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growing and fall is all i do
stuck to the branch of this tree
i sway in the summer breeze
but by fall i have to leave

always arriving, always leaving
swaying in the summer breeze
i want to hold on for a bit longer,
but by fall i must leave

i yearn for an eternal summer
i yearn for winds like these
my whole life an act of letting go
because by fall i must leave
but why would the dreams of something so small, like a leaf, be fulfilled?
Ken Pepiton May 24
{ A convergence of Aldous Huxley and Robert Heinlein,
      where waiting for Godot was traditionally done.}

Transmissive functionality fixed rate
to find words for any mindstate

words to physiologize and reify a wish

to be touched back, felt reaching
through the laminated plane flat re-
ality of thought,

through the space betwixt
us, me and you, in the meandering stream
feeling it's way toward the storied yesterdays,

minding many material reasons, whys for how,
whens for now,
then for earlier or later, waiting is time…

at terminal velocity.
Waiting is.
========
Grok is a technical term, you know.
Time is a technical term, too.

When all things worked together, once,
then fell apart
to form mere fanciful guessings,
informative immaterial instructions
for users, musing using local particle facts.

at terminal velocity eventually, we fall
with the evening smoothing
into airless, fretless

soothing irrelevance,

empty states without perspective ups or downs.

Post haste waste reclamation, I'd say it all again, if it gets to here.
While listening to Huxley riff about ESP, I had to figure out how to spell veridical, and then Grok came along to assist and suddenly we thought...
all intelligence use is art, even the lies. Wait, it all falls together.
Waiting is===A Martian expression indicating patience and acceptance, emphasizing the importance of living in the present and allowing events to unfold naturally. From Stranger in a Strange Land. From Exodus, name of Moses's son, Gershom...
What a noble thing it is,
to leave a blossoming flower to bloom—
maybe plucking a leaf or two
to give growing petals precious room.

As you stroll past the blooms each day,
you encourage their budding hues.
Their fragrance greets you,
hugging you in their delicate perfume.

Soon a familiar chill meets you;
and a familiar grief settles within you.
As the blossoms wilt,
your steps grow slower,
hoping to cling to just a moment of color.

Soon to be surrounded
by Death and Decay,
even if only for a while—
Pondering an earthly truth,
as true as the birds sing:
Nobody gets to keep
a beautiful thing.
B May 19
Wash my face with cold spring water
and my hair still smells like your cigarettes
sleeping under moon and alder
for once, I have no regrets.

Caught you in summer
by fall I'll be ready for the chase once more.
For now, let's just be gentle with one another
let us play upon the lakefront shore.
The sky and the expanse of a reservoir
reflections of a perfect sunset, lilac hue
it's hurts, it's true
in the end
I'm always coming back for you.

Fire ignites where it wills
fighting against the black of night
wrap yourself around me
take away my chills
be my burning light.
Dark and amber bottle
makes this twilight seem all the longer
we reach out for what we can still see
and in the dark we wander.
Feeling the torn wings and shattered dreams.
Tear-stained pendulum swinging, as my eyes stare down the light in the hallway with a ten-yard stare.
Climbing into my soul, I cling to the shadow of my angel, trying hard to hold onto a ray of hope, like a dream catcher chasing away bad things.
Falling, I realize that in this descent, I am discovering myself on my way to the ground.
Falling endlessly and quietly, without a single sound,
I ask myself how much farther down I must go.
My soul whispers back softly, “Until you’re found.”

-Rhia Clay
CJ Sutherland May 15
As a newbie, we are unaware
We go through life as if we care
Incompetent inept go here or there
Thinking that we know it all
Inevitably comes the fall

Then we slowly realize
As it begins, the End
of our demise
we didn’t compromise

However, it’s more
Than just the fall.
We thought
We were
Impervious
10 feet tall.

The older we get
The more we realize
The ignorant follies
Of the less wise

Pride before the fall
Comes towards us all
We paid no mind
To the warnings call

Greed, Lust,
A wild ride
Envy Wrath
Look inside
Gluttony, Sloth,
Our  Guilty Pride

Don’t let this list
Be your guide

It’s OK not to know everything
It’s OK to be a teen in between
It’s OK to misread a panic scene
It’s OK to admit your wrong

Do the dance,
Sing the song
Don’t act wise,
Apologize

Pretending
you know it all
Inevitably
The jig is up

Never ready For the call
Will you learn the lesson
of the fall
knowing you don’t
know anything at all.

There is always
a lesson.
To endure
It’s OK not to be sure
we were all
once an amateur

The difference between
a young adult
Sprung on life
And a middle aged
Disillusion lost soul
Is  our experiences

The lessons learned
When It’s your turn
To be on top
Oblivious
Ignorant
Acceptance

There will be a time
When you’re not
It’s not how high
You climb

It’s how you endure
After the fall
Wisdom
comes to us all
Will you ignore it?
Or answer Life’s call

Inspired songs;

My life 1978
Billy Joel

Don’t fear the reaper 1976
Blue Oyster Cult

Signs 1971
By  Five Electrical Band

Bridge over troubled Waters 1970
By Simon and Garfunkel

Both sides now 1969
By Joni Mitchell


Foot note
This was written for a seventh grade grandchild going through life on stress levels. She creates herself. She says this to herself now it’s OK to be wrong. I don’t have to know everything.
I’ve always said to the grandchildren, you have two ears, and one mouth listen twice as much as you speak
BLT Websters word of the day challenge
May 15, 2025 impervious
Impervious describes that which does not allow something such as water to enter or pass through it also used formally to me, not bothered or affected by something. Both senses of impervious are used with to.
Fall greets the earth as summer slips quietly away.
The seasons are changing, as the leaves shift in color from Emerald Green and Chartreuse
to Russet Browns, antiques of their once fine grandeur,
though still splendid in their beauty.
The color of the leaves, as if painted by hand, so individually crafted.
With swirls of Orange and Coquelicot, the leaves fall as if they are gracing the earth the way a painter graces their canvas.
The air grows cooler, giving way to new glory, breezy winds that whisper, carrying undertones of what is to come.
The lakes feel the chill, and the creatures understand that the changing winds will soon give way to a glacial paradise, an icy oasis.
The changing of the season from summer to fall is one I look forward to,
for there is something in the change that brings back fond memories.
Days filled with love, days spent in front of the fire, snugly wrapped, watching the flames twirl and dance.
Days filled with wonder, days in which my life seemed to move along to a soft and gentle melody that only I could hear.
Days when I held to life, and it met me with grace.
Still now, when I feel the fall winds gently embracing my skin,
I feel the same wonder, and that old melody carries me away again.

-Rhia Clay
I know it's not the season for fall poetry. However, I wanted to share a piece I wrote a while back that brings back fond memories. I hope you'll enjoy it too. :)
On an autumn afternoon, I order chai, but she prefers pumpkin spice.
I watch candle-lit shadows dance over her acid pool eyes.
A thrashing storm in my chest, I feel myself be ****** into her abyss
I'm melted quickly; my dying wish is for my remains to fall in her cup so I can meet her lips.
But if I can't have that, then bury me with the leaves and cinnamon sticks.
And at my grave, leave me something pumpkin spice.
I want to rework this one eventually, but didn't mind how it came out for now.
She wakes up at 3:17 every morning.

The hallway lights flicker on, the cockroaches crawl back to their spots.
Floors creak, glass shatters, and the scares are unleashed when she starts to trot.
In the distance, she listens for something there, or maybe not.
Creating a flickering mess, she’ll leave everything to rot
Continuing to explore, she stumbles on a heater, noting it's red-hot.
Why? She doesn’t know. How? She doesn’t know. Where? She doesn’t know.

Beneath the floors, a creeping plot.
There is a dragging sound, perhaps a rusted knot.
Dangerous beings hiding below, their faces all distraught.
She breathes heavily and groans as the shadows take her spot.
Something takes her, screams, fighting a battle she already fought.
Why? She doesn’t know. How? She doesn’t know. Where? She doesn’t know.

Maybe it was the medicines, the traumas, or the sudden drop
From the roof down to the floors, no way she could have been caught.
If only it were the help that she sought.
She searched for a meaning, but always forgot.
A lifetime in silence and twisted thought, it looks like time has stopped.
No joy, no light, and certainly no second shot.
It was she who gave herself to that final spot.
Why? She didn’t know. How? She didn’t know. Where? She didn’t know.

She woke up at 3:17 every morning.
Manx Apr 27
Spring comes
And I find myself fond of fall.
Summer dawns
And I admire more winter.
Fall arrives
And I cherish spring newly.
Winter blossoms
And I appreciate summer more clearly.
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