Poetry is not frozen.............
Still surged in poetry
A stream stemming from the crux
An energetic reflection
An external of internalized intuitions

The flow of the words
Attuned and harmonized
Umpteen snow, melodic tunes
Visualized dreams mending arts

A bursting imagination
A word behind the beats
A free energy of octaves
Pulses of natural architecture

HP our home of anonymities
Acquainted monikers broadcast
Poetry strum through the universe
The singular tones attached

Poetry a scaffold of true expression
A design encoded to amuse
The beauty silhouette on plinth
Hollowed ice with steaming warmth

Poetry the distributed condenser
Sliding from 126hz to 136hz
The domineering kingship
Posing the echoes in words

**Keep going everyone at HP, you are all beautiful!Lets the words dance

a woman who stands
between day and night
with sunset hair,
and eyes the color of leaves
that will never know autumn
sees me standing in the slowly
dimming light of life,
words in the shape of a man.

your voice
like that of an angel
calling me to prophecy or worse, prayer
uses words that redefine me
like the lyrics of a memorable song
i can't even hum when you ask.
your slight accent
is faded by years
of wearing it in a foreign tongue,
like the colors of your favorite clothes
worn too often,
as i am all too often
worn too thin
by the heavy accent of your body in my thoughts.

you see me standing alone
between night and day,
an unabridged dictionary
of hope and despair,
being methodically abridged
by the great condenser of time
and his imitators,
as i am slowly reduced
to a man in the shape of words
like loved and remembered,
and later still
missed and forgotten.

Quand je rêve sur la falaise,
Ou dans les bois, les soirs d'été,
Sachant que la vie est mauvaise,
Je contemple l'éternité.

A travers mon sort mêlé d'ombres,
J'aperçois Dieu distinctement,
Comme à travers des branches sombres
On entrevoit le firmament !

Le firmament ! où les faux sages
Cherchent comme nous des conseils !
Le firmament plein de nuages,
Le firmament plein de soleils !

Un souffle épure notre fange.
Le monde est à Dieu, je le sens.
Toute fleur est une louange,
Et tout parfum est un encens.

La nuit on croit sentir Dieu même
Penché sur l'homme palpitant.
La terre prie et le ciel aime.
Quelqu'un parle et quelqu'un entend.

Pourtant, toujours à notre extase,
Ô Seigneur, tu te dérobas ;
Hélas ! tu mets là-haut le vase,
Et tu laisses la lèvre en bas !

Mais un jour ton œuvre profonde,
Nous la saurons, Dieu redouté !
Nous irons voir de monde en monde
S'épanouir ton unité ;

Cherchant dans ces cieux que tu règles
L'ombre de ceux que nous aimons,
Comme une troupe de grands aigles
Qui s'envole à travers les monts !

Car, lorsque la mort nous réclame,
L'esprit des sens brise le sceau.
Car la tombe est un nid où l'âme
Prend des ailes comme l'oiseau !

Ô songe ! ô vision sereine !
Nous saurons le secret de tout,
Et ce rayon qui sur nous traîne,
Nous en pourrons voir l'autre bout !

Ô Seigneur ! l'humble créature
Pourra voir enfin à son tour
L'autre côté de la nature
Sur lequel tombe votre jour !

Nous pourrons comparer, poètes,
Penseurs croyant en nos raisons,
A tous les mondes que vous faites
Tous les rêves que nous faisons !




En attendant, sur cette terre,
Nous errons, troupeau désuni,
Portant en nous ce grand mystère :
Œil borné, regard infini.

L'homme au hasard choisit sa route ;
Et toujours, quoi que nous fassions,
Comme un bouc sur l'herbe qu'il broute,
Vit courbé sur ses passions.

Nous errons, et dans les ténèbres,
Allant où d'autres sont venus,
Nous entendons des voix funèbres
Qui disent des mots inconnus.

Dans ces ombres où tout s'oublie,
Vertu, sagesse, espoir, honneur,
L'un va criant : Élie ! Élie !
L'autre appelant : Seigneur ! Seigneur !

Hélas ! tout penseur semble avide
D'épouvanter l'homme orphelin ;
Le savant dit : Le ciel est vide !
Le prêtre dit : L'enfer est plein !

Ô deuil ! médecins sans dictames,
Vains prophètes aux yeux déçus,
L'un donne Satan à nos âmes,
L'autre leur retire Jésus !

L'humanité, sans loi, sans arche,
Suivant son sentier desséché,
Est comme un voyageur qui marche
Après que le jour est couché.

Il va ! la brume est sur la plaine.
Le vent tord l'arbre convulsif.
Les choses qu'il distingue à peine
Ont un air sinistre et pensif.

Ainsi, parmi de noirs décombres,
Dans ce siècle le genre humain
Passe et voit des figures sombres
Qui se penchent sur son chemin.

Nous, rêveurs, sous un toit qui croule,
Fatigués, nous nous abritons,
Et nous regardons cette foule
Se plonger dans l'ombre à tâtons !


*

Et nous cherchons, souci morose !
Hélas ! à deviner pour tous
Le problème que nous propose
Toute cette ombre autour de nous !

Tandis que, la tête inclinée,
Nous nous perdons en tristes vœux,
Le souffle de la destinée
Frissonne à travers nos cheveux.

Nous entendons, race asservie,
Ce souffle passant dans la nuit
Du livre obscur de notre vie
Tourner les pages avec bruit !

Que faire ? - À ce vent de la tombe,
Joignez les mains, baissez les yeux,
Et tâchez qu'une lueur tombe
Sur le livre mystérieux !

- D'où viendra la lueur, ô père ?
Dieu dit : - De vous, en vérité.
Allumez, pour qu'il vous éclaire,
Votre cœur par quelque côté !

Quand le cœur brûle, on peut sans crainte
Lire ce qu'écrit le Seigneur.
Vertu, sous cette clarté sainte,
Est le même mot que Bonheur.

Il faut aimer ! l'ombre en vain couvre
L'œil de notre esprit, quel qu'il soit.
Croyez, et la paupière s'ouvre !
Aimez, et la prunelle voit !

Du haut des cieux qu'emplit leur flamme,
Les trop lointaines vérités
Ne peuvent au livre de l'âme
Jeter que de vagues clartés.

La nuit, nul regard ne sait lire
Aux seuls feux des astres vermeils ;
Mais l'amour près de nous vient luire,
Une lampe aide les soleils.

Pour que, dans l'ombre où Dieu nous mène,
Nous puissions lire à tous moments,
L'amour joint sa lumière humaine
Aux célestes rayonnements !

Aimez donc ! car tout le proclame,
Car l'esprit seul éclaire peu,
Et souvent le cœur d'une femme
Est l'explication de Dieu !


* *

Ainsi je rêve, ainsi je songe,
Tandis qu'aux yeux des matelots
La nuit sombre à chaque instant plonge
Des groupes d'astres dans les flots !

Moi, que Dieu tient sous son empire,
J'admire, humble et religieux,
Et par tous les pores j'aspire
Ce spectacle prodigieux !

Entre l'onde, des vents bercée,
Et le ciel, gouffre éblouissant,
Toujours, pour l'œil de la pensée,
Quelque chose monte ou descend.

Goutte d'eau pure ou jet de flamme,
Ce verbe intime et non écrit
Vient se condenser dans mon âme
Ou resplendir dans mon esprit ;

Et l'idée à mon cœur sans voile,
A travers la vague ou l'éther,
Du fond des cieux arrive étoile,
Ou perle du fond de la mer !

Le 25 août 1839.

I sing because I like microphones
Work because it’s better than sitting at home
Play instruments to keep my hands from getting cold

Intentions don’t matter until you do something that matters
And break even from trying to stay afloat
If you’re stagnant your heart has gone cold
Ice only touches the surface
Ice only floats

But I wish it would sink
Start from the bottom of whatever you drink
Or put your glass in the freezer
then it’s cold enough to freezer burn you into nothing worth eating

Ice is great on a hot day
But when the microphone drips a little condensation
From condensing thoughts into ice cube trays
From a condenser mic to a bath in a tub of ice
Take the heat off these words
And add water

Nora
Nora stands in the streets,
Nora befriends Patrick,
She tries to defy David,
In red lipstick she is unique,
She cares for her son Nick.

She is from the red light street,
She usually wears ripped jeans,
She waits for her ‘king’
For Nick she buys jelly beans,
She cooks plain beans,
For “love night” he phone rings!!

Nora is compelled to vie Maria,
She loves to share food with Paloma,
Together they discuss erotica,
They want a trip in Valdivia,
They desire to pray in Hajia Sofia.
They are girly girls,
They don’t like to stand against the walls.

Nora adorns herself in red,
She loves to stand in shades,
She seems savory like ‘milk made’
She is just time’s puppet;
She doesn’t love to unzip her jacket,
She wants to imprison the racket!

She is a container of confetti,
She hates to stand against graffiti,
People falsely call her “pretty”
Nora is really needy,
She isn’t a roadside candy,
Still, people see her as a wild berry!

Nora’s long hair is denser,
Her lips are sensuous,
She wears pink n’ purple,
She charms the paupers,
She helps Dora fixing the braid-flowers,
She hates the aroma of fresheners.

All she does for her toddler,
To her, life is a closed condenser,
She loves Julie like own sister,
She waits for lost love Oliver,
She allures people with winged eyeliner.
Nora is destiny’s preserver,
Every night, she kills her customers,
Being a mental slayer!!

Mother of two children and toddlers as a winter crisis in the south, discrimination, etc., Conveyed from town to country to a place that is always evil for the animal and animal spirit. Wild wolves; The animal is hungry. For refugees and owls, sheep and forests looking for asylum. However, from the burned wings of Shearer's mother and SIPRI, where whales and beautiful women are in whales and severe temperatures. He died in Somalia. Movement from the womb of the father's mother and the common sense of humankind; It was the best town on the day my mother was small. The wolves, wolves and wolves of the city Shadow would be born; animals, wolves and other wild animals and birds, but be a Roman Czar, Rachel Oberlin I will wear Golden Death and the Devil in Brazil follows the dog's mother, in fact, many women are sacred; Söndra is the mother of SIPRI, Söndra is the winter solstice for example in the tradition of martyrdom and destroying the Nobel Priestess who is a city in everyday life. Because of the wolves, Wolf and his mother fought wild animals. Some ancestor workers and their husbands are hungry for Satan, Satan's mother, her mother and the mother of asylum. But the devil's refuge is in the branches of forest trees and in many other forms. In ***** and killing sheep, the wolf's skin is warm. The pilot is a part of the condenser that is connected to it. Often blossoms in the shades of blocks at the end of the seal roofs. In 1790, John Martin was born but buried in Greek nectar Joseph D. Rocket. Kids and the mother of two boys critical to the south in the winter judgment etc., always in the same region animals hurt animals. Wild wolves; The animal is hungry. For it is both they that escape the owl from the eggs of the woods to the face of asylum to them. However, the mother and the ashes on the wings of Shearer SIPRI where whales, the most beautiful women of the whales and severe temperatures. He died in Somalia. The movement from the womb of the mother of thy father and from the common sense of men Is the best in the city, and the mother is small. It is said that wolves, wolves, wolves in the shadow of the city, were to be born; other animals, wild animals and birds and wolves; the Roman Czar Rachel Oberlin will wear gold and Devil's death following the dog into Brazil's mother, sacred to many; Sondra's SIPRI mother is the winter solstice, sondra as a teaching priest of Nobel destroys the City's martyr general. For this reason, wolves, wolf and his mother fought the wild animals. Ancestor, some workers and their husbands hunger for Satan, her mother and the mother of asylum.
But the devil is God in my forest trees and branches and in many other forms. In ***** killing sheep in a wolf's skin is hot. What part has he counseled the condenser in? Often the flowers in the shade block the end of the seal's roof. In 1790, John, buried at the source of Greek nectar was born Joseph D. Martin, The Rocket.

You? Yako MIPA 600,
PC and PC fingerprints
to the green and beautiful
Salimilik Man's Evening,
Stable, Military Music
Journal, 1 Windows Windows
Phone, Windows, Windows,
Windows, Yukiwindows,
Windows Girl's Beautiful,
Beautiful Woman, Beautiful
Woman and Beautiful Woman
DMJ Gijini The beautiful
and beautiful woman
in the northern rainforest
is showing off to the young
Brazilian Museum with white wind.
The fourth story is easy to grow.
Correctly updated every day,
fingerprints and computer installers
600 PCs fingerprints, beautiful
green communities in Australia
and subscriptions are so bad
that the night, serenity, security,
aging, music, the Italian and pregnant
women, the Cyprus ***** Tram,
the Atlantic Ocean condenser,
the island's soft And angels,
LED televisions, and navy nikki
and women, women, women and men,
men and women, girls and women,
on computer, computer, computer,
computer, computer, computer,
Compact Women. Filtered,
and fingerprints on more than 600
women's muscles are ignored.
Are we our schools? Computer
security, security, winds, night
storms, music, wind, boating
to Australia has no serious problems
with windows, doors and windows.
you? Yakomipatrimi 600,
PC and PC will be played
with your finger and puppet
Sylvie on the night of their own
battle with their warfare
battle. Music Unity Windows
Windows, Windows, Windows,
Windows: Enhancing YouTube
Youtube, Windows for the Precious
Woman of Married Son Mariam,
daughter of ***** Cousin! The DMA,
the bride and groom are women,
Jo Jogni, this beautiful, beautifully
landscaped oceanic ocean image
of the Museum of Southeast Asian
Studies, is on the headlights
of the child's head. It was the story
and the fourth Sistar. In the computer
and fingerprints on the fingerprints
on the fingerprints and concepts
of the fingerprints for the life
of the computer, the former musician
Green and Subscription is aware
of the companies that are the worst
in Australia. The wind-driven
Windows and pregnant women,
the Cyclopathian Trilient Band,
the Atlantic Ocean, the Island,
the Velasque, and the angels,
LED TV technology, 100 Negegi
Ninichi women, and the women
have women who have women,
men and women. And the woman
is called a beautiful woman.
Did you know a beautiful
woman computer computer
on the fingerprint of 600 women,
girls, and girls bottles? Are we our schools?
From the back door to the computer,
for our safety only, the wind,
the night sickness, the music,
the airplane plane, the Australians,
the worst thing to the window,
the door, the doors and the windows.

The child's mother, two critics south of winter criticism, etc., because always in the same region wild animals do damage. Wild wolves; The hungry animals. The lease is for the use of egg bats. The whining whale and SIPRI ash Shearer's mother whale are at severe temperatures. She died in Somalia. Wolves, wolves, wolves, shadows of the city that he was not born, other animals and wildlife and birds of the Roman costume wolf, gold Jacob Oberlin czar devilish dogs after the death of Brazil rituals many winter SIPRI Sondra's mother Sondra western tan Nobel the martyr town. After the battle the animals were the robbery, the predator and the wolves. Ancient, some workers and their husbands are hungry and Satan, and the mother is the asylum seeker. But the devil is the branches of trees in the forest, and many more. Wolf in sheepskin is an angry man. What kind of contact was he with the condenser giving me advice? He often sits at the point of turning the flowers in order to prevent and wake the highest. In 1790 John buried the Greek nectar source of old Joseph D. Martin, a rocket.