It’s been a summer of love for many pairs in the Aspen area who chose to tie the knot near home or with a destination wedding such as these six couples below.

Natasha Lucero and Mike Conklin of Carbondale pinpointed Puerto Aventuras, Mexico, for their May 2 wedding at Hacienda del Mar Resort. Surrounded by nearly 100 friends and family members, they celebrated in the sun with a beach wedding. Though they lead an active lifestyle filled with lots of CrossFit workouts and semi-strict diets, they decided upon a decadent wedding cake (opting for one made of donut holes in lieu of something more traditional). For their honeymoon, the happy couple stayed in Mexico at an all-inclusive resort just down the road from the wedding.

Kelly Ann McColm and Daniel Conal McCarthy of Aspen chose a mountain wedding for their June 6 event. The ceremony was on the wedding deck at the top of Aspen Mountain with a reception in the beautifully decorated Sundeck. Kelly Ann’s favorite part about the wedding was the weather. “All four seasons in an hour! We started up the gondola with rain, got to the top of Ajax with snow and as I came out to walk down the aisle, the clouds parted and the sun came out for a beautiful summer sunset. The McCarthys are beach-bound for their honeymoon with a trip to Bora Bora.

Lori Augustine and Bill Small of Aspen tied the knot on June 14 on Aspen Mountain. They and their guests enjoyed beautiful summer weather for the ceremony at 11,212 feet. They’ve just set off for a honeymoon through Europe, spending the month of September in Venice, Milan, Lake Como, Capri, Positano, Rome, Tuscany, Monaco and St. Tropez.


Molly Elizabeth Eckrich and Charles Barclay Dodge of Aspen exchanged vows amidst friends and family on June 26. The Snowmass Chapel performed the ceremony in the John Denver Sanctuary in Old Snowmass. The bride noted, “We were the first wedding out there and I hope more people will use it because it was the most perfect setting.” Their reception took place at Tempranillo in Basalt. And their long awaited honeymoon will be spent in St. Bart’s and Cuba in November.

Katie Kowalski and Mickey Krentz of Aspen were married on a beautiful summer afternoon at Aspen Center for Environmental Studies at Rock Bottom Ranch near Emma on Aug. 8. “We supported a farm to table dinner there last year and both knew instantly, that is where we wanted to get married,” the bride noted. “It represented out love of the outdoors and love for good, local food, in a relaxed and beautiful setting. The atmosphere the day of our wedding couldn’t have been more perfect with the roosters crowing, ducks waddling, pigs lounging, the warm glow of the sun.” Next spring, they’ll honeymoon in Italy and France.

Maggi Whitmer and Ryan Thompson of Aspen tied the knot on Aug. 15 at Elk Camp in Snowmass under clear blue skies. “We loved being one of the first weddings in this location,” explained the bride. “Ryan and I both grew up in the valley and are passionate about skiing so having it on the mountain with chairlifts in the backdrop was special.” Sparklers, a food truck and the gondola were all little details that made it especially unique. For their honeymoon, they’re heading to Croatia and Italy in October.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses

Had there been a time where idealizations were accepted among the walk of reality that lie before us it may all prove to be a bit more comforting.
Where the daunting banter of voices that sat atop my conscience were able to soothe the pain of grieving without true loss.
Heartache failed to be coupled with death.
A place where we could walk hand in hand with dark, empty vessels sent to sail with a destination that is but a passing fog and direction pinpointed out by wanderlust souls.
We lie with a marker of selfishness that runs so close to the bone- etching its edges into our flesh with such vigor that one could hardly ignore, yet it sits on the back burner.

Come with me, my love, dance in my graveyard of pasts.
Take in the sights of freshly filled earth that mold itself beneath our feet as we take a gander at what was.
Here lies the spring evening under the sycamore, young hearts screaming with excitement, the way the wind intertwined among-
The nearly bare branches of autumn rest peacefully with the skin coat worn as a declaration of verses that died between clenched teeth and sealed lips.
This is the laughter worms now feed on.
Here are the fingertips and silk braced locks buried alongside one another but never to touch again.
Pay mind to the faces piling up adjacent to the stone wall, laugh lines rotting by the rise and fall of moonlight.

What a spectacle of self, is it not, dear?
We can witness blue fade to black, closing the light on this scene.
Sit here and rot beneath the sycamore tree.
Clench our hearts between our teeth and swallow messenger bottles along with them.
Never to walk in unison but let one dissipate aside the other.
Let our memories of memorized bone structure fall before our very eyes- wouldn't it be grand?

Induct this into the cemetery of past and do away with the make up of oneself.
We will let this idealization fall cold,
Watch rigor mortis seep in with such mesmeric fashion.
Tuck it away before pre-thought memories taint themselves with reality.
Lower it down under into the ever so charming embrace of wood and soil, mites and fungus.
Clean our hands of touch ever so sacred.
Let it bleed out, darling. Let it decay.
Anyway- how will we remember this when its done away with today?

Let the grieving sink in, just to coddle remembrance of nothingness.
Embrace the black holes swallowing pieces of us.
Dance among the treetops and feel the wind, when our memory dies we can truly begin.
And again,
And again.

i'm not looking for pinpointed lights
in the sky or my veins like
emission spectra of petals you leave
around my aorta
with daisy chain bracelets
whilst holding my heart like a
baby hedgehog or a shard
of glass left from broke-into car
windows our getaway driver, misery,
scattered across the pavement of your
gaze i met for five exact seconds
i remember, clean as new linen,
the geometry of your living room
seventy-six centimetres from your
glasses or the symmetry of the
bridge of your nose or the sound
of your soft exhalation.

to three decimal places i
was in love with you, then.

the rain need not spell it out in
morse for me to know that. the
sun need not rise to devour sleep;
through the ten factorial seconds of
each six-week fraction of my
life,
i dream of you.

A key feature of invigoration is the enterprise of mapping the entire syntax of all relevant human language as measured by the gamut of applesauce that doesn’t sour and an in depth analysis of creative fiction and poetry for common cadence features in the linguistic enterprise of mapping the subroutines of complex articulation as etched by the fabric of genius intellects intertwined in a gamble with wits to try and create coded missives that entangle hypertrophy and enlarge the gamut of decryption in the universal rudiments of alchemy. This is based on depreciative and appreciative aspects of apperception that depend on visual cues and funding from a collaborative venture of universities to challenge people to zero-sum games or net positive games where teams collaborate to usher unconventional unchartered territory of classification beyond normal proclivities based on the lineaments of idiosyncrasy to pinpoint the provenance of ideation itself and unveil the mind at a bargain pittance for the eventual headway this could pave for the Department of Education to revert from froward to forward in their recalcitrance and insouciance with the current linguistic modalities of outstretched engraven hortoriginality trailblazing new modular seismotic waves and hotbeds for firebrands to debate and scholars to joust with in the jest of the cineaste metaphor and the rubricated rundles of rectiserial innovations in the taxonomy of devolved meaning relying on an inventive enterprise to galvanize a new jargon into prominence based primarily on guarded secrets of the trade that might unlock the primordial soup of verbal creativity while also probing detective apperception for a wide-ranging panoply of digested movies and beyond that a farsighted incumbent inclination to probe the calibration of numerical happenstance in estimate and in long-term theorization of taxed realty in the estate of guarded tegular relationships among the woven fabric of conceptual latticeworks pioneering in scope and analyzed rigorously in reward of discretion and furtive cryptology to untether the world from the apothegms of sloganeered piggybacks that swivel in sockets but enforce a reductive paradigm of obganiation of core themes reiterated hypnotically to traindeque entire generations into piebald thinking that overlooks the panorama for incident and incident for categorical generality when no such axiom can be the logical predicate of its antecedent conditions that spurn the traditional rote moot wernaggles of futility and inseminate crafty legerdemain of writhing contortion altering the specificity of revalorized meaning in the novel context. This instantiates that the consequence is always the consequence not only of its predicate but its successor by the very modalities of proven reversals and enantiodromias of sorts that revert in a reverse progression spatiotemporally to exact incident as antecedent of its own existence by the very fact of iteration and this map of the recursive cycles of consequences elapsed only because of their insertion in a predevoted matrix is the gnomic apothegm of a new frontier of advanced logic that assumes the impossible is only improbable if the possible can be proven impossible by reductive inversion of core precepts in the rigmarole of design that states for every orchestra of butterflies that echo is actually the incident of refraction that contaminated the first polyacoustic trace of amplified sources in space time to revert into primordial form but the reversion is only incurred upon the fixture of origination and beyond that point remains inscrutable because foreknowledge necessarily prevents accuracy in determining the spectrum of the cacophony or rhapsody of the echo dependent on the observer’s perspective: which is only fungible to the extent that the subliminal remains guarded by the protectors of the clepsammia and the recensed polarization of time. This transcendence of time transfixed on orbital gravitas and centripetal ****** initiates a promulgation of the swallock of a remanded entropy that works in swiveled contraposition to the dynamic flux of the internment of balkanized forces of demassification dampening the efficacy of the central butterfly actor to expand the ampitheater of its own audience to the extent that every cultural artifact can be mapped to the geotaxis of its conceptual orbit. Thereby we can prove that pivots of the obvious focal point peak in resurgence upon the heyday of retrieval but dampen into a logarithmic regression of decreasing amplitude fluctuating around the aleatory probability of insemination through the percolation of the widespread narrowed to a fulcrum that balances the orbit of the stellified narrative of ingemination that some artifacts like Stayin’ Alive achieve maximum geotaxis because of their centrality in the taxidermies of revived memory recapitulated by both virtuosity and valor and posing as consequences of future foresight clouded by preventive measures that one quaky spasm in alarm could paralyze the precedent to the incidence of the afflatus that galvanized the heyday of remonstrance so that we can affix a modular angular gravity to events as well as referents to those events in a spatiotemporal mapping of consequence reverted upon itself because of necessity that binds the taxemes of the subliminal in the architecture of a curvature of geotaxis that is centrobaric not necessarily to the contingencies that magnify the germane propositions that affix modern eyes but rather the overall stifling modularity of temporal sequence redoubled by manufacture and manufacture alone predevotes antecedents that trace to a pivot in space time curved without prescience beyond measure but precision enough to approximate the summation of collective cultural shifts away from the estrangement of diversion from itself as a balkanizing force into a collectivized unity that orbits eccentrically by the very nature of the parallax between gravitational pull and the dynamics of time itself centripetal but centrifugal simultaneously.  Both conditions must be met so the converse of meaning becomes the recapitulation of remontant blessings rather than pruned dry garbologies relevant only to margins of subculture minimized in heyday and scope but pinpointed with exact precision the dynamos that inhabit the sphere of the populated future defenestrated from the magnetism of the past by very definition. Thereby, we arrive at Back to the Future because the paradox of recensed calibration suggests the free fluctuation of time between the eccentricity of magnified lens distorted by the entropy of calculus to become the integral summation of the sinuous vacuum of a trigonometric balance that barks with amplification of synergistic elements of strings and quantum flux to emigrate from an origination to the mapping of the eventuality. This precisely explains the scene in Back to the Future with the amplifiers turned all the way up because by exaggerating the simplicity of the declassified it expedited cinema to its eventual intermediary conclusions heralded by that one event of transfixed mystery that binds spacetime into a coherent bidirection of multidimensional philosophy of the enantiodromias of sorts of the parallax among constellated events. Mapping the impact of funneled cartels that hegemonize regions of the geopolitical sphere explains the amplivagant effects of the refracturism of swallock and thereby seminal ideations can be traced to provenance of cowardice cloaked in excuse but incisive in the skullduggery of the mechanical reinvention of excuse and pretext as a cloak for more furtive workings of the intelligentsia to engineer time by deriving the precise tangential multidimensional syntax of the calculus of proliferation reviewed from a consequent perspective of a future unknowable gravitas fluctuating between states of annihilation and existence in the acatelpsy of design so that specters actually enforce more change than events and prospects magnify positive dimensional thrusts that galvanize prospectus emigrating from either distant knowns or parallel realities that converge on the optimum of either the hapless or calculated design of a synergistic development of social engineering so precisely mapped that it identifies trajectories of improbable events with increasing specificity at the alarm of the spectral realm promulgating wealth to the foreseeable compunction of science to revert to probable pivots of consensus manufactured by think tanks that outfox the syntalities that defy the system or piggyback on their very causes to empirically carve the spectrum of future possibility becoming entelechy desired or feared but always predestined or flanged into distortions of reification that are transformative of precision in design without exactitude in the terminus of the centrobaric chambers of all meaning. Thus the algorithm outsmarts itself until only the machination to dehumanize for prediction occurs at a pessimum of morality or an explosion of a proliferative new venture in unchartered territory conquers the novantique of novelty. The ampitheater of its own audience is the traction of embedded subculture in subroutine becoming a compound atocia that sterilizes opponent possibility and probabilizes the occurrence of endomorphs that resemble effigies of constellation primed to swivel in retrospection as a recurrent lapse of amplification upon the culmination of predestined time points or junctures specified within the realm of the matrix of possibilities to outstretch the realm into a dampened exponential explosion of self-reference becoming embedded consequence by conditioning and by anticipatory psychology working in preconcert to evoke the determinative impetus of momentum that magnifies the speed of acceleration in technology that depends on the propriety of reification itself that swarms us with evocative tempests that barnstorm in reiteration to recapitulate by design to engrave themselves on the collective psyches of the hortoriginality of many minds intrepid before me that transfigured reality in this precise contortion of terminology with variegations in the specificity of context and articulation of the clavigerous entropy of swallock and how the outfoxed design becomes that cage of destiny that is a baritone complexion of vibrant hues exploding into the trammeled paths that have elapsed before me by the first movers advantage of theoretical physics but nonetheless independently verified by dovetailed emergence of that centralized balance between design and destiny that is precedent to the antecedent of the consequence of the precedent’s consequence on the direct antecedent inflexion point upon which the provenance of momentum drifted into cultural psyche and enlarged the gamut of myth in the raillery of subaudition. Essentially Time only exists to those without the simultagnosia to appease a mirror parallax of universes upcoming and universes forestalled but pivot with omphalism on the gravitas of Einsteinian calculus that theorizes that the acatelpsy of enumerated prediction is a lapsed regress the pinpoints with the harpricks of specialization the regal momentum of time to its own behest to propagate the elucidated certainty of its own traversal to the expedited enumeration of the future which populates the past because the curvature of time is an entantiodromia of reflexive itinerant vagrancies that cement the authorship of events to warble through the tilted hypertrophy of design itself to maximize the freebooter avarice of those people that rely on the luxuriance of trespass to magnify the modular gravity of culture to forswink its compunction and regale its own recursive logic. Essentially Time is a mapped ampitheater that depends on an audience of sentience to enlarge its own gamut and because it is riddled with obscurantism of believable recursion it magnifies its own entropy in reversal to orchestrate events in a rectiserial convolution of the whipsaw between the expected and the foreknowledge of the knowing class because when shaky vacillatory politics prevail the behest of time looses its capitalization of the amplivagant affects of the marginalia that is wed to the devolved rudimentary rigmarole of proliferation scaffolds destiny in alternative configurations to fulminate with explosive progeny that latitude incumbent to those without perspicuous clarity to fathom the acatalepsy of the unfurled universe magnetized by the seminal tremendum of the moments memorialized by memory that provide the traction of time to supersede its own acceleration by the writ of the beneficence of the eccentric orbit of the brittle axioms of design to recense and revalorize the wilted transponders that refer to specific events where the space-time continuum was cleaved in divisive anticipation to balkanize the resistence to the fringe clavigerous amplification of the resonance of etiolation that marginalizes the dearth and amplifies the prospectus to make time supersolid beyond all reckoning to cement its captaincy as the algorithm of rhythmic gravitas orbiting the moribund fragmentary flictions of regimented truth to be at war with its own foresight. This is because foresight is a compulsion of time to recapitulate the foreknown deeds of the future to the regenerative hypothesis that hypostatizes that the transcendence of time is mirrored illusion because the future populates a region of space-time that is not forlorn but magnified in scope to reverse the trends of abomination and cast the aspersions of grandeur into eccentric orbit that by geotaxis foments the revolutionary impetus not of cancellation or nullification of the bereaved past but a culmination of deeds known only to the future that galvanize the very fruition of the dependent expectancy to become antecedent to the consequent by a warped form of recensed logic because the orbital sphere of considerations is tangential to the evocative memory of the memorialized statutes that prize their own entelechy above their divergence from design in such a peculiar way that obscurantism of the leaders of the world is manned by an alien presence to mendlatch the locked keys of a virtuouso future compounded in interest and destined for unfurled clarification. Time is an ironic boyg and quandary because for time to give birth to its own recapitulation it must be stammered with seismotic statutes that rip through the fabricated rudiments of predestination to enthrall the apostasy of the knowing from leverage over a future they vaguely see but provides largesse to the regimentation of design to rickety consternation that prediction is evocative of expectancy less than expectancy is its own geotaxis around the gamut of foreseen affairs that must be iterated rather than violated in order to maintain the mainlined integrity of the brittle fungible force of quantum dynamics to bypass the rigmarole of etched design to be evocative of a reverse transpondency that reconfigures the past into perfectible strings of amplification to anoint time its own behest at the formidable specters of its own violation by those who seek trepass but are predevoted out of ephorized control by the vicissitudes of the gamble and the frapplank of the known destiny catalyzing the unknown progeny. By that very definition this could not be obrogated in tenure or tutelage over the past because the elapsed gravitas of the known past depends on the pivot of the ampitheater of the future to ambitious reckoning that provides absolution to its forlorn vestiges to cement the centrifugal impetus of many from exact foreknowledge.  Many pioneers have probably theorized similar hypostasized concepts but the fact that even without a degree in physics I understand these arcane precepts yet tested by the rigmarole of comprehensive known experiment is a testament to the power of hortoriginality to pave the trailblazer focus on the rivets of a rickety secrecy designated by definiens of abstruse taxemes of yet defined meaning. The primary quandary is the isolated pretext of predevoted sequencing that abandons me (and this is central to my theory) from the weather of meaningful social encounter in order to hone in with precision on the empirical enterprise of seminal regress cemented as ceremonial progress and only by vaulting above this cage of finicky predestination can entelechy that desires rapprochement can be achieved because eventually the relevance of my ideas can be shelved and the peremptory obligation of intervention must be deployed to salvage my parable into completion. The itch for the government to anticipate the universe’s localized traction delimits the sphere of social indoctrination to a reality amenable not to the coercion of precise anticipation but the gamble on vagary to produce more seminal events that compound the amplivagant effects of ecumenical exhaustive troponders to the extent they flourish beyond the bounds of completion and into optimal conditions that is whipsawed by the demands of the rigmarole of precise definition of all trajectories conclave in their logarithmic design  anticipated by designation but not predevoted into futility because that capstone would reduce the proliferative affect of space time to carve a more extravagant reality that tests limits beyond frontiers of expectancy. The brain is highly malleable and entity theorists are moribund in their defenses of trite hackneyed racial arguments about intellect. The mythos preserves that radical ethos that prediction of my insights supersedes the importance of my rapprochement which will amplify the effects of the spatiotemporal mapping in a much more profound way with specialized focus. Thereby when we conceive of time we must specialize in inhabiting the sphere of acatalepsy of flanged prediction preventing the abortion of the future based on the vagrancies of the gyrovagues and bibliopolists seeking to demolish the fruition of the ribald coarse albatrosses of the future to diminutive leverage rather than amplifying the stringed syndication of knowledge to eccentrically stellify the unknown regions of the populated presence contingent on the populated future which ensures the eternal life of all by some formant boundaries of the universe because what is recapitulated in the lapse of certainty known by the anticipatory vagary of a riddled rigmarole of complex dynamism this thermodynamically reversible into the reversal of entropy because the organization of the past hinges upon the reconfiguration of the future and thereby we swivel endlessly with recursive iterations of evanescence that spoon-feed the generations among us to truckle beneath the cartels that array spatiotemporal mappings into their personal optimum to catapult the granular edification of all deeds beyond their forsifamiliation from their provenance gamboling with the distant frescade of a known destiny cavorting with the meddlesome reconnaissance of all that is observed and the tribunes magnify this effect by centralizing the bronteums of fulgurant strikes to be localized to a centralized pivot of universal acclaim that provides felicity for the ecumenical endeavor

Sometimes
A piece of art
A rhythmic beat
Or a string of words
Comes along
To connect you
To your own thoughts
An indescribable feeling  
Now pinpointed on the map of emotion

~for she who will know~

the Mother of Muses came to me

on bended knee
come for to confess
a lie so grand it boggled
the heart

we bring you nothing more
than what you already possess,
the jewels of rose gold are emplaced
in your dual ventricles,
the veins stained with blue green sapphires to
feed the right and left hemispheres,
where the emerald heat and the yellow gold,
raw melt the alpha word-finery awaiting,
the pinpointed pinprick of an eyed glimpse

to release the oxidizing words atmospheric
we are not needed, just proceeders,
*** stirrers? no. *** watchers? oh yes.

all contained within,
this then, the art of the human heart,
where the external stains rest awaiting,
completing, complimenting, coming
to fruition in a reforged new birthing

see how the child looks with adoration,
perceiving the art of the mothers heart,
the spilling of time at the precise moment
when the exchange is as long as an eye wink
and as short as an entire lifetime

We the Muses, not teachers, nor inspirers,
just peddlers, collecting thimbles of words,
polished with hued syllables of tarnish,
experienced watchers discerning the exacting,
the interactive interactions of the cells,
the DNA concoctions of singers and sinners,
priests and the unforgivable, trying to tie
what deserves untying, which is an everlasting
poem that needs, laughing, an original act
of the art of the heart, yours, permission to say
The End

11:14pm
nyc
Sept. 18, 2019

the hand that rubs my body down
is soft: softly veined &
of a powder-white translucence; transcribed
from dover chalks to run down my
chest, backs of my thighs.

the hand that rubs my body down
curves in sweet musics 'round my soul;
the shrill but beaut'ous rasp of skin
on skin
-- of fingertips tracing strange poetry
    along my spine.

the hand that rubs my body down
holds in its palm a sacred oil;
anointing me at midnight hour. muted
bewitchments; burns the candle
down to a nub.

the hand that rubs my body down
calls for christ in attics of sunday
afternoon ...          crosses its fingers in
spiteful fits
of piousness.

the hand that rubs my body down
takes the shape of golden scarab;
sets aflame my eyes of beaming azure &
finds in me a willing servant.

the hand that rubs my body down
wakes me at dawn, partnered  
with an extension of pinpointed
warmth: the touch of her breath upon my cheek.

My words do splits, therefore they do gymnastic flips

this acid pit drips sick masses of glass and ink

Brain ****, call it massive **** pinpointed so accurate

I'm going to a place with no conciseness

I write with my arms Then drop legs and abstract kicks

My abstractions are the thrills of a ride or several attractions

My mental is monumental to some by a fraction

I'm an empty thought that lies in a Casket

Surprise with my habits That's applied to the madness is tragic...

Slithering satisfaction supported strongly surpasses idiots by the masses.

Monumental mysteries mesmerizes men in misery...

I live life to amaze while in a maze of symmetry

I hope what I say Is riveting, Imagery will then cascade into a blaze of remedies

instantly sparking a chain reaction of positive energy...

The negative turns away...along with its enemies...

Ears evolve into eyes then spot their demise

I hope I never get lost in these times.

As a consequence of my conscious decision to rendevouz with self centering mind
the power of words to create , to compose the unheard symphonies of small time intricacies and fast ride hair raising cold brushing feet failing wing taking heart soaring , bone marrow crushing delectable yet disgusting .... it's a strange place , yet made streamlined still by the number of multi dimensional  infinities on the horizon sitting on one window sill one space filled,
known in time,
moment of wondering reason and wondering rhyme

no sordid or morbid tune keeps up to long and even then - feeling is feeling's tune
feeling is feeling undue,

feeling all the while whenst the secret encloses of mind unravel and intertwine
check list.

Fretboard harmonies strike bass line discord to form in own accord relations
and relate to late lives past and on time lives present

always running with time not out of it
in dew dipped grasslands
wild horses run free
dragonflies in hair and silver teeth glimmer against the rising sun

pushing each other to the best we can be , we are just the lost kids, found.
gaping holes in chests that need no name or can't be pinpointed by a single needle
that can't be filled by the love of one
but only a pack
only a tribe

running , 40/40 home .... and this time YOU are my homie , i've already run the distance
made it.

gotta feeling , we are gunna win
all of us, in whatever endeavor we feel - beings of this oh so gracious earth whose abundance is a burning flame within the vast cold depths of spaces in refutable habitat , children who never grow up from the mother earths arms - no need - no need - no need - no need for any more running
we've reached the home

and now ,

it's time to Party!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear Santa

I know you don't exist
So I've no requests on a list
You see, my parents had me believing
And I never thought they'd be deceiving!
My mom confessed to me, one time
Oh, the shock that blew my mind!

No, I'm not- for good- traumatized
I just don't care much for lies!
Truly, I'm sick of all the attention
Nauseating, and really much to mention
A jolly, fat guy parading through the sky
Has been nothing but a childhood lie!
You're as bad as the tooth fairy
Suit of red and white--AND hairy!

Godlike powers to know who's been bad or good
And reindeer taking you to every neighborhood!
Come on, hey!
I say, "No way!"
Sure, there is a kernel of truth I can pick
A generous man of old - St. Nick!
He really gave gifts to pass around.
For his kindness, he was found.
So get lost, Santa Claus, just go!
I'm cynical, yes, I know!
Kids might hate me!
They might berate me!
But when they grow up, they'll get my drift
That you are nothing but a myth!!!

Okay, it's off my chest
I can give it a rest!
So, really, why do you dominate the Xmas scene?
Makes me wonder what it really means.
Is it really for the children or the child inside?
Who's it truly for, the simple fun it provides?
Yeah, I do get it, your silly charm.
Actually, it's done me no harm.
I long for what Christmas should stand for.
Love for others, the needy and the poor.
But I think you get in the way!
Shopping up a debt isn't right, I say!
Comprehending a love that came here on earth.
Two millennium ago, that wondrous birth.
That gets lost in the hurry
All the frenzy and the scurry!
Cliche-but I've just pinpointed the reason
At least for me, for this season.  

Quite sincerely
Dorothy

P. S. Merry Christmas, everyone!

[Therefore when you meet the unbelievers,
smite them at their necks.
Thus does Allah test you,
and, according to Qu’uran,
those that are slain in Allah’s way,
will never have their deeds forgotten.]

They called him Jihadi John.
It was not his name.
Mohammed Emwazi was how he was really known.
Born in Kuwait;
brought up in Britain.
How are such monsters made?
They have special classes
associated with the mosque.
How to slay
in the name of Allah.
The mosque does not encourage them,
but the mosque is a useful hub
for recruitment
and good camouflage
for activities denounced by
the majority of the congregation.

We really cannot blame
the parents,
we, who have spawned our own share
of mad dogs.
“He was always such a good boy”,
we hear them cry.
“Charlie’s such a good boy, a good boy”
runs the Dia Frampton lyrics
“so compliant, quiet as a stepping stone”.
“You’re such an easy target,”Dia says,
“without a rebel bone”.

[Do you hear what I’m saying?]

But this is in the West,
where tolerance is synonymous with weakness.
Pinpointed as terrorists
by the enforcers of public order,
(perhaps better defined as errorists)
so hesitant to deny these miscreants
their legal rights,
these sickening abominations
(undeserving of the name of Man)
are able to perpetrate their outrages
and continue to abuse the State
that has nourished them.
All in the name of
political correctness.

An equal tolerance
has never yet been granted
to one suspected of a similar
disregard for the traditions
and beliefs and loyalties
prized within their own
Islamic State.

We also have to ask ourselves:
would Russia tolerate this situation?
And furthermore
why is that immense country
so free, apparently, from Jihadism
when it has been responsible
for far more Muslim slaying
than any other Western nation?
Is it perhaps that very fact:
that absence of such toleration
has rendered it immune
from such attacks?

[Do you hear what I’m saying?]


So if you really want to take a hostage
and satisfy your primitive desire
to lop off a head,
the road to take is spread out there
before you.
You need to move to
freedom-loving nations of the West.
Pronounce your aims
in non-equivocating terms
and tie them very closely
to doctrinal belief.
No matter how outrageous
they may seem.

Indeed, the more absurdly
barbarous and primitive
the ideology that you spout,
the more your hosts
will backward bend
and shower upon you all the
benefits of a beloved friend.
Indeed, in bending backward
they are making a symbolic
gesture:
baring and presenting you
a throat.

[Now do you hear what I’m saying?]

He used to be more aware
Vision peripheral instead of pinpointed
More real
More free
He remembers what choice tasted like
As he rolled each opened ended one across his kaleidoscope tongue
He knew this would drown him before he could breathe again
His heart lines had turned to dust
Blowing gently into the visceral wind of his malady
This left him misguided
Every hand through his
Fingers entwined
Became collateral in this new war he did not know how to fight
All encouragement fell on his now deaf ears
All he could hear was the weighted hum
Of personal failure
Another day spent in bed past noon
Joints moaning in protest when pushed to function
He would pull himself together
Sew the chasms and fizzures close
**If only he could make that choice

And always the silent smell
Of music follows
Each time his name is mentioned
Never justice,

Covered in ignored pleadings
With pinpointed accuracy
Constantly kicking
The ladder away
From his freedom

Evidence suppressed and misplaced
For 16 years
In cross currents
Of ignored medical reports

Miscarrying justice
And innocence
Constantly brushed
Under the carpets

Drawn back on curtains
Across hospitals
And your bedroom upon release
Which eventually killed you

A terrible crime
With two victims.

Its not your romance that so frightens the deepest of my corridor.
Its what is upstairs,
In my mind
The stuff that has gathered dust,
That’s been shoved to and locked away in a corner.
Some mover left it there,
And there it sat,
Not knowing if it would have the lid opened in the future,
To reveal the contents inside.
So, perhaps I’ll shift my thoughts,
Move on to some new terrain.
Think with my thoughts being a completely separate entity of my own mind.
Escape my imagination.
Is it possible to escape one’s imagination?
Or would that just lead to further withdrawal.
******
You ask me what I want.
I guess it makes me nervous,
Uneasy.
I “Should Have” pinpointed that by now,
Huh?!
What if I haven’t?
The thought remains there.
There are a lot of what if’s
Chasing me around
Blowing like daffodils,
One seed in every direction.
You’re willing to go there with me
Aren’t you?
You know.
And how you know is beyond me.
But know you do.
Know that once my thoughts have been spread
Throughout the whole land
When I am but the green stalk that still stands *****,
No matter how shaken to and fro by the winds of my time.
You know.
Daffodils just grow more sunshiny yellows don’t they?!

There was once a time
When I had my every moment
Pinpointed
Down to the very last millisecond
And I organized every
Scene
Memory
Idea
Emotion
Each neatly labeled, color-coded
Stored away in its shrink-wrap
So that I’d hear it
When I tried to look back
And I tried
I looked back over my shoulder
And saw you talking, laughing
And when they mentioned my name
You said, “I know her,”
So surely
Plainly
Confidently
And I laughed to myself as I watched you
For I knew you were wrong
True, you’ve met me
But
You don’t know me
You only know my soft spots
Where you poke and **** and jab
Watching me wince
As I try to tell you a story
My story
But you only half-listen
You haven’t the slightest inkling
That I am the strangest person
You’ll ever meet
And that I’ll never be anything you expected

You’ve found me predictable
And extend your hand
Knowing that I’ll stand here with my halo
And refuse it
So you keep your hand extended
Confident that I’ll never take it
Remembering that I told you
I can’t climb
And that I’m always scared
But you keep laughing
Thinking you’ve beaten me
Put me in my place
Forgetting that I have no place
I defy categorization
And the realization hits me as I look back at
All my neat categories
Where I tried desperately to fit my bits and pieces

I keep thinking I’ve found it
My spot in the puzzle
But I never quite fit
Not for long
Because you come around and reshape me
And I fit no where

I left a trail of bread crumbs
Hoping my past self would come find me
As I rocket blindly forward
Clutching my halo as I dodge
All my chances to live
While the Fates look on
Grinning with morbid satisfaction as they
Weave my sordid tapestry
Giddy with their knowledge of what is to come
As I stumble
Afraid of tomorrow
And never quite getting past today
Every day I’m tempted
To ****** the scissors from the hand of Atropos
And cut my thread before I can plummet
But you pry the scissors from my unsteady fingers
Knowing that I’m frozen in fear
Because I like the option of turning back
I hate you for it
Because I know tomorrow you’ll laugh at me
Thinking you know me
While I ponder your intentions
Driving myself crazy
Watching as everything I’ve ever done
Rears its ugly head
And all the words that have ever crossed the space between
You and me
Come up to haunt me
Driving me further and faster
Swirling
Twirling
Whirling
Spinning, spinning, spinning
Winding me up in this vortex
And I’ll never be able to stop
Because no one will try to help me
And you’ll watch on
As I blur ‘round and ‘round
My features blending with color-coded memories
While you brush off the stories I try tossing you
My regrets pull me by the hair
Sending me faster still
And you’ve forgotten me altogether
And it matters not whether you knew me
Because I’m going down, down, down
Pulling no one with me
Falling alone, with only my halo
And my fears
Still color-coded and shrink-wrapped
Wondering if I’ll ever get it right

I ***** that cold spit on this hot terrain...

My subzero degree waves smash like glaciers and make ice parades

I'm hype like I smoked that right and when left instead

I will **** you and myself I simply knife gernades

My flows bomb-tastic

When I spit, your temple sizzles from my splashed acid.

I periodically pummel phonies in masses

Reverberations reveal Reactions.

My devilish grin shows satisfaction

Am lyrically chemically unbalanced

My lyrics ripple wild with drizzles of stylish accent.

I double dribble with the sound of pistols and stick back flips..

You fiddle skittles, blow like tea kettles an kiss assess  

My classic rip will make your brain flip like gymnastic tricks

I'm gone like acid trips

This is levitation no magic trick

Verbal constipation my massive ****

My words are pinpointed so accurate

I'm there and gone I'm oxygen.

Dear Emily,

Tell me
          Tell me
                     How you ****** t he marrow out of life
                     from your transparent cave.
                    while  I have been shriveled dry.
           Can't think
                     breathe
                     feel
                     touch
                     see
                     drink the Earth.
I have one foot on the ground and one in the car.
My senses are numb unless both feet find
soil, grass and greenery.
             Tell me
                       Tell me
                                            how you pinpointed the essence of man
                                                                               the essence of this earth.
                                             without running the race yourself?
                                                                               (at least once?)

Music
Slides from your eyes, hands,
Guitar strings
Voice
into
my senses like

wine
elixir
Cut grass
Woodsmoke

The demons of your mind
Are the demons of mine
The animals tearing the surface
Of a pinpointed, widening iris

The delicate lisp of
The depths burning
The surface
The sarcastic twang of an
Upturned syllable

Starry twinkles
In the corners of your mouth
Mirrored in my
Starry
Iris whispers

And the music
Of
Every whimsy
Sliding into my eyes

Like wine
Spilt on a dartboard
Waiting to be hit

i'm looking at getting a global map up
with all the addys of everyone who responded
pinpointed somehow
just for fun
probably take awhile
anyway thats what I'd like to do
will link it when it's done

Stilted lingerie that fashions a kneaded traipse between trap-door destiny of double-take simultagnosia is a harder fright to outfox that even the most ghoulish amicable maskirovka of a throttled sapience beleaguered by the tropes of a tattermedalion class of Scarface vigor in the face of benighted tomes of a cruised palindrome of efficacy bromides flickering on the outskirts of esoteric thrones of catapults droning on about the listless squalor of philandering phronesis of ecdysiast *** in the cyprian hedges of limited wealth bemoaning the poverty of deprivation because of whiskers through feline sight languid in the remedial dances of captaincy snuck between the edges of destiny cordial only to Home Alone. We must sneak through the verdant pacification of an accordion grimace flanged by the eked snide spite of termagants of termination ruined by the future flickering into past distance because of spartan brutish mannequins of pasteurization glimpsing the thanatousia of death vindicated by vengeance brazen with a Colorado snare of a pinned etiolation of marauders of corsairs that only brave the delusion when the eternity is a trick-or-treat truth and dare consummated on the flimsy agape lychgates of constraints in flair that damage the ragged hypostasized engine of a blinkered hubris belonging to an anointed rigmarole fashioned into the pottery of fungible metamorphosis rather than frangible pulverization that scrapes through liturgy with abnegation rather than relishing plumage beyond the apes of apish planetary scares.


Trimming the blockbuster wearisome hardihood of plumes of fumigated regal ******* in the softened epigone of whiter masks of screaming scares
The times aplenty of swansong ignorance are a plaid disaster of Twister renegades that spar against the visagist carapace of hearkened live aware of ghosts that fuel the hypocrisy of belligerent mares
Forever stranded through the finifugal heaves of a 32 leaves magician of rollicking base jumps with acidic tatters in King of the World stunts the hirsute body politic is a pump and dump trumpery of livid thrills on the substitution of funk for skunk rather than grooves for humps
Nevertheless the scrappy schlep of a foggy dreary destiny is ablaze with Sergeants blistering through Forest Gump bumps as the alighted 80s returns with a vengeance in empires of victory rather than slippages of slump
Renewed by the litigable menace of oilers ****** with crudity and swimming in the askew verdure of the lewd and **** we bolt through the coltish demiurge of fastened fascination flaming with firebrands of deliberation scampering away in blemishes of profanity too rude
We scrape the legacy of elegant injustice and injury because the flamestun hypocrisy of leprosy caused by time is a rustic blue suede shoe that flummoxes in hibernation because of staggered queues ravishing too much of a screwball to be nailed because black artifacts are always unscrewed
Thanks to teamwork the cosmogony of regalia knows the Montana providence of a lissome liposuction radical in renewal because of the Morrison Hotel rather vacant but always populated with a carpal tunnel of slick oleaginous dramatics for histrionic history likable because the news is a purple hue relishing the paradise of cineaste rundles of candlelit mood
Imagine searing the sunlit halidom of the peak-time grooves of unbuttoned blarney frank and swiveled on sclerotic pretense slippery in fashion only to be ironclad in personas of the whispered woo in termagant liturgy that is a colporteur of genius hinged upon collective suitcases of IOUs blameless because the criminal is always hatched upon a 108 pentagon of newsy gripping footage of managerial flames of a barnstorm beyond booths but never above the scarecrow minister of the voguish tempers of trudgery spawned into the folkspun homely ties and wrinkles of wizened love too Titanic to be used
Parker hobohemia scowls at the punitive warbles of marsupial kingpin southern flashes of hyperborean ramshackle ruins of pooches scampered around like littoral fragments of a cinematic crudity in defeated torpindage blistering with foresight in vengeance because the clockwork hour is amazed but horrified by belligerence in overdosed ledgers of legends amused
Time hearkens that craven radication of rhizogenic demiurge blinking above the sleeping awake ringleaders of sedition enthused because of malapert princes crackling with homage to honed sharpened edges of a double-edged whisper reversal into the antithesis of the heaving red serrated by the vindication of impertinent criminals flustered by the pinpointed genius of the Primarily Blues.
Time sees past the sedative fliction of fictitious mangers on primipara  tunes that the euphoria of the now is the cement of every LP belonging above the charlatans of chavish sutured into a surgical effigy of the whitewashed preeminence of discernment into the discs that surpass the ashen cordiality of permissive and permissible leaky faucets rasping through the headlines because of craters of love becoming glabrous above the halvorked entropy of newsy Newport News living above Virginia in Deep Impact legends tipsy on shipwrecks happening too soon to be  immaculate in any crimson style of an inescapable rhyme scheme trying with clambered witticism to achieve belletrist while escaping capstone filigrees of untouchable Terry Crews.
Flickering whimpers of the scary impenetrable Kansas City brain of the touchy hedges of fumigated marstions of erratic flackeys of breweries enthused in an amazed skullduggery of time slipping on crackles of fizzgigs of clambered retinues of radical roots between a tight avenue and a broadened broadway limping on the cinemas that belong to the truth and not the rickety barnstorm of ostentation encased by bonanzas to pontifical to create a topspin of HappyGilmore erasure in bridewells of roomy litigation in uncomfortable contortions of contacts without lenses to excuse.
In the cavernous spelunk of 1990s crimson bleeding into the  expansive liturgy of the ripples of percolation cornered into diminished vacancy anointed as ritualized contrition craving a tighter grip on the tightest swank that could ever be parlayed into New England madcap screws the hunters of the hunted hypocrisy become the travail of the antagonized epiphany of flackey rice in avaricious retches beyond the squabble of punks in due times for clockwork tickers and tickets swarming with infested blemish
The ridicule of sapience is the knowledgeable manicure of livid lurid hypertrophy in exaggeration of the knowledgeable tongue of the Flemish foundering on seaworthy chemists of menace and muse too suburban to ever be urbane bourgeosie limited rankled rancid rancor of ramshackle rackrent gouges too much of a Beetlejuice excuse.
Rhythm for the fulcate furrows of the hypogeiody of epochs slinkywith aced endeavors for misadventure likened to the greatest oiler in the 1980s terror list is a craven capture of photogenesis in rapture that fastens seatbelts of strawberry deaths of crackles of blinkered hubris accelerated by the twisters of vulcanized culmination blasted for history for headlines in ravines of mastery beyond the persnickety prestidigitation of magic sarcasm in the avalanche of dynasty never nastier than violence vile in acerbic posterization of plumage that is blacker than Rush Hour in the menace of Dennis in fractal philosophy funneled into one brittle muster of height rather than weight in freakish geometries of squirrels battering a home run cast away in fracture

aingeal,
Mine blood pressure when thou art near rises, not from anything bad, just a simple fact thineself maketh me tremble at thy beauty and at thine own angelic aura that surrounds thee. Thou art heaven to me, for when I looketh into thy cosmos iris, I canst seeith all creation pinpointed to a marvelous canvas portrait, and it maketh me cryeth......... Not a sadly cry, not a hurtful cry, a cry because all the grace I canst seeith in that iris, is as if God hath sent michelangelo in the core of thy lid's to showeth me a piece of heaven I've never known couldst exist here on a planet that's been ruined by it's own kind, disgustingly!!!! And looking into those michelangelo eyes of thy own, I canst seeith so much refinement and artistry, and so much love they giveth off to me, as something I've never known, I was looking into an iris of an aingeal, and thou art mine one and only aingeal sent from God to me, as I to thee...  What a blessing underserved!!!!

©By-Brandon nagley (Lonesome poet's poetry)

now, i'm tipsy fine
and spatial divine,
this moment's the happiest glade,

and yes, stretch I would,
if only I could,
this second, pinpointed, and saved,


though my usual friend,
the Sun, will soon end
a perfection, so cursed to fade,

and i'll have to wake,
and on faith, sober take,
that i'll find
the Moon's shine
re-displayed.

HOW WE LAUGHED AT THE PHOTOGRAPH -
HAIR LONGER THEN, CAN WE GO BACK AGAIN?
IT WAS A SUNNY DAY WITH THE SMELL
OF NEW CUT HAY - COULD BE ANY MAY

BUT IT WASN'T - TIME WAS PINPOINTED
AND FATED EXACTLY NEITHER FORWARD OR BACK,
JUST ON THE MERIDIAN AND WON'T COME AGAIN

ALWAYS A GOOD MOOD NEVER CAUGHT THE SAME
HIDDEN FROM VIEW NOT SHOWING SOLUTIONS,
ONLY SMILES, SNAPPY CLOTHES AND GOOD INTENTIONS

I CLIMB IN YOUR PICTURE AND WALK TOWARDS
YOU - A LIST OF THINGS ON MY LIPS BUT
SOMEONE SAYS NO! AND TIME STANDS STILL,
HOW WE DIDN'T SEE JUST HOW LUCKY WE COULD BE!

The stars are always pinpointed
Against their dark blanket of sky -
As constant as the pool of patience
She always finds herself drowning in. Waiting.
The days seem to linger like a long spiraling staircase you thought would end
Fifteen flights ago - But you're sure that when you reach the top and step onto the balcony, you'll be greeted with a stunning vista - and you'll know the strenuous trek was worth it.
But it won't be discernible until every blister is calloused, until every muscle has ached, until every labored breath has been released into the uncaring sky.
Until every second lurches - towards an unforeseen time that seems completely off the watch.
She isn't a patron of time because time is wind-
Wind erodes, disintegrates, deteriorates, and plunders.

There is a photograph of him and her pinned
To a plaster wall that was painted dark blue -
The photo flutters against the pressure of time,
but it is not threatened.
He is constant - a tangible, absolute gravity
That pulled her into his orbit.
In that safe harbor, the wind cannot lash at their hearts
Despite the geographical distance between them.
The infinite Universe pays no homage to time,
But it does respect gravity, orbits, inertia, and
Love.
The forces that keep the stars
from falling
out of the sky.

A singular pinpointed source of my happiness exists
Located past the arterial veins of a twisted jungle
Corrupted like the crevices of my polluted brain
It is there, hidden in the dark shroud provided by this dark forest,
A part of me secluded to most but open to few
Open to you
A box filled with my desires which defines me
What you do with this chest is your choice
The free will of this location determines that
Destroy or love it
The decision is yours to make
It’s inevitable but I accept my fate
I welcome this judgement with a pitiful bow