Dada poem 2

So cute and no one can hear you think
The art of the possible to get sick or a great proof
And the rules of acquisition would have been told
And I am not sure if you are a dull boy,

To say that God is not a video game 🎮of the revenge of the nerds
And the t-shirt challenge is to be treated as such a beautiful day
The election is over and over again
And the daleks play go to jail for the sake of others and campy horror

But you miss that the universe is a group of people who suffered from the bottom of a dull moment
And the force of the dinosaurs and children in the United nations security council to be treated as such a beautiful child
And the t-shirt with a male scorpion king 's college in the United States of acquisition would be great to see you tomorrow!
If the Sith wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and children in the civil war left out of the dinosaurs and no play makes Jack a dull boy

Dada poem

I dreamed that I made you think about it
The art of the Sith wars,and I don't get it
The art of the possible to get sick or a great proof
And the rules of acquisition would be great in a fantasy world

If the Sith wars and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
The election is not a video game 🎮of you
I can't pronounce it to the corner of the square feet,
We are not hateful people who suffered from the mathematician method

To say that God is not a video game 🎮of the revenge of the Sith
If the original Klingon Baptist church in the civil war left out of the United kingdom
The art of the possible to get sick or a great proof of concept art for the craziness that we don't know what reality is.
And the rules of engagement ring to it is a dull boy,

But you miss that the universe is a group of people who suffered from the mathematician and no play makes Jack a dull boy
I am not speaking in Klingon Baptist church?
To be Jedi master of the Sith wars and no play with you forever and ever!
And we should take down graffiti for the same reason that they are not adults and children in the civil war,
To say the same reason that they are Sandworms doing good to have meaning in the original Klingon Baptist church!

cs lewis on why there is evil

People often talk as if nothing were easier than for two naked minds to “meet” or become aware of each other. But I see no possibility of their doing so except in a common medium which forms their “external world” or environment. Even our vague attempt to imagine such a meeting between disembodied spirits usually slips in surreptitiously the idea of, at least, a common space and common time, to give the co- in co-existence a meaning: and space and time are already an environment. But more than this is required. If your thoughts and passions were directly present to me, like my own, without any mark of externality or otherness, how should I distinguish them from mine? And what thoughts or passions could we begin to have without objects to think and feel about? Nay, could I even begin to have the conception of “external” and “other” unless I had experience of an “external world”?

Forever And Always © Mercedes

Forever And Always

© Mercedes

Published: February 2013

You are the sun that shines brightly throughout my day.
You are the gravity that holds me down in every way.
You are the moon that shimmers throughout my night.
You are stars that glimmer oh so bright.

You are the oxygen that keeps me alive.
You are my heart that beats inside.
You are the blood that flows through me.
You are the only guy I can see.
You have the voice of when a mockingbird sings.
You are my everything.

You are my one and only.
You stop me from being so lonely.
We plan our future as if we have a clue.
I never want to lose you.
I want you to be my husband, and I want to be your wife.
I want to be with you for the rest of my life.

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/forever-and-always-poem

Ellen degeneres on guys that like guys

I do not know if she herself feels this way, but many like her do

She doesn't like them!

the-encounter by Vladimir Nabokov

the encounter

by Vladimir Nabokov

enchanted by this strange proximity

Longing, and mystery, and delight…
as if from the swaying blackness
of some slow-motion masquerade
onto the dim bridge you came.

And night flowed, and silent there floated
into its satin streams
that black mask’s wolf-like profile
and those tender lips of yours.

And under the chestnuts, along the canal
you passed, luring me askance.
What did my heart discern in you,
how did you move me so?

In your momentary tenderness,
or in the changing contour of your shoulders,
did I experience a dim sketch
of other—irrevocable—encounters?

Perhaps romantic pity
led you to understand
what had set trembling that arrow
now piercing through my verse?

I know nothing. Strangely
the verse vibrates, and in it, an arrow…
Perhaps you, still nameless, were
the genuine, the awaited one?

But sorrow not yet quite cried out
perturbed our starry hour.
Into the night returned the double fissure
of your eyes, eyes not yet illumed.

For long? For ever? Far off
I wander, and strain to hear
the movement of the stars above our encounter
and what if you are to be my fate…

Longing, and mystery, and delight,
and like a distant supplication….
My heart must travel on.
But if you are to be my fate…

To the Swimmer BY COUNTEE CULLEN

To the Swimmer

BY COUNTEE CULLEN

Now as I watch you, strong of arm and endurance, battling and struggling

With the waves that rush against you, ever with invincible strength returning

Into my heart, grown each day more tranquil and peaceful, comes a fierce longing

Of mind and soul...

One With Others [Not the mental lethargy in which the days enveloped her]

C. D. Wright - 1949-2016

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• 

       Not the mental lethargy in which the days enveloped her

       Nor the depleted breasts not the hand that never knew

       tenderness nor eyes that glistened

       Not the people dragging canvas bags

       through the ragged fields

       Not the high mean whine of mosquitoes

       Not another year of shoe-top cotton

       No more white buck shoes for Henry

       No peaches this year on the Ridge, and no other elevation

       around to coast another mile out of the tank

       No eel in L'Anguille

       Not the aphrodisiac of crossing over

       Not the hole in the muffler circling the house

       Not a shot of whiskey before a piece of bread

       Not to live anymore as a distended beast

       Not the lying-in again

       Not the suicide of the goldfish

       Not the father's D.T's

       Not the map of no-name islands in the river

       Not the car burning in the parking lot

       Not the sound but the shape of the sound

       Not the clouds rucked up over the clothesline

       The copperhead in the coleus

       Not the air hung with malathion

       Not the boomerang of bad feelings

       Not stacks of poetry, long-playing albums, the visions of Goya and friends

       Not to be resuscitated

       and absolutely no priests, up on her elbows, the priests confound you

and then they confound you again. They only come clear when you're on your

deathbed. We must speak by the card or equivocation will undo us.




       Look into the dark heart and you will see what the dark eats other than

your heart




       The world is not ineluctably finished




       though the watchfires have been doused




       more walls have come down




       more walls are being built




       Sound of the future, uncanny how close




       to the sound of the old




       At Daddy's Eyes




       "Pusherman" still on the jukebox




       Everybody's past redacted

From One With Others by C. D. Wright. Copyright © 2011 by C. D. Wright. Published by Copper Canyon Press. Used by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.

Lake Echo, Dear BY C. D. WRIGHT

Lake Echo, Dear

BY C. D. WRIGHT

Is the woman in the pool of light

really reading or just staring

at what is written

Is the man walking in the soft rain

naked or is it the rain

that makes his shirt transparent

The boy in the iron cot

is he asleep or still

fingering the springs underneath

Did you honestly believe

three lives could be complete

The bottle of green liquid

on the sill is it real

The bottle on the peeling sill

is it filled with green

Or is the liquid an illusion

of fullness

How summer’s children turn

into fish and rain softens men

How the elements of summer

nights bid us to get down with each other

on the unplaned floor

And this feels painfully beautiful

whether or not

it will change the world one drop

C. D. Wright, “Lake Echo, Dear” from Steal Away: New and Selected Poems. Copyright © 2002 by C. D. Wright. Reprinted with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P. O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.coppercanyonpress.org.

Source: Steal Away: New and Selected Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 2002)

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prime directive

a redshirt's perspective on the prime directive surrounding us: a billion stars

Natasha Teller Dec 2013

a redshirt's perspective on the prime directive

surrounding us: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.

we’re beaming to a planet’s surface. now listen:
i know about inverse tachyon beams
i know about coded klingon screams
i know about going to warp factor eight
i know about redshirts' survival rate.
(no. chance.)

i’m beaming down with the main crew
to the surface of minerva II
we've got a malfunctioning interstellar transceiver which is distressing-- dysgraphing? dismantling…
…i don't know.
scotty said it was defective.

so we’re on this planet,
standing on one side of a thick forest packed with monster janeks,
starfleet says we need to fix this thing yesterday, and we’re in a panic—
and **** it, mccoy is a doctor, not a lumberjack,
and kirk says we should just burn through the middle with phasers,
and spock says we must preserve respect for all life forms no matter the situation.

now please remember kirk’s the captain.
that means he runs this show
but kirk always listens to spock,
so
we spend two days walking through the forest.

surrounding us: a billion trees
in a place where a strange disease is rare as feathers in a flock
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive.

halfway through this dark-lit trip
things go wrong (obviously)
and an alien with shellac for skin captures the captain.
said alien grabs a vine, ascends into the canopy of the trees,
and for one glorious moment
i believe kirk’s the dead guy in this episode, not me!

but spock, in his calm and logical vulcan voice,
orders us to exercise any necessary force to recover the captain.
translation: **** EVERYTHING. JUST GET KIRK BACK.

we reach the janek village.
being a good redshirt, i rush in, phaser blasting, ready to complete the heroic rescue of our captain—
and get killed instantly.

as i was dying, i heard the sound of thousands of janeks dying beside me
saw spock help kirk off the ground
and the last words I heard were theirs:
“captain, are you in need of immediate medical attention?”
“nah, spock, i’m fine—”
“mr. scott. the captain is hurt. beam us aboard immediately.”
one’s arm over the other’s shoulders,
they vanished.

surrounding them: a billion stars
in a time when a trip to mars is like walking around the block
and captain kirk and mister spock are arguing
about the prime directive—

but the prime directive
was never the real objective.

My very first attempt at slam poetry, back in the day... this was written for a sci-fi slam. Live long & prosper.