Syndication

Monday, March 30, 2015

Light of Life is the Spiritual Side to Believe Within

If one sees past the black mirror
And into pasts shurled with sheep
With futures flung about but crowding.
Might we look to stars emplaced?

For star light is the height of civilization in a way
Beside power, beside money, beside respect... all nice
But should I really be complemented on how I wipe my nose?
I could really put up with those and more in surplus
But suppose I could get by with less with my own friends

For we are the light that shines in heavens sky above lit up
Materially feeding the world, metaphorically feeding us as butterfly
We light upon the flower of power with our woman who knows
That we aren't much longer for this world, if something doesn't give
If we continue eating this fear, and strife, and lives fallowly led down death's corridor

I want to live, and having everything I could possibly want, am left alone
Out and down... ignored, isolated, and mitigated by shores of eternity
With a few words pounded by the sheer vastness of spiritual worlds surrounding.
I have my poetry, true, and like my body, lead/leave me to new worlds abounding
Upon shore's of galaxy's abounding by the touch of button
     like I merely dreamed of happening
When downloading from Omni bbs back in the days of slower
    than cats' yawn network halls that crawled
And did not fly, though they sing, and still do in country woods
     if truth be told to you.

And with these few words,
     I can imagine a world few have seen beyond Star Trek television scenery
With these few words are all the connections,
      minus all the connections for there's only one said
And next to infinity, another infinity will always rest
And another infinity unseen till there's enough unknown
      to put to bed that we just don't know
As though... we didn't see.  But we did, you and I, we saw the light
      from yesterday
We view the looking glass from behind minds beyond
      black mirror and cloudy light.

For we dream, and in dreaming forge futures for fusion reconciliation
A peace with water, a peace with food, a PEACE with work and love.
And if we could truly live anywhere, we would,
If we could truly do anything, we'd try,
If we could get along without fighting, we'd get by.
For the quintessential thing we compete for, is time.

If We Were Faster Than Light

Our patience runs out like oil onto Texas landscape
It gets burned up, it gets dug
Our patience is wasted like spent nuclear fuel
It gets pooled, it gets fooled
And nothing is done with 700 years of energy independence

And our patience is like solar panels
Passively waiting, passively fueling
Like tree or leaf of pretty flower
Or succulent fruit of yonder tree
They green and then ripen and then they're gone for a year

But the sun both inspires and leads the way
With it's material light and spiritual sway
Maybe today, Maybe today
Or maybe it was yesterday said
That tomorrow's adventure laid up amongst stars that played
With dazzling faster than light I can see said star heights.

But I float, and in floating see no dazzle, see no height
I just am, like fusion, a dream faster than light
I just am, and what's more, I am the future
For I am... the past, and insightful hast the only lasting light
Except for any of those that might pass the doorways of eternity

But that's irrational, they don't exist, "but, I only thought them exist!"
But they're real... and everything is indeed connected, both future and past
And all those that's that you'd ascribe to happenstance as exact as you'd recall
If you'd dreamed at all the view of what you do and hope and dreamed for your all.

We are an ecology that likes adventure
Not a bug happy to crawl one inch in reverie
But we might be allotted the same fate, except we communicate
And we hope and indeed dream farther goals than supper for ourselves
A dreaming supported by those that do and want and dream of nothing else.

As I, crawl and dream for others
I'd share with you
We need a breakthrough, we need fusion power you.
And you, and you, and you.  How can I help?
Shall I write my congressman? I can do!
Shall I write the president?  I can do!
Shall I make homebrew for the celebration?  Anytime!

Oh, shall I pray for peace on Earth and one electron powered fuel.
It is closer than you think!
We are closer than I think!
Hooray, I let myself knew!
Now you!  Online as fast as you do!


For we've been out of answers and solutions for quite sometime.
As Americans!?  Booooooooo

Friday, March 27, 2015

I'm Having a Smile

They, them, Mr. You Know Who
Ms. Revise anything she wishes,
Dr. That Locks
And child that surmises...
Tell me, I have low self-control.
WOULDN'T THAT BE NICE!
Low or High would mean I have some.
Fact is I don't feel like doing anything.

Don't wanna move, don't wanna sleep
Don't wanna purchase that shiny thing.
Don't wanna help, don't wanna hurt
Don't wanna guard someone's purse.

I think I may borrow your volition for a day.
Though the world makes me sick when I participate.
And what for, to have another cow?
What might I ask did you do with the last one?
All you acting like it didn't pass done.

No, it isn't perfect, there is no perfect.
So, I don't need to do it again.
Your expectations are yours, so live your own life.
Follow your own intuition.

There is no perfect.
Not even a norm
There's that shit they harass you with
And the crap made storm
Write your own future
Surmise your own day
And get plenty of rest
So the spirit may play

Fear not the dead
They haven't a body
And leave my cow dread
It isn't friend snoddy.

But the magic has returned
The signs have come back
Though the post got removed
We're shining through lack

So good news to all, I ain't having a cow.
And if you happen to read this
Well, try subscribing, But maybe you have no control.

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Cash Out

It's about you.
On me.
It's about all the jasmine things we could do.
Or think.

It's about you
It's about me
And inside my head
The world views three
They're stealing all my golden ideas
And re-pross--ing

It's about you
It's about me.
And wondering when you'll finish looking
And get with me.

It's about you.
It's A-BOUT me.
The movie they're making
Makes us- two, Three!

It's been about you.
It's on me.

Monday, March 23, 2015

Waiting for my Coffee at Five in the Morning

A box within a box like Russian dolls
Human shaped and each painted I drive up road
Park at the square plot and arrive at my box
I go in might park my jacket, take off shoes
And feed the fish in their square box if it's early

Otherwise I might watch the rain
And listen to it strike the box, eternally
Dripping from round world and sky and collected
Will fill any box easily and for the money.

I don't see them, the square walls or rectangular furniture
It's like a white page behind the text sitting still and quiet
Ready to rip apart when the first bomb drops
Ready to become empty when your heart rips apart

Maybe that's what happened for life is hard sometimes
Someone grieving destroyed all the round houses
Someone pained burned the last round car
Someone poor begged to death

Probably fearing, someone took rosey valentine and ripped it all up
For it was the only black text written on an indifferent page
And they needed everything to be all right, that is they wanted nothing else
But to just turn back time.

Makes you wonder about left-handed people.
Like as in, where'd they all go?
They got blamed for no reason at all.
And that was like half the population!

Sunday, March 22, 2015

If I Were to Publish

Books democratized, volume of line under line
In Imaginary time in dialogue with an author
Uploaded and printed, spit out and excited

I didn't get it on the World Book list
Or did I?  This book is online for every retail shop
For a price discounted a lot
From years I put into making and explaining
What exactly goes on in my head.

Explained and realized recursively 'till all the recursions
And I, looked at each other and remarked, "that's fine",
Leaving me standing with my thoughts in typefont.
Leaving me peacefully quieter and excited and no longer vying
For my imaginary mind.


Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Upon encountering S. James Gate

Symmetrical string theory is Time with a capital T
It is the non-material science The programming of existence
That corrects the codes of probability and encodes reality
In material worlds of mostly space
And string theory indeed exists, at least within speculation of imaginary time.
That in-of-it self only leaves Time itself left to represent
Because science has proven matter mostly emptiness.

And it does exist, for math is real
Einstein saw the atom through equations
Feynman changed worlds in simple construct
And Reloaded math for practice and practical apps
For changed worlds and through changing whirls
Of Atoms spinning and action winning
The probability that the world exists is probably True.
And with that be true to you.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015

What is your most important dream

My most important dream is an idea
You know... that idea.
The one I revisit throughout the day
The one I write about at night
It is my dream, and sometimes,
I lend it to dank world muddled with water
And sometimes I place it in the dry sun on some summer heat wave
The earth baking with a dust that settles on drying lip

It is one filled with hope
But I dream mostly of safety, anymore.
Quiet conversation in privacy of curious peers
Sitting usually, and so I dream while awake
Of Galactic Stars throwing off lifestuffed dust
That I eat in cooked red-meat from country farm

And I dream of the worlds of the highways
What it means to zip up the pockets so one can fly
But my hands and my mouth are in there
My feet
And I greet few, similarly zippered in trip passing farther

But my favorite dream isn't cinnamon horses or apple orchards
But strength to survive this hard life, long enough!
Of all things, huh?  I want to live...
So that I might dream something wise, one day,
And then the next, and the next, and the next after that
Rather than peddling and watching worlds turn Impersonal and Quick
But blooded and heartfelt just like those cinnamon horses
Just like those apple orchards of amber roses and flowers of deep time.

Monday, March 2, 2015

If a Fish Were True

A man and his tool is a new evolution
Planned and planed worlds are functional expression
To wit the fish with fins and lateral meridian
Swim the topography of water in ease, perfectly
Balanced between genetics and environment till disease or famine
Or predation test and stress and/or end being.

It's body is an ecology of flora and fauna
His cells growing on him as much as is him
Forming organs that coordinate
Systems that concatenate
Habits that facilitate
And brains that think and feel what it is to be fish.

Its body is an ecology, Much as your house
And city sprawling around and surrounding
Or forest or prairie or desert oasis
Or planet or solar system or cluster or galaxy
Each with their unique paths in life.

Ecology with such definition, could mean environment of life
Which more often than not depends on other living beings
And tools and tools and tools and tools
Like fish and their fins and guts with bacteria
Themselves, too, are an ecology
Wherein life begins with little cognizance
And whole programming from nucleic acids.
For our environment is/of life, that is the world we swim
That is the world that visits me when I visit the grocery store.

Tools of enjoyment and escape
Tools of work and construction
Tools of protection and destruction
Tools of health and wealth and production
It is all the same, these are the wings we fly with,
As fish swims with fin and eye spying a playful gain.

And the planned and planed world?
You wouldn't like it.  It wouldn't fit in a box.
And if you somehow managed to box it up and put a label on it?
Most everyone would say, 'I knew it,' then ignore it
For food, and get to working and loving their world.