Stwitter

EISTEIN ON THE BEACH SOUNDS VERY GOOD TO ME.

I DIDN’T KNOW IT’S AN OPERA ONE COULD GO AND SEE!!!

I THOUGHT HE WAS A MAN I HAVE ALWAYS ADMIRED

BUT NO IT’S A LONG OPERA

WHICH WOULD MAKE ME VERY TIRED!!!

THREE OR FOUR HOURS OF MUSIC,PLAY AND DANCE

OH LORD I’D END UP IN A TRANCE !!!

BUT WAIT I HAVE NOW SEEN A TRAILOR,

THIS OPERA IS NO FAILURE !!

ITS HAILED FAR AND WIDE

A 20TH CENTURY MARVEL

SO BUY A TICKET,HITCH A RIDE

By Clare Spencer, Nice France.

Negative lust,

for empty joy,

completes.

Benbo Smith, Casa Fernando Pessoa, Lisboa

River, stony river,

Stony cold,

River, stony bold.

By Tamiko Ono.

Outside the ending of our beginning,

Slips the friction of their distemporalment.

I think I’m done with TV,

It’s no longer really me,

I see more in the mind,

Then when I am blind,

I think I’m done with TV.

If I look beyond a book,

I see a squirrel by a broken brook.

If I look beyond my heart,

I seek two ladies not far apart.

But then I am a poet tart.

You feel it, or you have felt it. That moment when you are not yourself. Free of the shallows you ignore to function. Free of the gay abandonment of joy that distracted you at your focus high.

The moment that you are not yourself, the moment you are a blank slate, free to paint. But how to turn, and rework your old master. How often the same hills, the same animals. What should be new, should you paint it bold?

You drudge familial lines and speak the same meter with the same instruments. That moment when you are not yourself, if only that moment could last.

Should I bend to the subtleties of class, or take morse coded routings of valour around the snake.

Should I bend to the subtleties of class, or take morse coded routings of valour around the snake?

I watched as he perceived me over time. Looking for placement in stature of self. Constantly looking to judge, hoping to come out on top.

Where would the pendulum fixate. Should I pronounce an intervention to sway my fate?

Born equal under prophecy of the political. Balance tipped by opportunity afforded souls intertwined by nationhood of the democratic farce.

I longed for the far off confederacy in distant past. The uniting cast. Scorned by legacy of Orwellian reporting subjecting idealistic hope to rigours of just cause.

To the German toad I must advance, to precise the source. For I will both lower and rise with the tide of my ability independent, to serve my brother and not his.

Perhaps we listen in green for that vibrant clarity before falling into ourselves.

Perhaps the sand in our dissatisfaction of progress is glass from our soul.

Perhaps the morning will bring comfort of a new spring, and hope will be reborn to a new beat.

So tired, ever tired. Tired of life, tired of the pain of reality. Tired of mundanity. So tired.

Change tired, change pain. Move focus, drive forward again. But so tired. Too tired.

Flowing in discordant streams of mildew. Gone the epiphany effervescence of the younger. So tired.

Refocused distraction from reflections anointed at sleep. Too tired the awakening, too tired the living.

Too tired am I to resurrect my derelict intellect. Banality of evil nothings and murmurings of difference in course. Too tired am I, too tired. Too tired I die.