I Recovered What I Could

‘Moon Beams Over Gelatto’

Strike the lights.
It’s dark in here.
Suddenly day turned into night.

This is a rapturous raid on the camp of the wooden one.
He says they planed off… too much wood,
and backwards came the brain.
A relief__ still…
to the denizens of the game.
Happy readers!

Myphets, all, came to see in the darkly clad evening’s light
the resting figure of him.
Alter-ego man,
The one who counts away in plain sight.
Toe taping excellence as to the rites,
To the play of words that come to stay.

Assembling brilliance through the day,
We don’t know all that was lost,
but we know more by way of the art of his toast.
The measure of the man is the way he swings his verbs.

Each word_ electrifying objects raining onto the page.
Thoughtful gifts graced upon the page.
Emotions, truth, animated style and presence__
All come to be.

Nothing falls in lieu of taste.
Even refractions of color and reflections of light
upon the page__ are the artist’s brush,
tenderly coaxing meaning.

Passions throat accedes to the test,
ringing out the art of him.

So there I was the other night,
Coming upon something new,
and it struck me.
Have I been here before?

I knew I had, but I also knew,
I must never be intimidated.
Into not connecting,
John, brings it all, everyday, to the test.
I know I am welcome here,
but sometimes I just want to hold back.

I am not social, sometimes,
More about being cautious.
And…I don’t want to be obtuse,
when I know I am.
Sometimes, It is all I can do__
To just be here.
Where do I think__ I am?

Sometimes we can’t explain. It is part real,
but the expression of the breath,
and passion of life is not there.
We take the time__to acquire the courage to move ahead.
The judgement of self is not seeking truth.
It is risking loss of momentum.
Fear, the Inertia kills!

Goodness and wonder.
Stated for the ‘I’
It is within the heart and held close__
…To not lose the touch of life.
I am learnng to move ahead and be strong.
Not every day is the thrill__
Of knowing.
I am here to leave my determination
to show this expression,
That is mine.

Where is a good place to end.
I read every comment over and over again.
All of my friends, I love you all.
This is the place to be.

Get this: I began, Thursday night with a comment that had to do with walking up on the group, present, standing around a fire, at the edge of the woods. I walked up… from out of the woods and stood back(in the dark), and watched as everyone gleefully threw hundred thousand dollar bills into the fire. Laughing and singing about ‘which way, this way, that way.’ I know you weren’t doing that. It just struck me how priceless…Is Love

That was probably, Wednesday, because since then, I’ve been taking care of my wife, who got some crazy pneumonia. Still going on. She finally started the antibiotics. Bad girl. Works at a medical center.

So John, I am going for the award for second place as a silly girl.
I came to play, but seriously now__ my plain brown wrapper hid my
‘tyger, tyger, burning bright’. This night a little campfire for you and thy.

It’s all for the thrill. This love we want to give away. Just learning here… the art of healthy thinking.
Feeling love becomes our season.
Wherever, whenever… we can.
The peace of love

P.s. John, I love the way you light your night.
TR here. Is it time for real names yet?
From the gift of this night, No contradictions.
I’m alright!

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by trust the rust (PM , CC ) on Saturday June 30, 2007 @ 4:49 AM   (del)

They say I am what I don’t believe in
but that’s my name when it’s called, TR.

I’ve blown-off work for the day; the sun’s fault,
talking love and Christ and genius with a woman,
and now I’ll drive down south.

Had a fire once, and then I wrote:
Come up and see me;
we’ll light a fire and sit around,
and burn our Polaroids of former lovers
and our tiny plastic telephones…

and someone will always go skinny-dipping,
and someone else will tell us jokes until the Judgment comes.

But no one does. No one comes.
I stir the ashes of my former fires,
and my heart longs to smell sex and coffee
with a ghost of a girl I’ve yet to meet.

Standing at the water’s edge,
waves licking at our feet

We all sung Kumbaya and no one knew what it meant, Ha!

(No one will mistake me for Moses or Elijah
if I keep saying that kind of thing.) But

It’s good to hear from you!
I’m sorry the Mrs. is sick.

My name is Ignatius Guilderplatz,
undisputed King of the Pricks.

I will go record shopping now and find a dimension, have an adventurous dream that will land me by the fire – and although I have already been visited by diablo today, I hope not IN the fire.

I’m going to keep doing this until I get it right. So – I’ll be here a while.

Peace to you, wild man of the west.

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by John the Squabbler (PM , CC ) on Saturday June 30, 2007 @ 1:43 PM


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