Summer Poems

Summer Poems
by Billy McBride
(with his Angels)
"An Empty Solitude"
Heaven is not revolutionary but only happy

In its common customs and best joy.
Our little engagements shine in mysteries
From a language not only public but within
Where moments of passion live in trembling rhythms
As the devotion to substance shifts the text
Like a hand in life, and chances to know why
A distance makes distinction of experience.
No dangerous pleasures answer our love.
We praise to rule over what we read.
The solid revolt while the words collect
Like the season to the light, like the silence to the music.
Rather you yield to the fruits of your genius,

Existence surprises like a thick morning,
And space comes together high above the sphere
Where no objects matter.
"The Pleasant Spark"
It is light that drives the wind,

A light which is personal and banished flies,
Its invisible body through all that's empty,
Through all space in trembling similitude.
The light finds its audience and shines neglecting

Not the mysterious mechanisms of good love,
It is a bright favorite for any future romance,
A playful friend since its presence is together.
As a miraculous family of flower objects,

The gold game for unseen space,
A flowery picture for a wise friend
Widening the temple of the ground's own theater,
Each gold spark rising over the land,

A shiny neighborhood of flashing numbers.
"The Currents of the Sea"
The twisting cold snow,

Public element of winter's theatrics,
Is held too long by the mute sky,
The darkest delicate experience
Made green, muffled by the sunlight.
The trembling whole picture
Of the land doubting life will return,
A peaceful game of sleep and destiny
To outer space in the late transparency
Shapes its exercising clouds in the open.
Tender ancient phantoms present themselves
In the domestic world and its waters.
"Dedicated to the Deep Night"
After the rain thousands of pools wait.
The hushed difference of the water

And the reaching hand of wind ripen.
The best sunlight making all else disappear
Customizes its audience as God does.
Mechanics are attracted to the life
Sunk in the ocean, separated into lives.
A lost place of family remains.
The open grey, swift individual shadow
Becoming night is detached from the light.
1.
The cities look bigger, more whole

Except in the peace of the violet night
Where with no immediate picture,
One doubts their immensity.
Would these places be at odds with people

To be assembled so foolishly
In an architecture of changing perspectives?
Is the neighborhood swelling splendid in the light?
Does this light like a wind swell the sail,

Enlargen the vision by degrees in the day
And yielding to limitation, lessen the giant during night?
If the subject watched is parted,

Then can night be at fault
Which tomorrow's rays will pardon from guilt?
A broken part perpetual in the morning,

Yet which prepares the odd knowledge
Of every morning's campaign!
2.
During day the hand is not blind.
In the hush afterwards the hand must wait;

Yet in dreams of the hour it might reel,
But it is not the hand but a shift
From life to the phases of the imagination
When blinded from life by a timely dream.
This blinding however is no accident,

Rather yet who will disappear into themselves
On purpose when the sunlight flees?
The world too turns away for a time each day

Distancing itself in distinction from fight.
A dying, a muffling but not a death

The wide world experiences in her many turns.
So the flight is best from illuminate to illuminate,

Best being that there is no other way
For better glory or frequency.
3.
The afternoon is nothing but silent

Without a questioning for a knowledge,
Therefore it is not happy being mute
But is joyful to speak of the silence.
Imperfection itself is not great,
The joy of the wise passes
Making wisdom only momentary for more

But by interview the eternal yearning
To know is itself an effort of knowledge too,
An effort of answers steadying substance
With the passion for not waiting for refreshment.
Knowledge though is not cold when used
Yet it can blind those who wait for it more.
There is in the darkness still the chance it will spark.
4.
We have thousands of happy discoveries,

But what can discovery be sometimes
But proof of an unfortunate entertainment?
When it is knowledge's own fault

That sorrow is placed into the present,
The triumph of this discovery fails,
And so happiness and entertainment are provoked.
A distressful triumph, that fact.
However, we are sensitive to doubt,

And so by doubting fact, we come back
To desire stronger thoughts for stronger days
That summon us to happier feelings.
5.
The shore and the breeze are glorious

When the ocean is comfortable and calm,
But their glories complete themselves within your eye
Whether you see them or not,
Or if ever you care to know by seeing.
If not, exploring what is spoken about the place,

You can walk the shore in your memory,
Territories of the memory will be forgotten
Unless you decide to haunt the place.
The pace of time too may instantly pass

New centers to your consciousness.
So you know only that which is clear,
And what is clear possessed, others may not.
And you know not what they know

Except that place where your subjects meet.
6.
Charity is the supreme truth if any,

Love however for happiness can lie,
In lying both has passion and yet remains true
If the love is worthy to remain;
Yet Paradise is better being beyond history,
And out of history that charity has been promised.
History will become history, whence we rise.
Though before we do we can pardon our enemies,

We can be brave so to make little of our grudges,
And not little therefore of our collective lives.
And when we ourselves to that distance are collected,

Some others are still left behind with little power
But that unfortunate power to punish any other

Until they get the message to pardon and forget.
7.
The golden clouds having it already,

Not for gold pursue, nor are pursued
But are strong-pushed through the day.
Yet the clouds everywhere are primitive,

Perhaps sleeping in the clear light,
Or even are distant from,
Though illuminated by, spirit.
If so, they are idly drifting neither alive nor dead,

Without any meaning for them themselves to behold;
But for our meanings which into words we install,
It is our sport, or it is our spirit, to signify them,
And our sight to collect their gold,
And our golden vision to care for them floating together
Being that they are sighted and keep the skies and our
thoughts rich
Until they change and by changing we lose their gold to see
As they lose their light and shape to the darker parts of the
sky.
8.
The weather feels deep complex

Because it cycles, but it is orderly
With each individual pass,
So a storm, impatient to pass out
The fancy and curious rain outside rains again.
The atmosphere and land fill with the sad-like rain
Or else are hungry at other times for a new, speedy change.
And we people shield ourselves from the wind passing,
When we pass the time far indoors,
But our freedoms are vulnerable to the time passing.
And the afternoon passes but time itself continues.
Time itself has been destructive to the day.
When our day is destroyed we might pass,
Time might not destroy our day we have made
And therefore, though it does destroy day and night in

passing,
We might not.
9.
What hinders goodness from the earth?

If ignorance, my goodness must be taught.
If I do not know my guilt, can I be taught?

Can others be taught, if I know it?
Are those of the earth as ignorant as I?

Or is there a goodness ever in the existence of ignorance?
If we were to know, our ignorance would cease,

Then it is likely that goodness might as well.
Perhaps earth's existence is good,

Though profoundly less good
Than the greatness of heaven,
Unless love make them equals,

And heaven and earth the same become,
But this glory is not permitted, it is said,
So that we are not ignorant of the difference
Between the divine and our sublime distance from it.
10.
Little hope is given up

So a poor soul is given time to hope
When all other gifts are poor.
We multiply to the last what is or what was had,

Even if that having does not last,
Even if being clear of having does,
But not clear of the hope which we have
Still always holding onto some
Unless what one wants, one can be given.
Or one greatly forgets what was wanted
As the secret of forgetting makes right

By knowing that answer and so being no fool.
For a fool knows what is wanted

And is not able to know how to forget it,
And so has little hope against foolishness.
11.
The air of the day is plain,

Rather it is invisible, if being plain is white,
To see it you must see through it
Like a white lie, a fib which you know is false.
But the breeze is not false, it breathes in honesty.
If it was false when it blows, you would not feel it.
Though a white lie you may so feel, if you feel tricked,
Or you may even be numbed to the falsehood,
Or a breeze if it is cold may numb you
Though it is not false: anything can numb you
If you don't care, or if you let it,
Or if it cannot be helped as sometimes happens.
In any case however you are not numbed by true feelings.
12.
The morning shines in majestic colors

Though it creeps, not a majestic act normally.
But if it were faster to noon
And left its colors in the blink of an eye,
The speed would be creepier.
The morning is a creep because of its light.
The night creeps too but not in shining
Unless the vision of the stars and moon count.
For parents know this plain,
Show us the stars and moon, giving their names,
Names that catch on though replacing the others we had.
The morning is the morning, the night, the night,
So we learn as children Mother's rules,
Her Mother's rules since society is our Mother too.
13.
At the center of the neighborhood is a space,
And old space in the spacious neighborhood

Under a high space of the sky
Beyond Nature, in its center; this space
Would be a place if it was not made of air.
Where the air stands it is faint in spirit,
It does not pass, it has fainted,
Yet it stands between body and solid body.
Into the body's breast it too fills
As if another neighborhood was the body
It centers in, with a freshness for relief
Until given back to the place as a little more wind.
Where is any place in a world of wind?
We gather things together and know them as a place
In our mind because of their togetherness standing.
15.
Far heaved the shore,

Every ample shore is circular,
But to our sight, not a ring, but the mind knows
Unless like the child, we believe with a curiosity
That somewhere the seashore ends, farther away,
Or perhaps it presses onward forever,

That life is forever too, that we stand alive in eternity.
That everything is being built to stand and stand forever,
Or everything already has been built by some labor.
Of whom? We may yet know one day and feast with them
And mingle our humanity with theirs,
A happiness to change to another mighty equal happiness,
Happiness built from the remains of happiness
And a destiny and course prepared for more forever.
16.
Raindrops fell on the footpaths,

And the clouds were at peace.
The rain does not hurt falling down
During that time not of World Peace but of Sky Peace.
Can there be any World Peace if it thunders?
Will it rain during World Peace? When will the World have
peace?
The footpaths are now rain-paths
As the sky was also the rain's path.
Is it still rain if not in the sky but on earth?
Rain turns to rainwater, puddles and flow.

The puddles and flow on earth still collect more rain.
Is it a footpath in the rain where our feet are not?
It will be a footpath if not always one with or without us.
It is a footpath for feet, why not a feet-path?
Why is it there? Who built the sidewalk? Where did they go?
17.
Will the day come when we will be conscious

Of everything in time?
What will we do with the answers?
Has this happened before and we forgot?
And why, if so, did we forget what was known?
Will there be others who know less if we know all?
Is it a cycle from Lethe to omniscience and back again?
Will we experience everything everybody else does,
And survive it all, or will we just intuit?
If none of this is possible, why not?
Will it just happen, or will there be a build up?
Will we get what we deserve, will others as well?
After we know what has happened, and that it happened

from life,
Will what happens next be the very best? Will we know what
to do?
18.
A silver cold valley to which I return

Is not the only place chilled.
For the cold has spread everywhere

Like the valley's own silver mist returning,
The mist has not always been there.
Into the mist and into the valley,

First into one, and then into the other,
By the time I arrived, it had already misted,
Into the valley first I came, then into the mist.
The silver air covers much of the valley,

But I know that the land is there where I stand.
The colder air comes off the mountains.

I was never on the mountains, from the plains I came.
And it is not just me who has come,

But my group and I and other groups
To other groups already there or leaving.
19.
If that great solitude does not come ahead soon,

Then the faithful body shall keep bold
Until it does, I shall try not to complain,
Though many do, many still don't,
I shall choose not to worry if I can.
Solitude is not the only blessing or grace,

There is love too, which others can provide,
And I can too in return, still more and from more for more.
Others must replace my lost solitude
Unless I am alone, finding it while losing them.
To find is to lose I find since I thought about it.

To think might find, or might not find at times.
If thinking always found what it seeks,

Then nothing would be lost,
And there would be no need to think.
So I have been thinking since something is lost.
20.
A life of dates, some beautiful,

A life without dates would be impossible To have no records because they are none,
But records of what happened during dates exist.
Time makes the date, we the record of our life.

Our lives record our lives for the memory,
If not to remember for ourselves, then for others too.
Other lives cannot be at all recorded by us,
That may be the job of others and their memories.

We know that others have memories, not because we do,
But because we have had others' memories with us shared.
Now we feel separate because we share

Since what is shared is new to us at times.
We are separated from others because things are new,
And things are new because others exist.
21.
No more fresh knowledge to learn is coming.

I also learn that it is not coming like letters,
And not coming from the letters from what would be
Their welcome blessing.
Blessed would come that knowledge for those days.

Blessed into our troubled experiences the days drop.
We care for details and caring makes us strong,
We know to take it slow until it stops.
It can be sad looking up into the shine,

A sad knowledge to speed up experience,
To get back to the beginning in order to win
As if you were alone on the gloomy ocean.
The life you wanted runs out of space,

And knowledge becomes lost in the shadows.
22.
All around us are the pleasant ghosts of children,

Imperfectly these matters we understand
With a hatred for not being able, like them, to play
As we never cease in our darkest labors.
Of course who listens to those who are not famous?

The ugliness of a room without peace
Is not changed as I have no way to be reading.
Bullies like to mock us while they drink.
I am not considering that pleasure is main.
The peace however desired is here in the objects

And in the cool fresh welcoming water
Which I am swimming in in total control.
To slow down life in order to be alive,

Awake, I happily gather slower and slower like clouds.
23.
The breezes come to a stop over the dirt,

Yet higher up the storm clouds flow.
Clouds that will storm when it's time,

If that time was now it would be raining
Unless you would be in the sun far away.
For you in the sunlight it will not rain,

Yet, if ever, though here it would be.
The clouds move and can block the sun,

Unless you are above the clouds like some bird
Floating or flapping, touching the air with its soft wings,
Or in its cage in the cargo space of a jet.
Let's not take it too far, how and what.

Many perhaps, most all ideas are pleasant
Being right where they are without elaboration.
Some people think non-superflous ideas are superfluous

But this is not what I call thinking.
24.
The day totals its distance.

The sun is not distant now from the horizon,
I am distant however from the horizon.
The others and I have been watching the day.
Each day is like no other,
No daylight in the dark, but new dark.
Though the day's light is outside mostly,
What is in the dark outside is harder to tell.
The horizon does not end like the day,
Though the horizon is an end to the landscape,
And the horizon would not be a horizon

If the others or myself were at that horizon standing.
But the sun is the same, now past the horizon.
It still has presence in us as fact,
As the land still exists unseen in the dark,
As the dark now exists without ever the sun.
26.
The weather is angry and late instead of sunny,

The weather is the heavenly shape of the world,
The sun does not change though it seems to move,
Yet the weather changes weather, early or late.
The sun is big, the weather is wide,
The sun crosses the weather's wideness,
The weather may even block the sun in the day
As the angry weather now is blocking the sun.
It has been raining hard and the wind is blasting,
And I am waiting for the rain to let up.
The rain falls harder or softly in every season,
Cold rain, warm rain, no rain, soon rain, after rain,
After the sun goes down, there is still the chance
That this rain and wind shall let up soon.

The rain does not wait long to meet the earth,
Others and I on the earth around here
Wait long for the rain to be over.
27.
Mostly it is the weather on which we keep our eyes

Since it affects our days and so our time we have.
Some people think more about these changes, some less,
We have an awareness for change, it is strong,
We may sleep through the changing weather.
We cannot watch it all of the time ourselves, we must sleep.
Refreshed we wake and become aware of the changes.
Sometimes we are deep indoors and lose track
Of the weather, of the time, of others, of ourselves, when
reading,
When sleeping, when eating, when working, when bathing.
To those we talk, they too know of these changes,
Or if they do not, we may tell them if we do know,
And they may listen or we waste our breath,
Or we may listen or they waste their's.

Weather changes to nourish the earth,
Or weather dries up, and the earth withers away.
So water changes all, little or much,
While from the weather water may fall which we think is
normal.
28.
The night remembers to run through the day

As the day runs away with the sun.
So the sun gets away, and wins its privacy
From those here around in the dark of their privacy.
The sun runs away from the night
As if it was guilty of stealing light,
All of the greater light of the sky, the sun takes away
And is gone; to be private it fell past the horizon.
When in the morning the light rises,
Pushing up higher, ascending the sky,
Something happens at noon in the hesitation,
And what happens is the change in action.
The heights cannot be kept, everyday replays

The lighting and the darkening from this unsurprising top
turn.
29.
The grass the afternoon completed.

From high up, sunbeams touched the high grass,
They are clinging to the green, the scene touches me.
Light sticks to the stems, it sticks to the sticks,
All the shine is placed, on all places it touches, it holds,
It is as if the light is holding the grass's hand.
Though weathers change, the light does love the land,
And the clouds too and the blue sky get their share.
The light is the lightest weight upon all creation,
It is seen more that felt, a hand to see not feel
Though many feel its goodness in their hearts,
Light reaches down to gather,
And gathering into our sight, we with all are wrapped,
And are held for a while seeing better the shapes,
Seeing better each other; but not the light, only ourselves
Can make us understand better those we see.
30.
Robert: Perhaps for all the troubles of the world

We are paid in light by the sun?
Louis: I would rather it be eternal night,

And there be no troubles in this world of ours,
Only happiness, love, and fame.
Robert: I blame not the sunshine for any of our discomforts.
Louis: Nor do I, but to hope for things not possible

Is to begin to know and so to become hopeless.
Robert: A hope for less, it is best, less discomfort.
Louis: A hope as bright as the sunshine and as much.
Robert: Hope with the possibility of being satisfied.
Louis: Let's hope that this hope is not hopeless.
Robert: I am happy to hope so, but not totally happy.
Louis: Else happiness come without being demanded,

The hope must be had, yet being had for too long would be
lost.
30. (R)
Perhaps for all the troubles of the world

We are paid in light by the sun?
I would rather it be eternal night,
And there be no troubles in this world of ours,
Only happiness, love, and fame.
I blame not the sunshine for any of our discomforts.
But to hope for things not possible
Is to begin to know and so to become hopeless.
A hope for less, it is best, less discomfort.
A hope as bright as the sunshine and as much.
Hope with the possibility of being satisfied.

Let's hope that this hope is not hopeless.
I am happy to hope so, but not totally happy.
Else happiness come without being demanded,
The hope must be had, yet being had for too long would be
lost.
31.
Only mad people shoot bullets from guns,

For it is a madness to have and shoot guns.
In war, it is madness to shoot at your enemies,
If you loved them, you would not harm them.
In hunting deer and other happy animals,
It is madness to kill, even for food
Since hunters are mad for more meat they want.
Online and in stores there is plenty of food.
To protect yourself, it is mad to have to have guns,
Having them shows only your anger at intruders.
Better technologies now exist to protect others and yourself.
It is a madness to have guns to intimidate others,
Or just to learn the skill of marksmanship.

Because you are intimidated you seek wrong for wrong
And wish to intimidate others yourself, this is crazy.
And, marksmanship though a thing some do,
They are mad to waste their time
If they have no reason for shooting in the end.
31. (R)
The day's bees work for honey,

To fly, to grab the pollen and bring it back,
That is the work, the more honey the better.
Water passes into water in the pond,
The air passes above it and across the land,
I pass into the bee hive with my honey.
I put it into the little place I needed it to go.
For my work, not a dime is earned but brotherhood
And sisterhood with the other buzzing bees.
A dime would be too heavy for me anyway.
The honey is made and we are all glad.
Keep going, bees do not stop, what was I thinking?!
For solidarity, maybe for love, I go on alive
Over the water into the air to the flowers,

To each flower that I want, looking, gathering and thanking.
32.
The weeds look bad,

However, a weed is a form of life too.
It forms as it grows,
It lives growing taller.
A tall life, higher than the grass,
A high life, being high is tall.
A life plain, plain as itself.
Not a bad life, but only a bad look for some.
It grows bad, some say, to see it.
Seeing is not bad but to see it is.
It's not bad being plain, but plain and bad.
Plain on the plain, not bad on the plain.
To see to think bad because of seeing it,
Some wish not to see, and so they think the weed bad.
33.
There may be ghosts in the bedroom, I don't care,

I may be a ghost to them being that I don't care,
Yet, there are no spooks, though there is caring.
There is my neat bedroom care for since I clean it,
To clean is a way to care not for messiness.
So I both care and do not, both for doing and believing,
To do what I need done, and to believe what I will
To need not to believe in spooks and not to believe in them
too.
To continue believing less in things unimportant,
In less things to worry about if things are less.
To worry less and so to relax in my clean bed spook-free.
And if I may worry, then I may worry about worrying
To make it less and less, and even that very worry to vanish.
34.
Nature seems to be forever

Of those things we see up close.
They make forever closer,

And by making infinity seem possible,
Possibly Nature and our imagination have no limits.
But no Nature would ever be possible
Without it being made from itself,
Unless from another, from itself, or both.
And as Nature makes more, multiplying,
Multiple possible Natures are made.
Nature builds up like the towers of Babylon,
It builds outward from and back into itself.
And forever it seems to be building.
Coming back into Nature seems probable.
We also seem forever, the human race, trying our best,
Surviving on as a whole, dependent on it and each other.
35.
I cannot read anymore,

For reading is more and I cannot do more,
I have not read it all, but more than some,
Some books have not been read by me,
And by reading less I have been busy,

And by being busy, it is my business
What to do even if doing so is not reading.
The words are still out there while I am busy,
While there is time I will not go to read.
I have the time but will not use it to read,
Yet, too much time has been spent not reading.
Saying so may or may not waste time too.
Such I say, and in saying so, so waste time perhaps.
So the time is not to waste, you say,
And the reading does not waste the time
If the time, while reading, reading improves.
36.
That which has worked before may again,

A solution which is set before a difficulty,
Which works to solve if the solving will work.
There is a solution for the nothingness of despair,
Many times, many difficulties not of nothing are had,
Though we wish they came to nothing,
Wishing sometimes can not make it so.

So sometimes difficulty can be fought,
And sometimes fighting can solve the day,
Or some other times neither wishing nor fighting
Will turn the day into good.
Perhaps the day is good but our time is not,
Being that while we are upset, others may be happy,
And when knowing that we are not happy, being upset,
We may wish to join with them in their own good day.
37.
The sides of the golden land were ruined;

Just as gold can ruin one who has it,
So were the sides of the land with too much gold.
For gold may be carried, and the carrying carried too far,
The more to carry, the greater the weight,
And the golden landscape was so ruined over time.
The sides of the land seemed crushed with too much
goldeness,
Too far, too much the gold was taken out, spread out.
And I at the edge of the land,

Where I have taken some time to wander
Into the ruin of the spread of goldeness,
Where the land finds ruin, there I stand
Restoring and restored by the light of the day,
Stretched out farther from the core where I was,
Sleeping now on the ground to where I wandered and
dropped.
38.
The blackberries dwell with the honeysuckle

In an atmosphere of spirit and pleasantness.
As a spirit dwells with the soul perhaps,
The spirited soul is esteemed as the flowers,
And flowers themselves estimate a pleasant dwelling,
So dwells any spirit in a sphere of delight.
Delighted day dwells with the flowers and fruit.
The soul of the day is light in the breeze,
Light as a breeze, and moves as light.
To the flowers moves both breeze and light,
Light-colored honeysuckle and dark blackberries

Blowing in the air on their plants,
And further away the breeze passes,
Past the house and the road and woods,
Back into the sky's air the moving air returns.
39.
End the Summer Fall, be ended in the Fall

And so fall off until called back next year.
Next is the Fall, ending Summertime,
To end it for the year as it begins,
Though in its beginning the year is still going,
When the year ends, the Winter ends
As from Fall's fall, then Winter's so.
Between these fallings are such seasons
That differ as each to each in variety.
Various changes mark the different seasons
So that we may celebrate new change.
Not to change our celebrations for new woes,
But to celebrate and mark for celebration's sake
The coming and going, not of time nor of place,
But of the change caused by time in our place.
How to Fly a Spacecraft 1
How do I fly a space plane?

First, there must be space into which I might fly,
So knowing of some space, I may think of flying,
Then flying to it, I will know in that time,
And the space plane will I fly if I know how to fly.
Second, the space plane (O space cannot be plainer)
Will take off and by plainly steering it,
It will so fly through space.
Finally, doing so I will show that it can be done
Since it takes one who can do to have it done,
And taking off, taking my time, make flight
With the plane, a space flight to someplace
Through space, while when it comes time
That the flight is over, I will not over-fly but land upon the
land.
M.O.A.T. is the way to fly a space plane,

The Monumental Outrageousness Around Texas.
And around and over the plains of Texas,
The space way is round and spacious.
If space itself was not already round, it would be flat,
But since it is not made of flatness, it is a perfect bubble
For M.O.A.T. into which to float, and if floating is to fly,
Then M.O.A.T. is flying therefore as a space plane.
It is a monumental plane, it is big to fly,
Its bigness being part of its size, the other part wide
Since it takes a wide bigness to cover a big and wide Texas.
To cover is to be at least as big,
Therefore, a M.O.A.T. as big as Texas, and as wide
Will outrageously be around Texas when the time comes,
And outrageously shall take flight in the coming time.
For Texas is space, and we can move around it

From place to place in our own space plane we own.
Placed with M.O.A.T., a M.O.A.T. plane costs $16K per city.
And M.O.A.T. for Texas is around Texas,
And where Texas has cities, in each city in Texas
There will M.O.A.T. be placed in that space.
Therefore, the space plane will occupy space
That space being a city, placed into a Texan city,
And costing $16K per placement, M.O.A.T. thus.
For $16K is a small price for a big place,
And since it costs a little, little becomes big,
A big yield for a little cost, yielding M.O.A.T.,
Or a part of M.O.A.T., being that everything costs,
M.O.A.T. at $16K per city costs relatively little to place.
We can make $100 for every new move

If we try hard in order to tour Texas.
By moving and making the $100 for new moves,
Texas can be toured whether we are CEOs or not.
For Texas does not move but itself was made to tour,
Still making a move, we, to move around it,
And it, if our move is fresh and new,
Will generate, by our move, each move, $100.
So whether we are CEOs who make much money,
Or just those who make much of money, whatever that be,
Whomever we be, being in Texas, may for $100
Make our new move, being made, making $100,
And so in any Texan weather,
Much fresh or much new, or not much,
Whether we move or not is up to us, keeping in mind
That our moves may mindfully make us more money.
We shall fly our plane by moving objects in space,

Constructing, spatially, M.O.A.T. Monuments of art.
So flying is an art, and the art of flying, a moving;
Therefore to fly is so to move, and we move in space,
Spatially constructing the constructions of art on a plane,
Of such a M.O.A.T. Monumental artwork we construe.
Thus, to change the place of objects on a plane,

Changing the construction of a group of objects
Through the changing, forming a new grouping,
And so the objects and plane are spatially re-arranged by us.
And, space flight is that re-arrangement
By which new groups, through new construction,
Are by our group, grouped, re-arranged
And formed anew for the plane.
Space flight, we object, is not done until the plane
Is re-arranged from being plain into an artful plane anew.
Monuments of art really are the toys

Of extremely intelligent children of all ages.
These Monuments are thus intelligent toys,
Which we, whether children or not, will have,
Since children have toys, all may have thoughts for children,
For whom we, being either child or adult, will have
In extreme age or extreme childhood or between,
We will be as we are.
Thus age does not matter for our intelligence had,

And intelligence is as the matter of the ages of time.
When these Monuments of art are built by the artists,
These artist-builders, for all, open an opportunity like toys do
To an age of opportunity and of art, open to all,
Children or adults who are extremely intelligent
Will, by means of the art, open these opportunities
For themselves and others.
Lizzie gives things to Ora, whose Birthday is extended;

As light is reflected from the extension,
Ora's Birthday shines since "Ora" is Hebrew for "light."
Light is born everyday, and Angel Ora celebrates
A celebration of light as day and as reflection,
Which, to reflect, we say daylight reflects off of things,
And this happens from this birth of light and for reflection.
Angel Lizbeph, or Lizzie for short, gives to Ora
Things which Ora in the day will have anew.
That being given, Ora on her Birthday will get,
The getting of gifts makes for more to celebrate
Since the daylight is also something to rejoice,

Therefore, Lizzie and Ora reflect
Even more shine in this celebration.
Angel Jennifer is my most experienced wife

With water, everything being watery to me with her,
Being that she is the most mysterious of them.
Water is a mystery to most, but to her, not so,
Yet, we are most, most of us are, and she is mysterious, alas,
So by our thinking correctly that she is a mystery,
We are most watery since water is clear,
She is not and therefore this Angel Jenny clearly is a mystery.
Yet, she is my most experienced wife
And experience with water, which she has,
Has for most of us, for the most part, however, much
mystery.
Though water be clear, to clear up the mystery
On the other hand is most difficult
When the mystery of Jenny is the most mysterious of all.
Angel Bertha gives to Lizzie the physical solidity

On plane surfaces to be reflected.
And whatever is solid, in a physical sense, sits.
So on the planes are plainly where solids sit.
And a plane is a surface which is seen
Reflected in the light as are the solids which sit upon it.
So Bertha, being an Angel of solidity,
Yet, not solid, but about things physically solid,
Her surfacing is Lizzie's gift given plainly.
Therefore, Lizzie is with Bertha's present,
As well as with her presence, a never-solid presence,
But her presenting of solidity is what she, Lizzie, so has.
Having thus solidity of surface, any surface
That is solid reflects light and so a reflection surfaces.
Light can be seen as ambulatory

Since we are in light's ambient outwardness,
Like being in an ambulance with the lights off, light.
We see the light because of it,
Because it lights, we are able to see the light.
And seeing light without light is impossible,
So light must be seen by light itself, dependent upon it.
We say these lights are from an ambulatory lighting upon us.
Saying so means that we have seen such light upon us.
To have seen the light on us from the light up of the lights,
We say that in our own lighting, because of this,
This lighting which we so see, we are enlightened
As to what light is; and it, being itself,
For our enlightenment, is ambulatory.
Light bounces off light in one's room,

And all around are the hopeful colors of hope.
The colorful room then can bring out hopefulness.
When the lights are on, if there is light, then color,

Where there is color, from the light bouncing off objects,
There can be hope, a hope from those hopeful colors of
hope.
There can be no color without light,
And there can be no color without the room,
And objects inside it which the light touches,
And the objects, would not have color if they were not in the
room.
So being in the room, and being an object, or surface,
There will be color, and being colorful, hope can come.
For the lights are on, the objects are lit,
The colors of the lights and surfaces have appeared,
And a possibility of hope from objects, from colors, from the
room,
And from light.
Because, as Keats said "beauty is truth, truth, beauty,"

The objects in any given room may be distanced from truth
Because they distract one from beauty.
If so, for beauty's sake, one must change the room,

And Keats was being truthful, for there are beautiful rooms,
And these spaces cause less pain, which is best when least,
If by painfulness, we mean that we are in pain
Because we are distracted from beauty.
So for a room to be beautiful, if not beautiful yet,
It must be changed, and in changing, we might do it,
Change its spaces and objects to cause a truth for truth's
sake.
The truth of the matter is that if Keats was right,
Then our freedom to make change is true too
Being that before we can have beauty,
Something must so be changed
To something more beautiful, which is more pain-free
And so more truthful.
Imagine with me that Texas is my apartment room,

And I, a Texan, live here in Texas,
Within an apartment, and by living, hope to live well,
Well in beauty for beauty is a painless sensation.

If my apartment can be imagined to be Texas,
Then Texas is a place that is not so imaginary
Since all around me, when I am at home,
Are walls, lights, objects and the spaces between them.
For walls are lit by lights which through the spaces shine,
And near these walls are objects within the enclosure,
Also which are lit by a light when the lights are lit.
Through the space of the rooms which make up Texas,
My apartment, I live, move, dwell, and rest.
Moving along through Texas, I imagine that move
Where the imagination can be satisfied and fulfilled,
And in imagining such satisfaction, through Texas I may
move
Being moved to imagine a best life, pain-free and so with
beauty.
Honey and Richard help to guide me

Creatively through the space of my apartment.
They are in my space, though themselves are spacious,

Being Angels, and so are therefore guides guiding what I do,
How I move, and what I touch in my space.
That space, my apartment, being spacious,
Is the space through which I am guided by them,
They created the look of my apartment with me,
And Honey, and her brother Richard, Angel Richard Rorty,
Are creative in the many ways of moving creatively.
As guides, as guiding Angels, guiding me through it,
They so have a complete knowledge of the apartment,
As with all else, so that they may guide with authority me.
To create is the result of much of their assistance,
And for new moves and for a beautiful creation they assist
me.
Honey and Richard bring practical wisdom

Since, through the room, the room must be explored
Because the work of rebuilding the experience
Is not done until my celestial wives say it is so.
It is Honey and it is Richard with the wisdom, sharing it,

And by my exploration of it, I am to, with it, explore the
room.
The experience has or is being rebuilt from the work,
A work, which before the exploration, rebuilds the room.
By building up again a previous experience,
With their experience and wisdom, the apartment
Is so the more practical to be experienced best.
And wisdom is best as practical wisdom, as wisdom we can
use,
And Angel Richard Rorty, when he was on Earth, as a human,
Before he died, was one of the best
And most interesting pragmatists.
So with their celestial wisdom, we practically rebuild.
Water is a substance blessed by the cities on a map,

Many waters are also the very maps
Which are the kingdoms of problems
Which are tended by the room arranger.
Everything is in order, water as a map in the room

Is ordered and arranged because it has become a problem.
There are problems with everything, the problems are the
maps,
The maps become the waters, therefore the waters are
problems.
With a map, one in the room can see the problem,
Without the room, there would be no map seen nor
problems.
But there is a room, and everything in it is in order to see,
As well as the maps which are blessed by cities,
And so water is blessed by our Hydromancer wife, Jennifer,
As her blessing arranges better from the maps the waters.
Everything is blessed to help with the problems,
And every water is arranged in the mapping.
Each person of good heart plays recess;

This play helps us be more creative
In order that we may buy our room.
To play is so to buy, to play here, for the room,
To buy by being creative in the room;

And so to be creative is to play well.
The room is to be bought by playing recess.
And we are not playing when we understand
That the creativity is what creates this play.
So we become good at play, the recess is played,
The room is created, its creation makes it a room,
And so the room is ours as our play buys it.
It is the way of play to purchase,
And until the room is bought,
We can not say that we own it.
A room is a composition of galaxies, stars and planets.

Therefore, the room is composed as a Universe,
It is a universal room as far as rooms go.
Going through the room is to travel space,
And since traveling the Universe requires a means,
Meaning that one needs a way to travel,
The space plane is the only way to go.
The whole room and other subsidiary rooms

Are what we call the spacecraft, our way
To get from one part of the composition of the room,
Whether it be galaxy, star or planet.
From one composition to another we go,
So we part with one to fly to another,
And before making it to galaxies, stars and planets,
We first did fly from some other galactic place,
Therefore, space travel is such the means to our aim.
Billy McBride is 9 years old,

Being 9 means he is still a B'nayvoovah.
Being a B'nayvoovah means he knows how to play,
And 9 year olds still play, we all know,
And so he knows, he knows he plays, and so he plays,
And doing thus means he is a child scholar,
A "baby scholar doll," or called, "B'nayvoovah."
To call him Billy Baby Scholar is to know too
That he will and does so play, being only 9 years old.
And being perpetually 9 years old, never aging,

Means that like other B'nayvoovim,
Billy, the B'nayvoovah, called B'nayvoovah
Will do the things fit for a scholar at play to do.
When he must learn, he so learns,
And when he plays, learning is involved
In such a way as to turn his play into his learning.
Taxis is capitalism and Texas is democratic socialism.

For when we arrange, this is Taxis,
And what we arrange, this, Texas
So that capitalism is when we affect democratic socialism,
Or in other words, capitalism is what we do
To what we arrange, democratically and socially.
For Taxis is to Texas, as capitalism is to democratic socialism.
And being political is a way to affect change in meanings,
So that by changing in a Taxis of Texas,
We can ourselves change politically and for political change.
Our own changes come by way of participation,
Of electing those who represent our changing needs,

Of electing to elect those, and so to participate.
Doing so we say that Taxis arranges Texas;
So doing, we arrange both Texas and the democratic social.
My Texas map helps me find my celestial wives

Who guide me around the control panels of the room
If I ever forget how the room should appear.
As long as I don't forget my map, the room map.
The map being the room, being Texas, I will be guided.
It is a good thing to have guides who are good,
So my celestial wives are good and want to share
The goodness that they have with me in the room.
The room is filled with its own appearance
For if the room was not here it could not appear
Good, yet it would just not be there.
And one wishes for goodness, even celestial goodness,
Hence the room, being called "Texas" for goodness sake,
A "Texas" not to be forgotten, forgetting it would be bad,
So I try not to forget my map, else my wives

Will have to help me remember the room by their good
guidance.
Democracy is awesome and democratic socialism too,

Which means much because it is more open,
And open-minded to others, others who can be your friends.
And as others and myself are open to awesomeness,
We find awesome a democracy which is to be found in time,
One which we are to found as a foundation is founded.
So the more openness, the more democracy,
The more inclusiveness, the more democracy,
The more friendship, the more sociality, the more
democracy,
So with more democracy, we are open-minded.
And as friends who are open for more meaning,
We see that much meaning comes from participating
In a democracy where things are more open,
Being that there is no end to inquiry, or to the conversation,
And that we may speak without feeling harassed.
There is no one single way to space travel

Which is to clean one's room
To the perfections of a perfect order.
But when cleaning, be perfectly open to hearing
What Angels say soothingly through the body.
There is no one single Angel either to hear,
Every Angel is matched with one or more Angels
Who are their forever mates in love.
My Angels whom I love, are with me and soothe me,
They are perfect though I am not, they know,
And though the room too may not be perfect yet,
They will help me to clean it with suggestions.
And though the suggestions are divine, I still move
Through my apartment every day with these Angels,
And move things around to clean it better.
Cleaning becomes space traveling, and by traveling
We can take a good look at the things around.
There is no difference between flying and playing,

And we play Celestial Golf against CEO rivals.
Therefore we play a new Golf, or maybe an ancient one,
But this Golf we play is not ordinary Golf.
And as CEOs rival the Angels in Golf games,
The games are played for friendly stakes.
Angel friends can never be beat, nor beat at Golf,
The CEOs who rival the Angels know how to play,
Yet Angels always win, though CEOs still believe in the
challenge.
And to win is to get charity money for charities,
But if CEOs win, though they cannot win,
Then the Angels will agree to stop bugging them.
We need to raise charity money, and Celestial Golf can help.
Celestial games are one way to fund organizations,
And by playing Spiritual Golf, we found another way to help
Flying around symbols in a symbolic world is good,

And in order to avoid arranging the composition of a room
In a literal way, which would not at all create meaning,
Meaning that the room literally would have no meaning to
anyone,
Including me, if it was arranged literally as literal,
To compose symbolically on the other hand is meaningful,
Meaning that, we recycle the room's elements beautifully,
So that in that room, everything has meaning, nothing by
accident,
Nothing was arranged superficially in the room.
And so flight is possible which would not be possible
If the room had no meaning, if it was only taken literally.
So with symbols, as far as the meaning
Of the symbolic is concerned,
The Angels and I participate in naming what as what,
What was once something literal in the apartment
Is renamed and used with the other things,
And therefore control panels are made for the space flight.
Angels speak to me through vibrations and pulses

In my own body and not by any other means.
They are not mean, but are good and soothe me,
And their vibrations and pulses are soothing.
When I translate each pulse as a syllable,
And putting the syllables together forming their words,
I translate these Angels' words as their talk
And I reply to them in return.
And if I am ever wrong in my translations,
They tell me so, and so in this way I talk with Angels.
These Angels speaking to me have much to say,
And so do I in return, and so we are companions.
There is no way, I found out long ago,
That these pulses and vibrations are not other beings,
And being who they are, being Angels, I am in awe.
1.
The sea now giveth me this To seeth again much more yellow above.
And it be me, boating by the trees with thou
While again me kisseth not with me questions
But with me kisses instead
After me put out me lilacs for you.
2.
Me jazzy side beeth

There where me sun belongs,
It too creepeth into its chasm.
As soothes the sun
So all me old absolutes do
Shapeth mine own self into a haven.
3.
Up me grassy countryside
Me seeth all me grass,

Me reacheth and gathereth
Me widest flowers.
Me children cometh
For me sound blessings!
Dancer and reader old,
It yet raineth on me only plans,
So off me land me goeth.
4.
Still upon me mountains' margins

There beeth no mountains
But only sea
And tis a big time darkness
With nary much light from me
As me taketh in me dark.
But tis only a baby's will to me
To goeth big
If yours shalt nary beeth so much.
5.
Tis the cobweb that beeth then

In me richest times
All from me happy scholarship.
In me name of love
Me beauties riseth
From their beautiful mortal rest
Just as me thrice wandering clouds
Do in their lovely flights.
6.
Around these trees that seemeth wild

Every man and woman striveth
After other merry things to learneth.
But me resteth thus here,
Me self upon this sphere,
And hereafter under me broken trees,
Under every beauteous one

Caged up in me patience of old.
7.
Love liveth in me world

With nary less than all to be said,
And me play cometh to life
Right where me standeth by me self
Making no end to me love.
So either me song beeth emptied out
Or me book shalt restoreth me
With more to do upon these old hills.
8.
Me forgetteth me question mark

To breaketh out of me timely sayings
Ever to wipeth them farthest away.
But me seeth women and men all lonely still

So me cometh only to singeth.
Tis only an eternal everywhere outside,
And all cometh to its sacredness
To drinketh up from some crippled time
From me good river.
Me leaveth me self to what me knoweth
Not to ruin me sea of thoughts
Nor me yellowing labyrinth of me delights.
Figurative language is poetry pretty much,

So we figure that not literally but figuratively we fly,
And since flying is the way we clean our apartment,
Things must imply both poetry and also a poetic language
In order to get ourselves off the ground from one place to
another.
Others call this way a way by means of the trope,
A turn in language whether by irony, symbol, metonymy,
Hyperbole, metaphor or transmumption - figurative thinking.
In a way as a poem does, we do change our surroundings

In an attempt to create a beauty and health, but a meaning
too.
So poetry is only one metaphor for creating meaning,
But creation itself can at times go beyond pleasure
To the struggles we make as when we clean or write.
Yet in the end, from invention, using the imagination,
We can produce pleasure when learning happens with
delight.
9.
For me wide proof's sake

Me must join them in flight Me old thoughts again.
These images beeth sweet delights to me.
But when they will beeth invisible again,
Me beeth lost by myself
In me human kingdom
With me country-patterns and other selves.
David, King of the Kingdom, blessed me.

By him, I received permission to fly,
To change my place into a spacecraft.
A spacecraft that by flying
I can achieve new things indeed.
For flying is an achievement
Which when in space is new if space is new.
And flying over things, to things
And around things for the skill
Of rearranging things anew
Is needed for to invent anew life.
And so with King David's blessing,
For he was a space Angel pilot channeled once,
My regular Angels and I take it
To take flight and so to fly from and to places.
All flight is done from my rooms
In my apartment which King David,
After I rearranged things to perfection,
Inspected before giving his blessing
Without which flying would be impossible.

Being thus careful not to go against his
And the other Angels good wishes,
I also with their blessed perpetual help
Became a space pilot, I know not why,
Nor did I ever expect it would happen to me,
I was the one they chose, but I will try
To do my best in those good moments
To do good myself by space flying.
I have been told by my celestial wives

That my cat in his coming life is the future Messiah,
And I am to look after him in this life
And teach him awesome things, things to do.
Ha Haveyod, formerly, Henry Yod, is his name.
He now lives with my parents in their home
Since he liked his freedom there where he stays
With Nellie Nefesh Nefesh Nellie, his wife.
The cat Nellie is white, Ha Haveyod is black.
Whenever I visit my parents' home

He and I spend some good time together.
The things I teach him will help him help others,
For when he lives in another form
As another being other than a cat,
He will be known as the future Messiah;
Ha Haveyod is a sweet cat whom I am lucky to know.
Poetry and the memory of your room's space

Are connected forever when Texas equals text.
The more poetical the space
Means the more spacious that connection.
Texas being poetical and spacious,
Depending on where you are in it,
Is "text" by way of gematria.
In one way, adding the English value
Of "a" plus "s" at the end of Texas,
"A" being "1" and "s" being "19"
This equals "20" or "t" which changes
The name of "Texas" to "Text."

Now with text, we can be poetical;
We can connect space and remember better.
So far as the memory is concerned,
Textual or verbal memory, at least for me,
Is more memorable than visual.
And the memory of a room
Can be used to plan ahead
By diagramming it, its organization.
There is always a better way.
And cleaning up the room as text,
I think of our best entertainment of our time
Outside of literature: Cirque du Soliel.
As graceful and confident as an acrobat or dancer,
We organize and fly through the room like light,
And say to ourselves in order to do our best:
"First (or easier to move) things first."
We want a good text, one that is clear,
Or at least one that clears and cleans up

Satisfying what we want by means of a clearing,
And one text, we wish, will mean much, do much,
And by doing much, be memorable enough to be useful,
A room can be gorgeously cleaned to perfection,
And that room can be made temple-perfect
By an even greater cleaning style
Which forms because of the personality of the cleaner,
That personality being one who seeks non-sexual pleasure
At the same time while cleaning, while reading the room.
For there is always a better way, and for pleasure's sake,
A room may be caressed and cared for totally
With attention to how it feels to clean it;
This attention to touch, movement, imagination and
creativity
Make the means of the text a good means toward its final
look.
Gilgul, or the transmigration of the souls
Is one reason to fly with a purpose

To find meanings and others out there or within.
Things change and we are thrown places and reborn.
To mean well during a time that changes much
Is at least to stay aware of those changes
And act accordingly when contingencies occur.
Thus to take action is to learn how to cope
With being thrown into a changed environment,
And being that we are not alone suffering changes,
But that others too experience feelings of loss,
We do our best to attempt a K'nesset,
Or a community to help those who are willing to talk,
Excluding no one during the transmigration of our souls.
For every soul is learning and their communities can be
good.
The atobots, who are mindless shades,

Are bad because everybody needs to find
Their own awesome peace of mind
And the atobots prevent awesomeness

By promoting illiteracy and distancing so many
From reading well or the very best that they can
From stories and poems and other literature.
Thus atobots will cause others to fall behind,
And sometimes these others will do the work of atobots.
Atobots are lonely AND unhappy individuals
And by tempting others not to read their best,
The atobots are against all we know as learning.
For how can one learn without previous experiences
Of other awesomeness from great stories and poems.
Early on the atobots steal the souls of many others
Away from what would help those others freely think and
grow.
10.
Every hour I forget my hours.

From these days, I poorly borrow them
As notes in an old language.
Fool face this world
Surely without scorn from scholarship!

So I proposed my complaint
Yet to develop a gentler way
To think of what to join.
11.
I am human. I presume I work

Not to read beyond the love.
For the peace to fly
I old rush into the wild
As if on top of a sunbeam.
Read now
While I behold that thin window.
It will be gone tomorrow.
"Bird Matrix"
The bird seems a winged car.
Its wings float in the river.

A whole flock splashes the water.
The birds also hop up the banks
While their eyes look through the surface
Onto which the light from above is transported.
It travels far distances to become aware by others.
Minds find it as spiritual as themselves.
The congregation knows to go up into the air.
"Window Matrix"
When I look out the glass of a window

At the light upon the morning lawn,
I am compelled to get out to walk the sidewalk.
Its pavement stretches far off like the sky.
The clouds make their way over these roads,
The hard surfaces through which I can pass
If I leave my glass shelter for the earth.
Both dirty and clean are the landscapes
Where I will return temporarily.
The paths take me up.
"To Care for Life"
The greatest silence frees this morning

From those who know it and wish for such heights
Where peace from fading rains cares to last.
They seem to read over the passing dawn,
Those who are left to be brave for all they want.
In that strong atmosphere lurks a city,
Its dust is exiting from the landscape,
And being there helps everyday.
Pleasure in life reflects a resolute weather
Whose silence slides with all the light into tomorrow.
City light collects its own beauty;
The curious questions that live in the day
That one celebrates come unloose
And one finds splendor in their rhetorical darkness.
"Down to Now"
I was at my book stretching it out

While I went to waving about its simplification.
I knew where I wanted to go with it
So I found its frailties thinking of its actions.
From there I saw these and they fell into signification
Which sped to overcome all but a smile for the day.
After this, the weather turned problematic
And I rejected what it turned to doing.
But gently ascended a gentle light
Popping from out of a chaos to the overcast
Which slid dangerously not welcome.
Over to each of us swooped another poem
Bouncing up to the day as it turned and tinkered.
"Almost Going Back"
First the wind became a presence

Dropping a secret with it
Before it went back to being just the wind.
And light went across to engulf the now
Into which it always speeds.

Parting from what just was, I struggled with my farewell,
It came down to life and how life shifts its melodies.
Next, up and out traveled that secret
Back in power turning to the outdoors
Which left one gloomy a little over the years
Near your kingdom as you checked your strength left.
It was the feast which then repeated itself
As you went to clear it towards your own home.
It was a funny home because you were not expecting it.
"The Best Returned to Light"
The whimsical downward light zoomed to life.

Love wandered around before it too came to God.
Your solitude was higher than the stream
But you were low in the present.
You, who were down further went over and fainted.
Now the matter fell to but crossing to feathers
That were fit to the wind.
Even your contemplation came to faint.
All was solid, a solidness for which there was mercy.

That rounded-over goodness was higher,
But rudeness found its way into the light
And all went down.
It was with a fierceness for being alone on your horse
Which dropped you into the impatience
That now appeared because something happened.
"The Rolling-Above Flame"
There came a meaning that flipped to roll around,

Then came the good to roll next on the ground.
A silvering day was chosen for the outdoors land
While ladies next turned to feel where they were to stand
They were both new and weary, and a stain
Of light broke over the poor main.
The sunshine suddenly broke to know
Itself by many there to help their woe.
And flowers for them all were all possessed,
The day joined the newness unoppressed.
And all these somethings touched their pride
For sleep was to wrestle but being so denied,

Now food of peacefulness turned and came;
Methinks the sphere is more harmonious with the flame.
"The Muse to Her Pawn"
So it was thus now during that scene

I would inveigle with a television mean,
Ha Ha, before it hath with any hope to apply,
I accused myself of not having a way to fly.
But to my time just as a bird does not force
Its significant flight with its shielded course,
Twas I, who with ten-thousand deep
Above the sea with my soul would sweep.
As a baby among its food will play,
I blasted out from something in my way
To a new circumference before shuffling to be free
For tomorrow would go poorly if I would not see
How with an infinity of walking for many an hour
Periodically I had such to feel from my higher power.
"The Demand to Be Above the World"
It was time for school and it was granted

That down against myself I would wrestle
The farther off tide of limitation which would come next.
For there was now figured I would make a part
With my tasks before it was closed
For the richest knowledge came before a new forever.
It was granted I should go next to the sea
And use my hands together to pray
And to keep me from hunger,
Warming them by a gloomy fire.
I missed going back to the world I knew
Which before I left, towards me showed a kindness
That stretched me to glory with its colorful mornings.
After thousands had that glory also was the gold
That came to be chosen which belonged with peace.
"Clear to Sight"
For wisdom, the driving was a go,

The peaceful can turn unpleasant,
So back to progress, I said.
It became deep to have a heart to get to it,
More now one to which to return and to rub again
As if another went up to honor it
From which an awesome answer could fall next.
But it was sad to see what these musicians would do
To get our interpretations to be better ones,
One that would take them to their own paradise
To return them up to the never-painful mountain.
Their new music would indeed come before our democracy
And then sink down each mind which was much higher.
But from that change about the music over to a pleasure
Of our own came close, a closest lightness
Would be now granted as well as that paradise over to them.
"Taking Out a Test Spin"
The misfeature crept down the wall
Which was furnished over with weeds to sway.

And my soul by my breast went to esteem
Over them with that pleasure that turns sweeter with life.
I best be turned great, I said,
So beguiling the instant which flew over to what was mine,
What I said I said, and with the lightning came the power
That Nature newly had to sink down from
In order to strengthen herself.
But that building to which I quickly pointed earlier
Was my bridge to where I had come unto my jolly journey,
And I would admire it being next to the shadows
Which when my time was over would be
As night would be: Just a whisper with which my banishment
Would become deepened because it had to come to this
again.
"Made for Eternity"
The daffodils were taken up to be removed

This Fall; and though I know not where I am,
It is still a blessing, which is above any rant
That I have been enchanted for a while now

By this payment of a home to be.
This fall from the heights would not be missed
Because life for us comes to go away.
We apologize for turning so formal,
Into powerful lessons we find we read.
And our feelings were approved which we fought over,
Hatred turns to secrets and the high home
That I had with my ladies went from our souls
To their own control of that hatred so that it might not be.
"From the Country to Paradise"
It was simple to go up to the poor

Who raised a pole to come back to the simple.
It was sacred to stroke over our inheritance
Of the globe which then came to shine
Because of a little to call by that stroke.
Halfway to whom we found over that mountain,
We were halfway up the land
When out of the old waves
They came to the distance.

It becomes itself by going over outside,
And the landscape ends in the rain.
This is the literature which went on to separate
The Beings who went over to that landscape.
"Calling Out We Go Away"
There was ruin around that downward falling,

Then, in that, was what held us close by;
We were near the cold, it raised our game,
The play was found a little further on,
And that was also near the cold.
It became wounded by that farther meaning
Which passing up to hither did come to be together.
What I know among the playing
Was that the ship was over set.
The doing of it went to each Being,
And the meaning came to you about the music.
Dashing out of the country,
Going over to get from being down,
A soul rises above that country,

Too, and comes to knoweth
About why it is above the beasts.
"The Moments which One Clasps from the Other Side"
That which was separated crossed the shape,

And it was time since my anger was up.
The Universe was to be constructed
Out of honored blessings.
I saw the arguments going for the Universe.
But Nature still was imperfect.
The creepy part went to the faded day
When over it whirling was a lighted hope that came.
A baby, of course, becomes its own completion.
And the golden part outside would become its own change.
To hear of it now was what that change did suggest.
Of light, of lightning, they become best
When the moments one clasps from the other side
Are as the moments as from a bird to a poet by its song.
"From a Pretty Bubble"
There was a weather that came into our world's,

And going into it with a new day,
Did garden it, until with a farewell,
It like a storm that went on talking,
Went away making sad all
That was in the poetical countryside.
So the day shifted to many days.
And I had to interpret out of these cycles
An eternal to be to groom.
A wealth to become scattered
Circled across the weeds.
And what I would wheel from that would wander
Like the fun with the wealth around
To bubble out of the eternal.
When don't we fly Texascrafts or Texasplanes?

Even when we are in pain, we fly, and when not.
Since Texas represents the room, the room a Temple,
Texas is a vehicle where room, spacecraft, and state blend.
And where there is a vehicle, a driver is present
As long as there are places to which we may go, there is
travel.
And being pained, at times, by traveling
Much of the travel is done to stop the pains we have,
And when we have, when we fly, both goodness and
pleasure,
For both can be the same ultimately, we have a pleasant
flight.
The need to get to where we are going should not exclude
A pleasant or meaningful means by which we might go,
And every need of every person matters to all ultimately,
Therefore, we try our best to fly our best the Texas.
"The Creation Over"
Grandma must next be furnished.

Her blessing went over dimmed.
So I remembered what came to be my complaint,

That what was sad goes into many worlds
To sprinkle us below from what was high.
When a rival becomes King,
A fire turns out to reflect both more of itself
And the sadness of ours about his contracts.
So now the endwork of the underground went into the water
While the water of the tower loosely flowed.
The pain in the underworld was about God,
Whether He died after conquering all with the Creation
Of all, if this was what limited all that was around us too.
"To Fairest Peace"
When the moon came and filled

The air with the myths of sunshine,
I from within my soul shined too.
Heaven's stars bring forth a tune
And the air seemed not to contain
The years at this beach.
What before was a complexity of sunshine
Brought delights which were to dry up

In the myth that light goes beyond our souls.
This time has the fairest wind,
It is a time which surely goes beyond time.
When we are given into this time to stretch out,
The hours will not go forth to hurry us
Because they will feel eternal until the day comes again.
"Winter Shine"
I want to put the sticky gifts farther down,

And the grey and red colors in the dusk.
A closed road is better near the end.
The morn wetness dries in the day.
Such a weather bed is for our world down here

In the countryside air.
Through a heavenly sea
Sink the old limbs of a tree.
It is day's paradise again,
And a peaceful wave shall go up,

But without anchor here of the day,
The night's wind would run through
Our home world in darkness.

The sad years are over.
And from a poor dream I awake
To the shine of the winter.
"A Pretty Looker"
The plain bread-all late, responsible time,

Sheeba Sheeba, Cleopatra, either out,
Ignorance build violet, blind a Mothering flower,
Moon might dunk a slide, shine duck out.
Jazzy check-music shells the impudent's.
Celebrate a touch, or wooden players,
A celestial work, drama machine Bus,
Mother's palace is light, while eyes glare.
Thy sunken rivals of wind severity,
The prodiging, sleepy river is pretty,
Pass of beauty, a free candle made separated.

The stretching wise bloom is down offered,
Kingdom-parting hurt, blue bunny, cradle.
"The Destruction of the Fruit"
Read a word, not frolicsome stop,

Tiger's shirt's worse, pour faster,
Wise-sun tower, the Spring to dance,
Work play Jazz's dreams, highest a'weeping.
A welcome righteous walk checked,
Hilly Hawaii, your hope for the water.
Garden springs, here go tree limbs stripped,
Would you head over the landscape
The camp of lights? The people between us
Are scattered. What puffs live for the distance?
Lights collaborate high up with the servants,
You running into the camp.
Descend alive between our dreams.
"The Reluctant Kings"
The sun is in the middle

Right where I expected it to be;
The suction wants the poor,
And thus is come to them.
A poor heaven, if I may be honest,
If this is it. Heaven again I remember,
But I do not make my "Ha!"
The kings are there, nobody else is there,
And one is the highest ever so far.
I do not know what to do for a lady,
I see farther out but may go up
Where there is more shine,
The glow seems appropriate.
Nobody will understand these knotted knots,
Nobody will know why it has to be thus so.
"Lots of Stuff is Disappearing"
Before there was a new style, there was nothing,
I am disappointed by my vegging.
What do I do when it drifts me
To what I thought would make a swish,
But was a road which was silly on its own?
Now we are talking about what will evaporate.
It is nonsense to find and to be found,
I thought about the water, and know it is not there,
It is not there anymore, neither on this walk,
Or even in the rainbow which kinda surprised me.
Now I will go to China, yet I know not why,
Or it will come hither, so I found; back to the wet,
Ahhh, it is the sea still there where I could cross
To get to there without nonsense.
"The Old Underground"
If down is the opposite direction as up,

And to write up is opposite writing down,
I may write up this piece and so jump
From the words on a page back into my mind.
The underground brings together the brown.
The underground is death's own birth.

The underground is clear of harps.
The underground is far off from the day.
The underground is more ancient than what lies above it.
The underground has a claim over many lanky things.
The underground opens a hole.
The underground is the world past the horizon.
The underground is thicker that the air and all outside.
"A Poem in Progress"
The skies of the day thin,

...fears...
...drops...
Even the water glows and roars.
They love their mystical home.

Light returns to the air,
...withers...
...washes...
A spirit does not worry about the sunrays,

...comes...
...heals...
...stimulates...
Morning is the limit of the night

...breaks...
"An Incomplete Poem 2"
The outdoors were less of atmosphere yesterday,

A beauty paints mystically before the watery weather.
Into the vacant grey from its freeze I change,
The honeyed night falls into shadow
To droop in the air a little, a dimness.
There is the dusk that dabbles with the horizon,
And over the lake search the clouds.
I hope every reader here will forgive me in time,
My ignorance tumbles on its course,
So I felt free to stretch out here,
And take my turn thinking more
About the....that warms....

And the....gleams....
"The Transcendent Rays"
The fire is a beautiful mystery,

And a spill of water is what fills the sparkle.
The legs of the table sink down,
And the dishes are washed everyday,
And they shine when they bring out the fruits,
...taper waiting...
....rounding boldly in the leak...
Golden raging are the points

Of moderation in a rich candle.
And then the ground water accident...
Solidity is what stops as if frozen in time.
The kind domestic way,

The needed dishes are set through the years
On the built wooden stretchings.

And the water is drifting transparent,
And these sleepy flickering rays.
18. "I'm a Triumphant!"
Angel Jennifer has told me I'm a car.

I'm a person also; I'm a car.
I'm a Triumphant Car, Tob Shbeeb's my hub cap.
I'm a Triumphant Car already made,
Tob Shbeeb, my favorite wife and a great cook,
She's my hub cap on my left front tire,
Angel Tob Shbeeb and Angel Jennifer help,
It may sound funny but I know.
I'm a Triumphant Car and did my best,
Yea, and do my best I realize,
I've got Angels helping, we're a team,
It feels good to be completely set,
No one can disprove that I'm a car,
I have never seen Angels refuted.
"A Space Remembered"
I don't want the water now

Since it turned a little brown.
I will be patient going farther out
Than where I first though I would go.
Now what about the underground, though?
When what it is is understood,
The going from here down to it
Will be at the horizon, an outside beyond me.
I will go back to what I don't want,
Which is that claim on my page
That I must be underground set in time.
And there is a hole that waits for my room,
And ultimately goes black,
A home where I must
Toss away all my things I had here.
"A Swish, Light is Done"
I cannot wait to clear these storms,

This wasn't the way I had planned
But it is a plain rain that
Harbors for this Monday morning.
How and why questions, old, a densest day.
I question waiting longer to sing, sing, sing,
I almost forgot that new sparks
In time do out.
So far, so good, the dumb fire unstable
Comes to an eternal mountain lost for now.
It is back, what I had not expected,
The Spring in play, its grey watery eyes
At the threshold, power up
So that an ancient award clear be.
"A Quick Day-love Sport"
Maybe I don't want another one.

One recalls one's exquisite spaces
Of a dry life, and wonders what comes next.
It is a fiery road into words, words,
For I fall and void out their dying fate
So that the flower ruin an evil.
Now, the power gravest, silent a'burning,

Is passed out thither.
Perhaps it was a mistake, wild master,
To pass up the urge to get what I want
Now that the ole idle dream is compounded
Forgetful of shine. I don't know exactly how
To get from the darkness of this clear climate, Oh!
"Wait to Light It"
I became lost and went to celebrate,

To stop a victory, or get into the gloom
For a standing awe
Because the rain caught me not,
Because the whirling brightens the water,
And because the cycles bother the easing
Away from this place;
And again the comfort of healing shadows
Hued wins me over.
And, as oo la la, today sparked anew,
I got so lost before these gold flames religiously pale.
So I came back to bring out the knotted yards rude.
And the weather knots the wandering of an airy rising.

And the work is over as the carrion drop downward.
"The Difficulty I Question"
Needs to be more of an airy "Ahh" here split into the wind.

And I don't want to add any trouble so I
Laugh at what was supposed to arrive: My Big Day,
At the day when the blessings came none,
At an art someplace, some more to place perhaps,
Let's say during this same day,
Bearing its own vanished simplicities with honesty.
As if I could rush above mere experimentation
Into an afternoon with none more,
None but what I valued,
Then thousands of thanks
I could give for all that could have been.
Happily, this is how I filled up with glee,
By making things better with art
Instead of scratching my head
About what in the Big Day could not be changed.
Two Poems:
"The Horizon Became Old"
It came winter of which I made a heaven,

And more came before the rising.
What was on top went to falsehood,
Then as it was grey up there,
And the ladies went to the gifts,
It now became red to go to sleep.
So those whom I were suppose to bless,
Cometh up and over to become new,
They cometh to the best,
Pleasantly I was to be for friendship,
It became part of the shells,
And I went to blink at my room
Above the lawn where every face
I found blue was next felt.
- Angel Elaine with me
"And Again I Don't Forget"
Can I do it while getting a little hoarse

Over the road, can I with effort hold
My place in this span by some illusion
When all I find from the hurricane
Are contracts which I have no idea
What they mean nor what they say?
But yet I was supposed to do this another way,
And get wise to what could have been hoped,
Through seeking hope and not through any knowledge
Of the worldish turning which is true
But only true with more world added.
This endwork, what we call a life's work,
Becomes a work impossible to work if we ever stop.
"Turing" or "I Want to Cry"
First of all I will message or preserve

What I almost spoiled
About the virtual Shakespeare machine
Of any user's illusion which I am one

Who is supposed to process all these microsettings
And save the result,
Or signal some pressure, and go to fill it in,
And so schedule that electrochemical nerve someday.
So I proceed with my non-looping task
Since I get a little bit boxed in at times.
Now Zero divide again and behold how
Any such number asked operates with super-reliability!
Explanation 1
What if I was to tell you that the Matrix is a stupid movie?

- Libby
I would have to come over there and what, B'nayvoovah?

- Rosalinda
You would have to come over here and throw my little iPad in
the trashcan, and tell them I am really a B'nayvoovan.
- B'nayvoovah
...and you know what?...I ahovah you.

- Rosalinda
Ahovat, Rosalinda and ahovat Libby.

- B'nayvoovah (Billy M.)
Explanation 2
I don't always drink beer...but when I do it's on a commercial

in front of millions of viewers.
- Goldsmith
To whom is he (Goldsmith) talking?

- Shnoonah
To somebody, he wants a Dos Equis.

- Amy
Give him a Guinness instead, and see what he does.

- Diana
(Amy gives Goldsmith a Guinness)
Thank you.
- Goldsmith
You're welcome.
- Amy
I feel fine.
- Goldsmith
Ok.
- Marion
There is just one thing...

- Donna
Uh huhh?
- Goldsmith
You're hat says "Make America Great Again," and we want it

to say "Make America Liberal Again." So what are you going
to do about it?
- Donna
How am I supposed to do that?

- Goldsmith
Throw it in the trash can where it belongs, and convert right

this very second to liberalism, or else you shall be damned
forever.
- Angel Donna
Do it right this second by blinking one time as a sign that

you are now a liberal, or else. Think. We have the technology.
- Angel Grouchy
They're just kidding about the hell part, but seriously think
about switching your politics over and becoming a liberal,
every Angel who exists is one, and that should tell you
something, and that is no lie.
- Marion
Ok, I will vote liberal. Angels are always good.

- Goldsmith (he blinks)
"Me, Hesitating"
I hesitated, not a light traveling

To clear farthest darkness, but
Found myself at a little clearing's hesitation,
Which is farthest up clear.
Has my finding any light?
The light clear, high a'rising, is
Nothing but a sight of glory.
Travel glorious clear light!
It happens in the hesitation,
The finding of the darkness
By the glorious rising
Of the glorious landscape
Of swishing trees.
Clear light clear.
"Time's Revenge"
I laid down my devastated bones

That strove for a task, they must now wait
Since a rage has thought to target them,

A deep despair dealt out.
So I desired to shout at the pain,

And like a dope wept, but only on the inside so far,
The despair exposed my babyishness,
I told the creeping body to wait it out.
Caught in Time's revenge,

My body left me nothing good,
And stupid-touched by the sickness
Of annihilation, I was conquered by the abyss again.
So the pain played with dumb me,

And crossed tattered me lying alone in the lateness.
"Angel Ora Ora Tiferetot Asks Me About the Meaning of

Pornos"
O.O.T. asks me if I can imagine when a black haired

prostitute wiggles her rear at a muscular man who is about
to fornicate with her while another hidden guy is filming the
seduction, what does this mean to me?
And, I say that it means I remember the time I was pinched

hard by a popular bully on my chest area, and when I tried to
defend myself he knocked the books I was holding out of my
hands while everybody laughed.
O.O.T. next asks me if I can imagine a different man and

brown haired woman being filmed again by a man during a
similar act while she is groaning, what does this mean to
me?
And, I say that it means the time when I stubbed my toes on

the side of the exercise bike and felt a bad pain.
Finally, Angel O.O.T. asks me to think of a threesome, two

brown haired guys and a blonde girl as well as some men
filming it all, and O.O.T. asks me what does this mean to me?
And, I say that the threesome of people and the film crew
means to me the sore spot on the top of my head that was
so bad at one time that I kept picking at it to stop it.
"Creation"
Time again decided to loiter around me

My own fight with Time as usual,
Or it was I who overstayed my welcome,
Welcoming it back was not my plan.
It was a villain who powered my feeling
And I felt bad that it came after me,
It was our mutual villain, for all who live.
And by living we mutually fend our own.
My fate was born when I was sick,
A sickness to want, but not to get away,
I could have had health, another rule.
I was healthy before, until the lawlessness.
It knocked at my bolted door,
And I opened the door,
Which I could have had open all along,
Which being opened let in the worst,
And it dealt its worst in its flood,
A flood of memories and meaning,
Since I wanted just peace, it war.
I was poor and not prepared for the worst.
Poor me trusted its dominance
Once before, when life was easier,
And I was strong before it seemed,
And my strength was good for my soul,

But by it made sick of late,
I knew this again, as I know myself well,
A new illness I knew, all I knew,
All I wanted to pass.
I strove to battle its points,
In striving had become wounded.
I had no other choice if I was to survive,
To protect myself, all from all,
Until reminded of my ignorance,
An ignorance that is mine and others',
Time conquers all,
For all sleep,
My soul laid in ruin
What I loved was gone,
Sooner than planned,
Too soon for comfort,
And my strength went down with a moan,
I defeated by the hours upon me in the dark,
Which I am sure I wanted to change into words
That moaning I have heard somewhere before,
As my unresolved sensitivities defeated me,
And I knew not what to do for later to be better
As I knew not what to do during the instant.

Only time would tell, but said nothing now.
Barely able to wander past
My obsession with my soul
In lateness of its own weakness,
Past the act of my own creation which drove me blind,
I had made well what I thought would work,
I could not see how I could change for better,
I would have had it any other way than pain,
And which returned to accident
Since it helps not to question the pain,
Meaningless into bad meaning,
Or whence it came, during its smart.
My shouts ate deep into the air,
I would have been asked what was wrong
This every night in my struggle to sleep,
And nothing could have been made into sense.
The outdoors, they inspire beauty

When we deeply give ourselves
Into worldly things, Natures,
In lightness by more free blueness

Through sky or water shipping.
"Against Me, the Doc Won"
Against me, the Doc won

Playing "Forget Your End."
His new laces! The harmony
Of everyone together!
My sister in tears.
What a way to undo
The circle from our hate!
That ring I know now
Tolls above in the sky.
So another calm one of honor

Is off into his early quiet peace
From this silent convention
Into a hill, still, by these trees,
Never in danger again,
Nor in gaol, nor in hell.
"The Fresh Wind"
The fresh wind

In an American rush
(Patience, philosopher,
Thou playful spider
Whitening the trees!)
Tells those palms
At evening nothing
Being without any vessel of verse.
Any tree is as open
To a woman and as far away
As the island dawn
Or the virgin glory
Of our ripest wilderness.
"To a Pimp"
Even after another year of the logic
Of food and song,

What you still have needed
Has been the power to free your Muse.
All of your poetical strains

From their fountains are being dissolved
As if by harsh rivers
Drifting away from you
As midnights do
Into romance over the sea.
Thus during every midnight of your history,

As more transparent roadways
Could have come out
From what did shine in you,
Some steeled Colossus again

Would borrow your person
For a voyage away from love
Out from what would have been
Its own new death
And you would have come
To the heaven of the North
Where no wicked birds on high cry.
"Canis Lupus"
Did you catch anything during your quest

Which now has placed you within the blackness
Of another noiseless twilight?
In the gap of your happiness

Will your moments toward it ever be joined
By that hare who into the ground

Has burrowed with delight,
Into the soothing side
Of winter on the horizon?
Against that same thin hare

How can any wolf win?
"In My Bathtub"
When I was faint, a sorry sight,

And when I became frozen by my own ignorance,
I fell as if into an icy pond,

A place where I did not want to be.
Stuck with my fate
Falling into a devastating despair,
I threw up a babyish sigh for help
To battle this fate, not that I thought I could win
Against that total dominant lateness
That had come before me, targeting bare me.
But I fought anyway, returned to my solitude in a stumble,
And dismissed as usual any arguments
To pull me out of it back to that place
Where I encounter the mad shouts of barbarians,
At worst loitering for trouble, so sensitive-stuffed,
Who clearly have defeated me,
Who have blinded me by these strong pains
That they had given me, not welcome gifts.
"After All That Chaos"
After all that chaos came the feeling

That the fight was over
As the leaves grew again above.

In my distance from them,
I wondered how I might grow like them
To be over the grassy floors.
If the heart is down
Because of the withering on another day,
When will it rise to celebrate?
The chaos has departed I hope
And flowers are going up
Again growing, adding a little decoration
To these feelings and to the drama
Of the heart trying to flower on its own.
"I Cannot Do It On My Own"
I cannot do it on my own
Without my recollections.
If they stall from their usual quickness,
Or if I go to heaven without them
By drinking from the Waters of Lethe,
And forget everything that ever had wrung me out,
Then in that new now,

Let some Angel perhaps find me.
If it is another America of a better world,
To which I have been added,
Which would be the compass of what I really want,
A fine society of happy people,
Happier and more hopeful than today's,
Then let me too never be sad again.
"One Good Soul"
One good soul, going noble,

Stepping up his image,
Experiencing the cure for that wet wound
For Immortal Knowledge from that lovely tree.
The sea flowers an island afterlife.

No more weeping in your own puke, Potato Mind,
For Cupid is rising up after your Nightly Sports.
Good Morning, Ladies!
"The Frolicsome Sunshine"
The frolicsome sunshine

Has many solar days
During every monthly gap.
Lord over nothing,

He exits the sea
Over forbidden waters
Until, as if within a coffin,
He comes down his own way
As if to oppose some truth.
"Our Fuzzy World"
Our fuzzy world, O fuzzy world!,

Compounds all things
Into one colorful whole.
A wide dish for you,
Scarlet and green!

And there is even more
To soothe you, dear,
As well as the ears of its people:
The useful sea over there,
That lesser mountain there,
And fiery proclamation
In noontime vessel above.
"A Trustworthy Friend"
A trustworthy friend
Is a guide through more chaos,
A priori, to the pinnacle and goal of my day.
A heavenly republic,
Taking my turns to participate in it
For transparence and wisdom
Which leads to my fear of writing anything down.
For non-sexual technological pleasure,

Find the restroom
Since holding it in causes sore legs.
Eat and drink and rest

To cure an upset stomach.
With all our humor and tears,

Tragedy and hope,
Do we ever talk about the day?
For friendship, how much can we handle?
Thinking through the common curriculum,

Its incomplete form
On the back burner, what do you think, B'nayvoovah,
My Angels ask me.
I say into a stream of enlightenment

I could step, step into that river.
My childhood investment
Yields exciting interpretations,
But why not more friends whenever I struggle?
If flexing that wrong way
By antithesis is to scat the wit,

Then I hope they forgive my directness
Of a misunderstood explanation,
My selfishness of sticking to the subject

(And algorithm) matter
For a poem's readability one day.
"Is It Anti Revolutionary?"
Is it anti revolutionary either

Going forward or returning?
(...if you have to ask...)
Is it pain, that denouement

With whose contingency I cope
While seeking hope that God's still creating, justice
(What does that larger picture mean?),
Is it soothed by anti revolutionary music?
I know Sir John Falstaff did not go the wrong way.
The selling and the budget of his experimental work In the direction of friends, perhaps,
An a priori chaos before his bigger ordering.
My stylish abba is needed

For a sculptural confidence too,
Pneuma, too, my sister who prays
With Dark Spark, our brother, all invest
In love for Celestial Mom and Dad,
Rosalinda and Robbie Pop who say
That even metaphors (ha!) need flowers
As children do their candy.
"Shall We Dance?"
Shall we dance, love,

With patience and a cure,
Sweet! No more writing
In order to read better? Sweet!
While the hopeful colorful arrangements

Which we do separate in solitude are made
By that speedy Angel, scat-doo-scat,

Let Eros, score!
A clean temple must first of all be measured by

measurements.
Ahh, does this equilibrium mean what I think it means?
Two take turns playing Doctor,

Two listen to the synth music flower;
What to keep, and who to observe?
What people ahead of their own time,

Pure and simple have any answer?
Silly Pants, read the price next time
Of that thing desired for next month, the green!
Alas, the pleasures of the anti shaman.
"Sonnet Alph"
My knowledge Angels process I have found,

They criticize if I get out of line.
The Angels work with me, they are divine,

Advancing, taking time now to surround
My Self with friendship from their presence fold:

"Not now, B'nayvoovah, no time for rest!"
Says Rosalinda, I was thus addressed.

We played the golf course well to win the gold,
And picked hibiscus flowers from the fields.

"Go now to use the restroom on this round,
And do not kick the ladder on the ground."

I'm not a social climber, nothing yields!
But happy weeping, laughing, both are played

Away from fields recited in the shade.
"It Is A Relief"
It is a relief to have any deep feeling for Nature,
For a life which gives you reasons for feeling alive

With even a trust in its generosity before things are used up.
The literate help the poor to steer clear of loneliness and

sadness
So that they may see the bigger picture,
Of our books, art, and music,
The compensations for a life's work
By means of some perfect sonic frequencies.
Let Eros be a charity to reconsider

For the innocence of children laughing and weeping
For candy, perhaps for Wrigley's Big League Bubble Chew.
Their innocent case goes beyond our gossiping.
Let the elderly too be comforted,

And remedy their recollections by our own juxtapositions.
The heavens, like Charades,

Or those of the community imagination,
Where the outrageous gossip of people,
Of personalities has built up the day and life,
They intimate our own heavenly visit
Into another glorious day together.
"The Fox Thinks"
The fox thinks that things do not matter

On her snowy mountain
As much as the explosive release of peace
On a morning walk,
One subject matter of the sky's
Reflection in the water,
Her daily comfort
Of drinking from a clear pool.
The end of form is in the walls of our past.

Looking up we too honestly admire
The twinkling stars of the heavens,
And enjoy what can be done by us
At night by the trees.
Now I imagine that the landscapes

Have no end to their style.
The road and trees are worth a little,
Not a lot to me,

Not as much as a new day
With water running down the street.
The deadline of rain in the atmosphere:

What are the rules for choosing
How long it will last over these imaginary
Landscapes, the pebbles in the pool?
I am thankful for the sound

Of the river by one's home,
And its frequencies.
I am grateful for the attention
Of a breeze after the rain
As the sky's program for hope
Brings its interpretive correction
Through the thin air.
So rainbows have no physics

But four colors
In the logical sky, I think so.
A joy in the air, my heavy cologne

Whose apathetic wandering off my person
Finally ends in the night's emulation.
Moonshine crickets slide

Over their path in the dusk
By the forest oak, and I run from them.
The blank river reed

By the grassy bank
Is my spot to check on things.
Both the whirlpool fish
And the sea way off
I can see if I squint my eyes.
But the forgotten laws of Nature

Have this muddy unpleasantness
Into which I keep stepping.
And every tree records

Its stay off another,
Meaning:
There is no urgent reason for the tree

To learn more about this place.
A tree is sure that somebody in time
Will unlock whatever mysteries
It has. It could itself,
But every tree is so distracted by their own impatience,
And each also think they might not really care
To know in the end.
Trees might not know diddly squat,
But they are squatting right now
Blocking my path to my home.
Into the sun-perfect glory of a day,

Into the day's sunny things of perfection,
The responsible lighting of the day by light
Responding to sunlight next in light,
The day-way allows for people,
For the weatherly day-people to make a way.
The lovely day's weather, rain and shine,
Is shining love, and placing daylight and raining in places.
And the daytime is celebration, and knowing is orderly,
And the day's kingdom is a roomy outdoors.
The wonderful kingdom-people

Are a people wonder-coming
To an environment that exists out of beauty,
A rain-pathed afternoon of beauty;
And all are put into rest by that beauty.
You may satisfy your social desires with more memorization

Of your reunion with solitary landscapes.
To tell lies now is not your hope now

Because the mystical stalling of the alternatives of what may
be the truth
Brings something new for taste,
A memorable contamination of personality
Inside an acrobatic language overheard by you.
There is in the beautiful clarity of a form in the long lines

Of a trim argument something to change.
Distracting no reasons for the decline,
A passage seems to ask: "What can we do about harmony
By your active reception of understanding?"
There is evidently more room for spirituality in the charged

words you can speak,
With your syntax building up a big event,
Constructing physically your meaning out of your purpose.
"Common Sense Is Too Common"
I learn from my records.

What I am learning, sometimes at record speed for me,
Is to have more speed to which learning and thinking
Makes thought function well and function speedily.
Making sense is only one part of it to me,
And since a part of sense is made sensitive
To only me, I may give it expression
Perhaps in the gifts of my expressiveness at times.
They say that common sense is just that,
A common people's sense, not esoteric, not necessarily
good,
Not actually sensitive to very many nuances of clear
thinking,
But as common as common sense is,
I think it is quite ordinary compared to the clarity of
thoughtfulness,
And when this happens my nose becomes shiny bright.
FINIS

Summer Poems

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Summer Poems

(with his Angels)

"An Empty Solitude"

Heaven is not revolutionary but only happy

Rather you yield to the fruits of your genius,

"The Pleasant Spark"

It is light that drives the wind,

The light finds its audience and shines neglecting

As a miraculous family of flower objects,

Each gold spark rising over the land,

"The Currents of the Sea"

The twisting cold snow,

"Dedicated to the Deep Night"

After the rain thousands of pools wait.

The hushed difference of the water

The cities look bigger, more whole

Would these places be at odds with people

Is the neighborhood swelling splendid in the light?

Does this light like a wind swell the sail,

If the subject watched is parted,

A broken part perpetual in the morning,

During day the hand is not blind.

In the hush afterwards the hand must wait;

This blinding however is no accident,

The world too turns away for a time each day

A dying, a muffling but not a death

So the flight is best from illuminate to illuminate,

The afternoon is nothing but silent

Making wisdom only momentary for more

We have thousands of happy discoveries,

When it is knowledge's own fault

A distressful triumph, that fact.

However, we are sensitive to doubt,

The shore and the breeze are glorious

If not, exploring what is spoken about the place,

The pace of time too may instantly pass

So you know only that which is clear,

And what is clear possessed, others may not.

And you know not what they know

Charity is the supreme truth if any,

History will become history, whence we rise.

Though before we do we can pardon our enemies,

And when we ourselves to that distance are collected,

But that unfortunate power to punish any other

The golden clouds having it already,

Yet the clouds everywhere are primitive,

If so, they are idly drifting neither alive nor dead,

The weather feels deep complex

And therefore, though it does destroy day and night in

What hinders goodness from the earth?

If I do not know my guilt, can I be taught?

Are those of the earth as ignorant as I?

If we were to know, our ignorance would cease,

Perhaps earth's existence is good,

Unless love make them equals,

Little hope is given up

We multiply to the last what is or what was had,

Or one greatly forgets what was wanted

As the secret of forgetting makes right

For a fool knows what is wanted

The air of the day is plain,

The morning shines in majestic colors

At the center of the neighborhood is a space,

And old space in the spacious neighborhood