what dreams of eternity


 what dreams of eternity where the broken body repaired restored and your teeth perfect
  your hair shining your arms pain free
            no more arthritis no more pain lifting and weighing no more pain crying
       but heartening air free floating over the sun across the sea

            loving the ones you love freely not hampered by borders and wards
           of bureaucrats and passport control

        not frauded by war and the men of war the evil doctor who from the start of time
his nasty plot, the tool death,
the gangster

killing everythign loving and good,

             better to be dead in t he other world, than this flat
                            landscape where so many die daily for no reason,

 you won't accept and I wont,
           accept that death           in life, which nihilists support,

                       the ship moving on remitting,
                  the air calling ,
                              and the welcome  greeting of a novel world wrestling around us
             showing us the way,
                                          the boat's breasting the water heaving out its sighs of love
  as when   a dock 
                    and a lock
                                             I fear no death that is  the first death,
                                       roar of the old world the old whore hanging on by its teeth to the nothing
                                                                                                       that ever was

                               I'll bring my peace to the new world where you  are
                                             waving, watching , learning about the new body
                                                                                                     and the welcome day of 
                                 ever earth loving,
                                                            the bright shine of the new sky
                           never heard never seen  
                                                                     by eyes like these with a mortal song,





every day you breath the word speaking or writing
   theres more to the story than that but i wont tell it here


your hand


every day you breath the word speaking or writing
     eternity's come taking your hand
           walking the wide universe
 atheists be damned



Re: quanta / wave/ quality

re: quanta / wave/ quality   

   a few notes tossed off a ,
                while i was falling out the plane,
   (that no one understands, least of all , _____, )
                                 where the wind tore,
                                               and the bank rang,
                                       she came to winging out of the sheets of dollars,
and the remembering of thought,  with the whirligig of my harmonica,
                 as you rattled in the wing, hanging on a booth,
                             with a merry go round, and the cyprus trees, burning were they?
                  no gazing and glowing  in the park down to the sea,
                              the stelae

                 and the quantum ever increasing,

Dominus vobiscum, Et cum spiritu tuo.

dominus vobiscum et tu spiritu tuo  ring ring ring,

                   &   some
                                   Irish Galic's spoken in your sleep

                                       unconscious native dna in the blood , the blood stream
                                               singing the language, and you were wearing the weather red
                                       white and the speckles, the branded flower of a sorted garden
                                               murmuring each word,

                                      no more sentences'il vous plait,



quanta / wave/ quality


 pushing the quanta of poetry word in the magic number of a word

           __________where and how does it begin?

 the quanta of poetry being produced nowadays is more than fantastic it's rich varied and virtually beyond the

  reach of small, medium and 'large time' publihsers, thus the blogs,

the massive numbers of them,

                     there's also the spoken word movement,

  because publihsed in print outside of the usual literay cirtcles and machienry the machines of  the middle class reception  is Masssive

                      those controllling the poetry being heard read and seen is small

realtie to what's being produced

Poetry month is a cute misnomer

 for 'April is the cruelest month
                  and no other way April showers bring May flowers


s like opinion in sports

it's infinite and varied, and informed and Uninformed depending on the who what where and when,

 ____________________twitter has let some Opinion show and become Publick------------|||||||||||||||outside of the uusal Am and stupid Big Sports Prime time shows on television etc.

     but the real Opinion is that up  20,000 people at least attend a game and at outrageous prices,


and its the same thing with poetry


             the real opinion of poetr y works, the opposite way,

                                the real Opinion of poetry is not attendance,

say at any given event)

             but the What is happening outside of the Big Machines

                in the mouth of an old woman speaking a language she hardly understands

at  agiven moemtn
                creating poetry,

or the sppedy dialect of  a cashier rattling off joual high speed chase cat ch up with your thoughts lanngugage

                              the re(a)el attendance of poetry
                is outside

but what's real then?

does that mean that shakesperea is unreal
        or the writing of the anarchist Burgess unreal?

No on the contrary their work is Real

  even when appearing on the Inside
            its' Inside is in fact Outside

 their Inside is Outside in


the quanta of poetry always escapes even its so name best practitioners.                                                                                 




the future


  the future is multiple or will not be ,
        at  all

              t he  resurrection, all over the cosmos,
                breaking through the molecules,

  (no it was,  'crashing' through the molecules,  '  got the whole thing somewhere,
                            written by hand first, then typed, typed typed, typewriter,

          that last line, i wrote at 23ish ,  Mister C, recently, in a conversation , round about 2 years ago reminded me of that,

it slipped mymind, i don't remember writing those words until he quoted them back to me in a phone conversation,

 and the rest ,
   it,s somewhere,

        invisible ink,

of christ breaking through  the firmament,
                and the rivers,

 & what's his name's idea,   (my bks are so and so 's place somewhere in Ontario if he's still alive),

                     of the new being (becomings-many_ on other planets arriving, other new beings,

                 other resurrected One(s) so if One is One is it it many simultaneous occurring in the future?


     to end sentence,  how to end writing sentences,
                          with period,s, and clause, cause,
clause, and 'sub -ordinate  ' clauses, loggings,
going round,

, find your molecules crashin through,

                      why excuses,
                                    not  the  body,


..'matins' holy week ...


And am I wrong to worship where
Faith cannot doubt nor Hope despair
Since my own soul can grant my prayer?
Speak, God of Visions, plead for me
And tell why I have chosen thee.

and am am I have chosen thee
faith cannot plead for me four you grant
since my speak Visions of thee,
worship where, my own  Speak
 tell I have chosen thee, and tell,

 ------------------------ Emily, Bronte was born the same day as he ,

now this could change how a few things are thought about and what about love? isn't it supposed to be eternal? what's eternal if there are mass Ive Black Holes and what is I? 've? what is you? you who thought? and this delicate tenderness existing.. spite of rains and forest but what is a supermassive 'black' hole and the whole of the hole and the body without its splendours and it's this teaching which makes the machine work.. between pages of rope and sigh......


   'Sagittarius A* (pronounced "Sagittarius A-star", standard abbreviation Sgr A*) is a bright and very compact astronomical radio source at the center of the Milky Way, near the border of the constellations Sagittarius and Scorpius. It is part of a larger astronomical feature known as Sagittarius A. Sagittarius A* is thought to be the location of a supermassive black hole,[6][7][8] like those that are now generally accepted to be at the centers of most spiral ...'



And am


And am I wrong to worship where
Faith cannot doubt nor Hope despair
Since my own soul can grant my prayer?
Speak, God of Visions, plead for me
And tell why I have chosen thee.

                           Emily Bronte
                                    (b July 30  1818)


re types of eternity, and infinity, and notes,

Re: types of eternity and infinity, notes to ,

  Atheists and   others won't be accept by eternity!
         it's  they who  rejected it!
                                                    rejected her


  Eternity took her hand  held
            opening the door to infinite sky


only cowards don't believe life continues
        after breathing halts
     punching life down to its smallest cause
              reductive death
               that's cowardice, nihilism, another ism,

               bravery's believing in the great

  god held the long sky
                  where her soul ran to sing
                            her holy breath

courage requires life in the face of universal infamy and death


_____________________ Do you think you're too hard on atheists?
                                               No  not at all it's they who are too harsh on life
                                                          it's they who made their own grave
                                                                       sinking in the tomb

                                                                    death's  a little sham
                                                                                not something you and I believe  nor accept
                                                                     your molecules and hers theirs won't shatter
                                                                     nor will her soul's memories die away
                                                       but in eternity's grace will rebuild
                                                                   and the soul waiting but not waiting in eternity's
                                                                                         ever breathing open skies
                                                                                              As if someone I loved could die to this stupid world
                                             stupid world of injustice
                                   ugly cruel world of no sense nor the the bombed ones nor the ill ones
                      from the moment of breathing
                                       nor the long shadow of war and the ugliness of tyrant and greed
                       wealth the dirty tawdry game of  and the comparision
                                    the false she's escaped this
                                                moved on to something higher better greater
                                            where no suffering is
                         t he sun heals forever never burns
                                  nor cries of fog and danger

                                                       she is that light angel footstep to the sky


death you ...


                death you are not mighty 


(  you're a second rate thug,

                       used by the corner boys keeping the one down)


O where is thy sting?


                                      She has flown to eternity



Re: do nt be proud miss dumb donne' ... be not proud ...' don(ne) is a good place


Re do nt be proud miss dumb donne' ... be not proud ...' don(ne) is a good place

More like Mister Bunn... n  'd be a good place to leave off the road spiralling into the future
 where death is not a pavement for the ordinary person
        not this filthy stamping out of the so called naturalists who hurt the dead
                       with the  view
       kindling the fire

but you know like I do it's just another room a chamber  a place, a home, a palace, a mansion
                                     a range, a belvedere, a porch,
                      an approach
                             to seeing the universe

                                 off the balcony of the cosmos


do nt be proud miss dumb donne' ... be not proud ...' don(ne) is a good place


 Re: ' ... be not proud ...'  Don(ne) is  a good place to 

          start but not stop nor stay  geographies, rooms, interior paramours, rich, and mourir,
               the court the  ruff  roaring would be man of  late
                     latter era of the Shakespeherian rough bear swilling bear baiting decade
                         nor the Spanish traveler the unfortunate Italian
                           and any poet worth his salt silt on the edge of map king size consigning

Mona has know time for these boot edges bastards of past time their rumbling nostalgia of empire now dragged out councils and cheap holidays in other people's misery nor do it end with the bend

and Brexit box of empire ending ending ever bending knew under the lash of Ism Ca ca pee pee ta Lism ism ism ism  
  ism  the monster fracture that you believe so many believe believe it will save you
    will save you
           your miles your homes your smiles your burials your bundles your laptops
                 your fantasy of culture ,
                          none but washed and rewashd under the torrent of filth like the spoken
                                        word nostalgia and  the written word malaise of the self
reflecting boobies
              that you stand and represent a failing death culture

                      stuck on its own nose navel

                                        O so O sir  we've no time for the dumbbell your sermons
                                     nor for the fantasies of the  dominant ideas of the day
                                             which are always those of the ruling class

 Jill won't join the weather jointers and their apocalypse of mania of paranoia of eclipsing planets
                  nor the whirligig of the dead

                              nor the athesists naysayers and the     'natural cause'                    




Re: Re: is it a bird plane a lover?


ReRe re
: Re: is it a bird plane a lover?

 it was a train/a bus
                  not a A cab
              or Uber Ubu   (in Poland which is nowhere)
             you were running in the rain
                           after your visit to the place of horror
                you returned learning nothing

                         your eyes full of commas,

                                          her shoulders
                                                               her ,