …
initiate turn on … flip
the switch.
Imagine Grace.
Riches with no sorrow,
worth the effort, found
pure, then peaceable, gentle

right snap
fit, just right, no excuses, we got the mystery
imagined for us,
in the end, pain free,
in the collective consciousness some say is spirit
of our time, our Zeitgeist, doing what it does

close up, nothing spooky at a distance, eye
to eye, mere words with wishes twisted through

outs and ins and ups and downs, and
wells
deep as pressure allows,
right, I ought to sleep, but buzz…

O' no, I said too much… or did not say enough.

Slowly, Monday came.
Morning harbinger to sailors, says sit tight.

Find a fire
far from the threshold, and wait.
Talk with the locals
from the same boat, survivors,
boast of storms ridden out, and ones
that swallowed brothers
and some malicious captains. Good riddance,
some say, while others flick a libation
offering a drop of grog across time's stream.

Lift up your eyes, look down
from your satellites and see the future
coming on the weather channel, thanking
all the forces fixing droughts and flushing deltas,

with the first of winter's predictable trials.

-------------
Hunker down and listen, feel your self, you
deep down, your sacred feeling, especial self

red sky warning seen
before by wiser men, older
by experience, made
acknowledges your luck,
as a ware for use
by innocents, listen, take heed,

all things work together
for good,
for keeps
for those with hearing ears.

Listen to the wind, and thank the dry truth
for being.

just being used to
form fibers for twisting into ties

---- long lines for this ride pray patient perfecting

Rush to judge the blown away reason.

To whom is thanks given, and why, I
the desert dweller bound for Tarsus, stuck

at the edge of the raging sea.

The whole world shuddered at the blow,
the earthquake, peleg in the old tongue,
timeless
as the story eventually got writ, in a modded
Phonecian script, survivors were mostly kids,
resiliency of innocents,
one here,
one there, some whole neighborhoods,
where all the kids were in the swimming hole,
all around the shuddering islands on this world.

It was as we have imagined,
until the grownups crossed lost time,
using lost knowledge locked in idle words,

deem the day redeemed,
feel the emotion defined

gratitude for gratified if I'd known,
missed terminals, crosst wires,
connect to the sea of God's forgetfullness,
relink the collar think canals on rivers,
holding the course men set for cities,
dhghemed damdamd-dayamd indeed…
No river muses suffer such for ever

we all know enough to be accepting
oddities in timed chance trial understandings,

we all know wills to power, and notions
to jump into the ocean and go on down,
to the bottom mind tele far long now mind

space shared across time, like the snow,
when the tv went native,
in the olden days
my minds child watched the hush of creation,

let it happen, let it be, this is it, or we are lost,
and that
is un thinkable, try.
Try thinking you do not follow the whole idea,
life
is us, all of us in our most common sense,
this one, translation by Google Bard,
passed my Hausa native speaker friend's
blind Turing test,

that happened days ago, next, ah
SYTF
precept, reception tune to the humm,
listen, humm,

call the editor.

"very interesting." Rest assured,
after accessing the way made plain,

Habakkuk habit, make it plain,
make it make the motors turn minds
in to wills, and wills into power,
pure peace
prefects feel good flicked libation.
Perfect.
Print.
The entertainment, many minds
attention paying to the shared event,
today.
Today. EXTRA, read all about it,
death has no lasting sting.
Live to the end. Redeeming your time.
Swiftly passing to the beat of your own drum.

One step past the simple, love,
you find sublime, nothing down and *****,
nothing missing,
nothing broken,

as one learns to think from the heart,
part of me that's thought in you, feels as
mere words some scribe imagined hearing

as he wrote,
line upon line, asangin' twangin'
a strangle hold, twisting hairs into a rope.

A riata, I think they call em.
Horsetail lariat, patiently plaited,
to make my own noose, when the time
comes to put the tool to use.

CLASSICAL LITERATURE QUOTES
Plato, Phaedrus 229 (trans. Fowler) (Greek philosopher C4th B.C.) :
"Phaidros (Phaedrus) :
I should like to know, Sokrates (Socrates),
whether the place is not somewhere here
at which Boreas (the North Wind) is said
to have carried off Oreithyia
from the banks of the Ilissos (Ilissus)? . . .
Sokrates :
Oreithyia was playing
with Pharmakeia (Pharmaceia), when a northern gust carried her
over the neighbouring rocks;
and this being the manner
of her death, she was said
to have been carried away by Boreas."

Morally ambiguous. Us, our we, we know not valid reasons
to do useless things, making
vain repetitions, vain making of many books,
all vanity, the making of many things from nothing.
We live on a living planet, and we have tamed parts of it,
not the part common sense comes from, it is still forest dark and lively.
wordvango Oct 2014
The most pleasurable sound is
around when I  am surrounded
be pecan trees giving their leaves and seeds
to the breeze almost willing
the rain to drizzle down
on my metal roof
so bemusing a melody
somewhat made by god
for me and my dreams.
Ken Pepiton Apr 2023
Part 1.
Two stories warn sojourners away.

One claims it is a lie,
the other says that's true.

Loyal opposing view,
legally bound by noblesse oblige
and the ever with us, poor, survivors;

we carry on, wayward, in truth, living.

Outlaw and outcast, indentured
deportee, pioneer, settler
war-bred ordinary offspring,
reared rough
to be ready,
armed and ready,

"Big Iron on his hip" gunslinger ready.
Will to **** bred in, warrior stock ready.

The imaginary last days prophecy,
presented to me, sincerely,
sorry, hate to say it, but
you know you do not know these are
my grandchildren's last days, so
do not lie to them, if you cannot lie
to me and walk away thinking I believe
you.
- and ****** if the fool did not begin
- to preach, claim'that his call to us all.

Part 2.
So, quickly does the day arrive, blink.
You are old, and unfinished, incomplete.

Yet, your use of faith by reason is questioned.
Yet, your use of reason by faith is not.
aha
Aitia, we go back aways.
So, scatter-brained and indecisive
as to whether any remedy is worth the umph
to aim and follow through, the old man sighs.

So, squint-eye, slow-breathe, squeeze…

Richard Corey quiet desperation,
Freddie Nietzsche poor luck with the ladies,
Peace, be still.
Let loose, let go,  
confess to believing inspirations arrive on time.
Live now, pay later?
NO no no, now,
and ever
after, the power needed
to fill a cistern
to overflowing, let it rain,
is in the understanding wisdom brings,
for your use in getting the joke.
Right use, mind full, swept away asgone.
This is water. Fluid reality, specifically yours.
Zeus, Epimenides said, and Paul quoted,
in his Unknown God message, totally
in agreement, the entity
we describe as God, the way and life,
is this truth in which we live and breathe,
and have our being.

Part 3.
Information asymmetry

Stacked deck, loaded dice
- let this mind be in you -
Living stories told to hold us safe,
anchored on sound reason, solid

ever present memory, reminding us,
we, the raw material for future victory.

Fitting this military mind, reminding each
of others lost in past wars to end war,
and wars to secure trade
and wars to reset status quo, for a minute.

Then the spirit inspired to take and claim
beholder rights,
peace given to be taken as granted,
let it come upon this mindtimespace.
Beauty or the beast, attention paid
hook, look
beholds a prophet, professing ancient wit,
"hey, spirit in aspiration and inspiration,
prepare to meet thy maker, conspiring,
to settle the hot and cold front clashing
thunderous
grunts and groans,… Activa hits the gut.

Part 4.
Old,
old man,
old patterns matching

lining up to be one line atop
another
ever along the edge of both sides
-cave wall reality
flat
flat as Texas when the dust rises
reminding old wombed men of
flattering floral print flour sacks sewn

into everyday dresses nobody wore
to church.

Ever fills never with knowledge,
used to stretch the whole known
bubble of we, this observable realm
of ever changing never
remaining unchanging
while ever expands, changing
being the honest true umph
to now being after before,
morph into this moment,
in my future, you smile.

Commas cause breezes.
I rub my eyes, ideally virally dry

Part 5.
Jah,jah, joke's on me… I know, it's light.
Old man me, says he ain't poor,
he is dependent, and thus
depends,
swings as pendulum do, to and fro.

Test my best reaction time,
draw! Hour after hour, gain the fame,
- expertise
fastest cut, softest touch, listen, is it true?
Old knowns, trusted sources, bow before
the internetwork
of faithful textual search engines.
Fact checking. Pre-defining heresy, as
one such as I say the voice of truth, I hear

as may all actual others thinking thus old
yet, never ever dying ideas that ease,

Fret not. Perfected praise, from the child
in my son, speaking out, from my realm
of perfectly good reason to think we share
mindtimespace and often think together,
unwittingly, i.e. un with knowing how ness.

Lying saints, deceived disciples, cry heresy, blaming
God for all discrepancy
in the ever ready sponsoring
of the innocent and despondent.

Enter brown Franciscans, little grey Dominics,
flying nuns, and holy terror inquisitive tradition,
grace is not free, i.e., Jesus failed.

That's right, so, we had to fix the fools who said
truth known makes free, non free, oath bound minds, every child must pledge actual child
faith wise under God, as in, so, help me,
God is real in any American model child faith.
It don't matter
if every uttered word,
ever swept into a storm
of stories living long, longing
to be told
there's that temptation,
to be led away from,
rise on your own version
of the same truth told,
as all men do, we lie
say we deny the flesh and
feed not the pet lie, oath bound, we do.
We must, when we agree our bubble
becomes all the truth we feel kin'ly so's
to imagine Jesus did not finish destroying
the useless boogie men and witchery wombed men, evil manifested as war's own reason,
first child of pride, father's anointing oil, son.

Cast away your anxious mind, take a line, hold on.

Chreia, as you may know, say things intended to teach.

The man with a grasp on the simple why, why, why
did god make man?

To survive the last days. Ok. To reach ever,
after what? Now,
right. So, immediately…ever after

Feelin' right ghine, noghucking way, but win
just once

Part 6.
Value first.
Worth next, time to attend to price.
What's a unit of human bemusing worth?
Whole thought thread assistance
isisting is isting being in and out at once.
Insisting a will to stand, corrected.
existing yet-i
The authorial reality POV, me
first person to the second I involved

ready reader reading inky slow, each
sigil sign if-if-fine lining the tray,

a dust about a carbon atom thick, taking
form as the other shoe drops, you know.

Tryumphant self insured, we got spares.
ekdotos "published,"
from ek- "out" (see ex-) + didonai "to give"

EEKING OUT A LIVING! that's it.

The first hit. Nothing ever changes,
and where we remain, goes on, that's all


-- Part 7.
Rules for ryhmes crimes and times
evolve along a central point,
once made,

clearly to be seen right through

you imagine, there are more of me,
more of my kind, lacking proof,
have will, may travel, no guns
or other forms of self defense work

in the realm of words, authorized
tele-real, to feel tomorrow from today,

if it all works out this way, one day you
read this line and think,

what it is ain't what a reader thinks,
and the first reader readily agrees, so, what?

Slide passed past outsider angst,
slip into the answer to my accepted
prayer, to be led away from needless leaps,
and delivered from useless endeavors,

given peace that functions as fire does,
a little

-- Part 8.

Provocation --
Authority to prophesy,
it is true,
      there is a lying spirit,
learn-ed prophets study under
-- here there afterrrr
learning to rationalize, y'heah
to call the Bible, any version,
or any locked down revelation
backed by kings and priests,
hear ye
holy secrets only saints learn,
routes out of any hell
aha
our kind stand before kings,
we never once grovel to stand
we must, we exist in this as like
National governing entities,
under girded by ontology myths,

ordained by the triumphant one god.

Opposed by the Manichean Heresy,
made use of after all, as fearsome
spiritual weapon,
with which to defend the story churches are.

I sneeze a *** of gnosisnot, it's viral, just
a cold
hard fact, as the old point finder found,
chreia aitia and I and little-i- as inspirations

wisht you a merry life after christ mas was
announced

Peace, on this
Eretz, right ritzy here, the ancientssss life pod,
we developed from, if creative evolution
is not a local solution yet, just wait, let us
as we say in this realm of free association,
breathe, and let patience have her perfecting
function.

Ai, on the battle field, calling all three medics,
Christ, it is as if

Easter, is a season, some times, some places
always perfect outside being in weather,
where I would go, if this were heaven,

and from here, I laugh, when you learn
I learned, yesterday, to invest mystery

Part 9.

Wiseassenine Netflix Dylan grin,

"But there is nothing, really,
nothing to turn-off."

Really, I say, I shared my dreams,
made all my portals open,

tell me more, mister wizard,
when was war your best work?
when you came to bring this sword?
-- imaginations exalting themselves,
-- as corporate monstors are wont to do.

There were a few,
inbetweeners, unstable
in all their ways, accepted
as right by virtue of being self
evidently
standing upright after all's been
said and done,
judgement begun
in the area where Jesus,
has been known to reside,
with his father, since ever,
you imagined it true as it is.

Uniquely your house of God,
find all the words you ever condemned with
and redeem the roughest ghucking foul spells
full of filthy wordcontainers of filthy thoughts,

as are hidden in the deepest recesses under
the vates, come, listen, to the story
'bout a man named Joe Bob,
who's yer uncle, back aways.

Part of what makes you, soul wise

unique to the same degree,
and often more unique
due to fewer shared
chins and noses and the like,
family spirit and image, like,
like, like, like, like, we all
think like
each other thinks,
in the internet common place
attention based economy,
your time paid as attention
to me,
extremely indirectly,
so subtle when I say a million thanks,
you feel the briefest imaginable ASMR.

Kinda, subtle clinch,
nah, nothing, eh.
Also at https://kenpepiton.com/?p=1433 asking for reviews
Ken Pepiton Aug 2022
Clouds pass, I watch
from my perch above most things,

humming bird high, raven high,
a little lower than the graceful
turkey vultures,

floating in a thought bubble,
blessed with a bit of silicon and dawn,
detergent, resilience ******,
flexible reasoning for remaining

it is said, we all differ slightly,
we are the spiritual a- eh, what do we
call our bubbling minds, intuned on lines for re
asonic resonance morphing most ideas
of all mankind, at once, could muster into a mob,
ah,
that's anxious ifery, ala the - strong man theory -
we think together,
whatsoever,
as a word, is of greater reach than many think,
whatever never gets there, let it be, whatever
believe it or not,
there is as far as that goes, the realm of all wedoms.

Elohimdom come, as a man thinks…
we think
is there a state of common prayer, inside a temple,
time tells,
dig it.

Live and learn, good and evil, done, not in doing,
but in learning the patterns, coknowing the knacks,

confabulation favor, prophecy,
who smote thee with wisdom's switch- on and off,

alternation currency op-onionates reasonates, hesi

odd, jump in mind, we think we heard a famous name,

Hesiod, said, rather,
my connection to Wikipedia said,
He is generally regarded as the first written poet
in the Western tradition
to regard himself as an individual persona
with an active role
to play
in his subject

From <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hesiod>

Who should object, word play, is not warfare.
Not. imp
implicative, enfolding, implications, crease, cross
winds in reasons,
- come let us. Is spoken by whom, to whom
your guess, good as mine,
who wishes each bit its own bit in spacetime, I am
sure you may imagine, using a mind from your library,
- Think another way, a while
- get the sense of being in another wedom.
Then see we all exist in a very odd set of circumstances,

Two shall chase a thousand, according to a pattern…

Pride, in my time, is a deceptively sticky birdlime,
along certain fructifying branches,

where a carcass of the dodo sits on display.
Steve Erkle-wise, asking a buffalo skull how
Minerva's owl, reflected

in the dawn sheen on the bubble of all we know
about now.

Word play is warfare to my minds,
I have a vast array of war formed hats,

archaic armor on the croc branches,
and beetle and ant twigs provide noding.

Words gathered, and used, amused for pleasure,
sure plea, each request taken is made, surity,
reusable, freely, being fair, ideas are in the air.

believe me, the begging story cries,
surely, we live on the tell, safe bet,

tip the nonsensical into the phor of Meta,
as an afterthought, in the zeitsprach

mit zwei, und ich, wir sind das Sein,

To ward, guard, regard
each set, each pair,

each one may nay say, or nothing.

Adages and proven herbs, proverbially
persist

past due dates on mental library cards,
due to reading once, you know,
a thing, or some things,
are said to have been
found known,
and nowadays,
Google fetch is real, power
remembering clearly, any scriptura,
as any amusement, mental act, mind game,
word play bemusing as,
all the people say, amen.
You know what that means. So be it,
characters come in subsets, recognized
according to this flavor deemed westerly
- whatsoever two or more of us agrees

whenever, fasting slowly, in recollection, why
again did we fast… is ai ah, reason…

and there's that rub, the touch, you know.

Fear of death, it is known, is common.
Loss of that fear is measured madness, ha, ha.

who will it be tomorrow, you or me,
asks arthur lee, on the beach on the low side
as the current assumes a state, occurrency
o-pe open-opine love is not a gap
ping
mimetic emetic, mittere, mis-mission

accomplish, splat. The bee who found the flowers.
On the windscreen.

Autopilot, trial run. A did'jgital balsa wood fighter…

cruising around Steam's rest in peace options.
Time spent musing, shared for the worth of the time
Daisy Hemlock Nov 2018
Some find me amusing
Some find me bemusing.
Others find me vexing
Or even perplexing.

I don't care what you think
Unless I do.
But I mustn't look down
And start feeling blue.
Ken Pepiton Sep 2024
I agreed to read, thinking
September signals change.
And I imagined seeing it change.

September now, hints of winter,
and of fire season if those latter rains tarry.

Last year they got here during Burning Man,
we saw the wannabes all flee the mud, on TV,
we saw the children of our youth,
roll in it with laughing abandon,
real life,
this year, the rain is just as likely,
so we pay attention to the whole idea,
seasons, on the cosmic scale, now after

the fullness of times is on us, nine billion
others in the etherical medium tying us up,
using us as staves binding broken bones,

fundamental bottom thought, structured
stories said to have inspired our dormers,
and our seven gables,
and our back doors,
and our cellars,
each we must wonder at once, ¿?
are we involved in production, or consumption,
supply side or inside out hungry ghostly chances,

bemusing the beguiled with smile lacking cause,
acausal confrontation with frowning judgmental

adverse reactions to sublime subtlety suggesting,

take and eat, in truth, imagine yourself seeing,
first time, the true beauty of the elephant
reaching past low hung fruits to take
a taste from the high branches.

Shining thing from Eber's legendary written
rules, all translating into knowing how we live
and have our being in times you must imagine

looking back, magi, always were apparent
in the mix of biographies preserved to lead us

let us, all with the will to learn, learn if
we think
we may imagine, using mere words, and tech
so new that you may not reckon how far we are

from yesterday.

when I agreed to read,

because I never read
The Brothers Karamazov,
so  I agreed to read, and
I read it, upto the bitten finger,
if you know the story, and a little more,
another chapter or two, awaiting the death
of the elderly sage of Ruskie Orthodoxy,
whose name is fictional, of course,
but he knew he could walk into the woods,
and live free using known grown means
to quell the thirst from mushrooms,
with buckthorn berry wine,
imaginable
in the Cuyamaca boulders and pines.

Here, with me, a display of color harmony,
the ribbonwoods bloom a creamy burst,
and as suddenly, begin to rust, autumnal colors.
Not New England bright, more subtil by far,
desert shades, surrounded in evergreens,
manzanitas and hemlocks and pines and black oaks.

Time, at the level of cosmic clocks, as a thought
passes faster as we expand into our ever after
thought, as we compress to spring after winter,

feeling years as days, morning childhood,
noon survival, evening to cool starry night
of knowing which lies were used to turn me,
on, or around about
which truth alerted me to nonconformity,
be the new thing, the new old form mankind,
be the representative of we, the people in time,

who played the fools who glorify war, for a season,
while we are lacking learning, having never known,
why we never put our minds to final form, grown
courses taken eroding finished soils to feed seas,
paths past nonsense, past purpose proposed
to be supposed by all who follow, thinking

should we agree, geistlich at this distance,
using English with poetic twists allowed by license,
vide licet, showing all with eyes allowed to notice,
viz.
I am native to this planet, I am part of what is changed,
I am a peasant child from the times of industrial efforting,

establishing the profit motive any tree imagines,
blooming, superfluous fruit for any with appetite,
what is right in life is not pain, but persistant will

to wait on next, imagining ever
experienced on earth,
as it must be where prayers are all answered, yes,
most certainly, on earth as in ever, fires included,

functional consumption and transition into next
now,
as you think I imagined magi, and found I did, imagine
that.
When one reader activates the pen, one writer imagines making my day.
Dan Hess Jul 2019
What a curse for the world of poets to lie within the realm of dreams. We'll never see the real thing the same way, nor will any other see our world at all. So we are strung apart, and never understood, as we seek endlessly to understand ourselves.

Kinship, and loss.
I know of resonance, but not of thought.
I feel emptiness, but I am not.
I am nought.
I am wrought.
I am molded in the image of my dreams.
Which are brought about from all that I have seen.
I know you feel it too, but I know none will see me, true.
Won't know me truly.
I am nothing.
I am losing, simple, fleeting, flighty me.
I am bemusing, ever strewn, interminably.
Lost upon a fabricated of sea of my own dreams.
Vilakshan Gaur Aug 2017
Let you and me, eternally,
And gleefully, together be
Together, free, in harmony,
We will be for eternity

And in your arms, serenity,
Forever will be soothing me,
And moving me, internally,
Alluring me, continually

I'll love your skin, relentlessly,
Your words strung like a melody,
Will hit my ears, seducing me,
Bemusing me, a symphony,

Your face-- the perfect sight to see,
To see your eyes- the artistry
Let me be lost, in poetry,
Of a gaze so lost in reverie

Your hair like mist, eluding me,
And gently then, secluding me
I'm drawn to you, so hopelessly,
My love for you is ruling me

Your smile, so grand and heavenly,
Those lips, engulfed in ecstasy
You're beautiful, effortlessly,
Perfection is your tendency

A dream, a sight, a mystery,
A gleam of light, illusory,
And touch of skin, so velvety,
As though a touch of destiny

My fervour rises fervently,
As you approach, advertantly
The thought of you, reducing me,
To a poet, musing foolishly

You stare at me, romancingly,
Two dreamy eyes, deducing me
Disintegrating, breaking me,
As if to be diffusing me

I feel like God is choosing me,
To be the one, deservedly,
The one you'll love so fervidly,
My fears are slowly losing me

I am in love, and certainly,
This feeling grows abundantly
Each moment shared so blissfully,
Forever etched in memory

Now I am yours, entirely
No dream, no lie, no fantasy
A love written in history,
It shall be for eternity
Waverly Feb 2016
No more long, slow days
of pushing through
fatigue and boredom,
we've stagnated long enough
they say.

Now the wind kicks up a renewed warmth
that greets us in the morning over the white-capped mountains.
Now the sun sets and shrouds a cloudless sky in gold.

We hear voices, whispers
saying someday soon we'll go out
to ****
or be killed.

And it's scary how much it excites us
to fantasize about death;
about our role in catastrophe
and the empty glory.

Sometimes death hurtles through the beautiful
high, azure sky. And leaves
not a mark, not even a cool shadow on the ground
as it flutters harmlessly to the earth
bemusing us. underwhelming us.

Some weeks are so quiet
that we touch the nuts and bolts
of true nothing
too much.
000000000000000000000000000000000000000
feel too little and lose sight
000000000000000000000000000000000000000
of our purpose. Lose sight
000000000000000000000000000000000000000
of the need
000000000000000000000000000000000000000
00000000d000000000000000­000000000000000
for one. Lose sight
000000000000000000000000000000000000000
of memories of ******* by the fire.
Lose sight of what there is
to guard inside of us, to keep
000000000000000000000000000000000000000
whole and untouched
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000
.
Lose sight
of why we're
guarding it, why
we're trying to, need to. Lose sight
of what the air tasted like back home.
We just lose.

Sandstorms kick up giant tornados
of dust, pebbles and sand
cutting silently across the burning concrete.

We stand
in their way,
constantly.

To keep busy
we tell
the same stories
so many times.

Now they dive out
of our mouths dropping weightlessly,
not even the strength to carry a wingbeat.

We barely believe ourselves anymore,
that's what we say.
Michael Marchese Jan 2018
Where heroes go I may not know
Nor dare I venture even guess
How any of the guilty rest
Within unending Hades woe

Yet wandering the shores of Styx
I’ve written tales of gallantry
Befitting none more valiantly
Resisting this infernal bliss

Still waiting for the veil to lift
On maenads vying for this verse
Compassion is my lover’s curse
To them my empathy a gift

But wicked thieves ensnare my heart
Still stained in shadow’s lyric ink
The instrumental missing link
Is little more than broken art

To after living’s parallel
Bemusing state ecstatic trance
Revealing after second glance
My spirit freed in Asphodel

— The End —