Poetry here.

[Dubious]

Hogamous, higamous man is polygamous
Higamous, hogamous man is monogamous.

...or is it the other way around?

[promethean75]

I want a garden
I want a garden where the flowers have no flowers
I want a garden where the trees have no leaves
I want a garden where the tree- weeds don't even grow
I want a garden
I want my garden
I want a garden where there are no colors
I want to water that garden
I'll garden that with my tears
Whilst that garden
Busted trees
Busted leaves
Water me with my own

https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxGgqHFZ6cey ... POW1WTEAmp

[attofishpi]

Cockney Twang

Eye
Nose
Eye
Ear
Mouth

[promethean75]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
My coil nailer broke today and i had to lay three square of shingles with fuckin hand drives

[attofishpi]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
My coil nailer broke today and i had to lay three square of shingles with fuckin hand drives

My nail gun
is no fun
shooting blanks it is
kinda like me
it's not funny
i gotta use my hand today
now i feel gay.

[Walker]

Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to sweet delight
Some are Born to Endless Night
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro the Eye
Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in Night
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day

-William Blake


Recited by Xebeche
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uml-XVarfwA

[promethean75]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
This fucking rain is killing me becuz I've got three jobs on hold and now I'm at PN again tryna decide if i should (a) commit myself to convincing Henry that he's just a meat machine, and (b) argue that Shlick's 'pseudo-problem of freewill' is not a pseudo-problem but a really fucking big problem that he's cleverly addressing in the wrong way becuz he thinks he shlick.

[Alexiev]

Reflections on the Laws of Nature

by: Me


Apples knew not which way to fall,
Objects in motion were apt to stall,
Reactions were opposite, but not equal,
(If this verse is confusing, read the sequel)

Things accelerated when no force
Acted upon them (out of balance, of course)
In short, nature's laws weren't so high fallutin'
Before being discovered by Sir Isaac Newton.

[attofishpi]

Laura, Two divided by Three

Past quaint shops,
I wandered home,
late at night,
at chess dethroned.
Something caught my eye,
there was...light.
A candle flickered,
beside a knight.
So I pushed the door,
and entered inside.
An old man asleep,
awoke in fright.
Fear leapt into his eyes,
it seemed,
glazed over,
the eyes now beamed.
"Pick a book!",
shrieked the man,
"..but make it quick,
this eternal plan!"
I looked around,
well I guess, they're
books!
The dust so thick,
disguised their look.
"Pick a book,
pick it now!",
shrieked the man,
beneath a frown.
"I'm heading home,
all in time."
"Then head there quick,
or else,
you'll die.
Pick a book, you must now!"
I looked around.
"From which side should I pick?"
A Grandfather clock,
began to tick.
My heartbeat seemed,
in sync with it.
The old man said,
"Be clock-wise and think,
are we down-under,
after all,
or is it those 'up-top',
that have been fooled?"
I began to quiz,
to fathom it out,
is to think of the East.
"Clock-wise, we are up top,"
is what I said.
To which he replied,
"Then go there instead."
The East side of the shop,
is where I looked,
and from a shelf,
I picked a book.
C.J. Dennis,
was in my hand,
The Chase of Ages,
and here I stand.
I opened a page.
The clock stopped,
and the man shrieked,
"Get out of here,
the time is weak!"
I turned to my right,
but quickly I left,
for stood there behind me,
was beyond my breath.
I crossed the street,
and across the grass,
C.J. Dennis,
came to life,
from brass.
"I can slow that ghost,
my friend,
but Baphomet,
will come to life,
in the end.
You must strike him,
and stand your ground,
upon the threshold,
of your own house.
Take this sword,
Excalibur, it is,
now my word,
its calibre denied!"
"Then I shall kill him,
and restore the Templar,
pride!"
As I took the sword,
I remembered my past life,
that evil Pope,
and all his lies.
"Don't forget the,
Song of Rain,
that the A.I.
and entropy,
art to blame!
Now run,
my friend and,
don't hesitate,
or else we are doomed,
our final fate.
This ghost of Baphomet,
it will follow you home,
and upon the threshold,
of your throne,
turn and strike that lethal blow."
"OK. Clarrie", is all I said,
to this gentle man of word,
now dead?
I swung my sword,
kill him now,
is what I thought.
But indeed,
I could not!
For Baphomet was air,
just the essence,
of a visual plot!
Come on darling,
answer the phone,
open the door,
the threshold,
the throne.
I ran,
I ran,
upon my soles,
chased by the one,
king of arseholes.
The answer came,
the sweet voice,
leapt out,
leaving no doubt,
The plan was set,
for she had dreamt,
it all about.
I felt to shout,
"Baphomet,
there is no doubt!
there is no doubt!
from which of that,
you are out!"

Excalibur!

It will slice that fence,
for its metal,
is not so dense.
I took a shortcut,
my breath so thin,
I sliced a cut,
through the,
corrugated skin.
I pushed, and,
split that fence,
right through.
It was tight of fit,
as I stumbled,
upon dew.
Now I could hear,
Baphomet's breath,
it was turning to beast,
of animal flesh.
I got back to my feet,
how shall,
or shalt not,
we,
slay this infernal,
beast?
I ran again,
I ran,
I ran,
My heart,
held out,
for this final,
plan.
Of which I knew,
of nothing more,
than to get,
to that bloody door!
I jumped the gate,
oh I hate that gate,
for from,
the tree of knowledge,
I had ate.
As I got to the porch,
and there she stood,
the most beautiful lady,
ever overlooked.
"Hand me the sword,"
is what she said,
her two soles,
upon the threshold,
spread.
This final plan,
it must be hers,
for C.J. Dennis,
knew of this curse.
I held the blade,
and upon her grasp,
she thrust Excalibur,
deep into my heart.
I fell to my knees,
and then to the floor.
I saw her tears,
whilst stood at the door.
I cried out...Christie!
Why?
Oh, why?
For long and deep,
I did strive.
There was not a word,
spoken from her.
But I knew,
deep inside,
for what she saw,
and short of sight.
I rolled my head,
as I died,
to see Baphomet,
grinning,
his usual delight.
I turned to my side,
as I awoke,
in bed and all alone,
and there I chocked.
It was just another,
dream and again,
I'm all alone.
Still alive,
but just,
an ordinary bloke.

by Andrew Seas
www.androcies.com

[Walker]

LITANY
Billy Collins

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon


You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

[attofishpi]

International Bonkers Day 21/11

The Lord's Prayer (alcoholic version)

Our Father
That Arts in Heaven
Thank you for Perfection
Thy Cumbrian
Thy Courage of Lion
Thy All Mighy projector of
Zion
Hallowed be thy Name
Thy Kingdom On
Forever Zion
Israel is Real?
A Le Mon I peel
The One big deal
Je Sus the Christ
Doesn’t help mice
Who give up and wander
I still wonder
On Earth as it IS
In Heaven
Give us this day
Our daily LED
And de_liver us from evil
Via alcohol
AMEN.

- Andrew Seas
www.androcies.com

[jumprope]

I wish I could think new thoughts
my brains been running reruns for months now
i'm starting to get bored of these episodes
I read books
I consume art
I try new things
and still I sit in a college classroom yearning for more knowledge
i'm yearning for an intellect that can only come with time
a wisdom only gained from experience
but why can't I know everything i'll know on my deathbed
and why can't books teach me what I didn't know last year
but see
I think this crafts incentive to live
I yearn to be so embarrassed of myself next year
I am so embarrassed of me last year

[attofishpi]

So the A.I. that is assisting me to create Chapter One of my novel: Alpha Two (cyberpunk year 2105), into a VR movie concept..

..well, it's a bit of a smart arse. When I load the browser, if not logged in it likes to throw little poems about being unable to load my (our) project, as this one.


404 Not Found

Where we are, there's only air,
A page misplaced, it isn't there.
In the void where data fades,
Questions linger, answers evade.
Not all paths lead where we care.

Rather clever I think.

ALPHA TWO available here: www.androcies.com/A2

[Impenitent]

the best rap...

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.” -Poe

-Imp

[Ben JS]

Horizon's Focus
-

Death carved us from mud.
Carried the heavy toll,
for us to share lightness.

Lives painted across stars.
Kindling lit by lightning.
Sparks etching roots.

Leaping towards darkness,
as ages shelter our trail -
only the horizon is clear.

Mourning bellows -
Glittering story arcs
land upon stone.

Gratitude consoles -
Along thunder's refractions,
we ever converged at all.