Why poetry
My thoughts are free to write river rapids
To get straight to the point
Or wake gently through the calm
Wherever life takes them
Unconfined to the common pool
Which accepts only the smallest fish
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A green glaze
A green glaze, reflecting the sun it moves to.
Its pixel cells soaking in energy
Worth more of a notice?
Can't.
Its growing is a butterfly.
Affecting all with its winded effections
Its pollen smelling wherever
I am
More notice is not possible.
Difference is
Of lighting, of angle
The similar
Patterns
Never the same
yet perfectly common
Its vulgarity is a beautiful feeling.
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Sleep
The heaven of my mind opens at the closing of my eyes.
Into the language of metaphor where the thoughts of every moment of many days past massage against worry
like warm water on a snowday,
cleansing the laborious hands of their work yet leaving behind the beautiful scars; memories for the future.
Every obtuse gush of water like the touch of the sun, bringing solace, melting the forzen into life.
The tingle of pleasure radiating up the arm holding you to the flow of sleep,
but you cannot help sinking from the water into a waking mix of heavy covers and those dreams,
both weighing you down with the warmth,
contrasting to the slow shiver that the waking morning offers.
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What is a leaf hitting the ground?
The wind against the leaves
Giving life to them.
The consciousness through neurons
Giving thought to them.
The winter comes (what is winter?)
The leaf has finished growing,
Dead to the tree it falls.
A man lies dead, yet
His thoughts and actions
Continue through Man an Beyond
It hits the ground
And rots into life again;
The tree eats, a leaf buds.
His actions, his thoughts die
They begin to converge into a new life:
A baby is born.
Influenced by those thoughts and actions
It retains an old soul;
A continuing pattern.
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Here is a weird one I wrote in the middle of the night after doing this trail building thing, and after drinking 4 24oz. energy drinks.
A donut and its friend the donut hole
A donut and its friend the donut hole,
The non-hole.
The donut seeing its self for the absence of its whole,
If we see that it sees from its surface.
Then we see also that it also sees out beyond the self.
(Self-centered) The donut hole is out of the donut
As well as out seeing, only.
Yet the donut hole sees the reflection of itself
on the sight of the hole as well as the donut.
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There is more but this is the last one I'm posting for now.
Birth
My eyes lose the battle with darkness
And so I am veiled
My breath loses me
And my I becomes else
A breath of wind across space
Walking upon stepping stones; man, beast, beings and All
Recited by their presence
And so held in existence
And so many I's
Until they converge again
And me again
I am
I am being born
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