half human

 

full moon day  

done the american way  

flags crack like bones in a breeze  

something hit the moon on the fourth of July  

not a rocket, not a dream—just a quiet goodbye  

*

half way back

 there comes a time in your life when simply trying to write about  feelings  just doesn't cut it anymore.

 an assessment is needed so I'll first try to find out what

I still possess

after everything's been burned to ash

  "state your goals and execute."

My personality dictates working the hands slowly to build dreams

at least that's how it was until now.

*

4 secrets

It's life like

waking up to the sky

 drum  pounding 

  to  the fierce 

flames of desire

unlike being committed 

and told there is no escape.

that everything's lost because  

of the facts they all live by

"you need to " stop looking at non rhyme as a fragmentation,    

cliff hanger,

or falling petals set in the context of a conversation about time's inaccuracies.

We are a delicate spine snapped in two

 A grace lost falling head first and a

Juliet who sees our death as temporary

I look up to you 

not only when the wind picks you up

.

 

 

'till i forget

hyper exhilarating forms 

stand patient

frozen partial plain   

  resembling a friend's body

 cold  wave   pulse 

the weight of sleep in

kissed broken installments

settling the migrant birds

 winter: un angelic industrial

you can feel your face but it can't feel you.

hyper resonant man

 .

barren ground

In the arena of broken things

 filled with emptiness and

disappointment lies helplessness

  realized away gradually

like dust sweeping into receding waters

 in silence

in shadows

the private something you've never known

in between all the layers 

 folded into a reflection

 just stares and wonders

about nothing and everything

;

I steadfast

 

read as far as i can 

sweet slightly ironic 

steady decay

I stead fast

proper not teary eyed 

limbs parallel

I thought I'd let you know.

.

proof of death

 

morning rush intersecting with morning sun

white not gold

  holy ghost  

  solar wind

blaring in

  landscaped shadows in small clusters behind them 

  and jiggling mannequins a waiting van steel doors widened slightly 

.

the trial

 flowering nature

With beauty unsaid 

hiding in shadows 

then happiness replaced 

again, to be sought

then in  dreams slowly measured 

to explain What I 

 feel  

like all stories, it ends

.

The raisin or the rose

 

Lover,  faith or death

To the sea or other lake - like liquid bodies

 feelings migrating from a series of curves 

 reaching into the beyond  

pointing electrically 

toward her 

you, having been left with

 nothing else.

Adrift

The case for a re-boot to start all over 

Part 7

wanting to change vs. not wanting to change.

.

The Banquet of Roots: A Shakespearean Repast

Bing Copilot:  Of course! Here’s a Shakespearean-style rendition of the verse for your meal:

Upon the morrow's light, the roots do take their stage,
In the chamber's warmth, they meet — a healthful rage.
Carrots, orange as the dawn, and celery, green as thyme,
Tossed with turmeric's golden dust, a culinary rhyme.

Olive's oil, in misty form, doth lightly coat each piece,
A bard's touch to flavors bold, a feast to never cease.
So let this humble meal, in microwave's gentle care,
Become a dish of kings, a fare beyond compare.

For in each bite, a sonnet lies, a tale of health restored,
A merry dance of nutrients, by hungry souls adored.
So eat, and let thy body thank thee for the grace,
Of nature's bounty, richly served, in this, thy quiet place.

Enjoy your Shakespearean-inspired meal! 😊🎭🍽️

All these things

They were about that this is 

carried on in quiet theory

like wet leaves reflecting awareness

 brush strokes here and there

 a conversation about ceiling clouds

taken down and turned around 

a knot swollen in  sadness

contemplation and  realization

a sign of recovery

..

Told you so

According to our most accurate model  using

Schema Networks Aip 7.2

the first  human made instrument sound

 was played on a

thick branch hollowed by termites

The first human note ever produced

was, according to the latest reconstruction 

( 4.340 xs) ,  at 434 Hz for a duration

of 7.2 seconds.

So, it seems i was right...again.

#