warner treuter

This hate you have for your family,
Let it go.
Right or wrong, let it go.
And of course, you're right,
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She likes the sadness,
Life has let her down,
Prefers to smiles
The furrows of a frown.
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All the beauty I have known,
For me extant in palimpsest,
(Real, would weigh a trillion ton) ,
God carries on his breath.
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All the beauty I have known,
(For me extant in palimpsest;
Real, would weigh a trillion ton) ,
God carries archived on His breath.
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Revisions are what poetry is all about.
Double-digit revisions show you care.
I remember writing a poem about a man
Who lived in a weird area where
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It's happening already.
Don't you feel it?
The subtle changes
In the evolutionary body
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note: I am not in entire disagreement with
the paramhamsa u. only I think it can only apply
to the exceptional one in a billion who may be ready
for such an extreme action. It can in no way
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Even chakra wheels run down
Set within the body;
The wheels remain immaculate,
The body becomes shoddy.
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I said to him, when the visitors had gone:
'Master, why didn't you tell them what they wanted to know? '
'They didn't ask right, ' he said.
'They didn't ask the right questions? '
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an old acquaintance of mine, on reading
some of what I've been writing nowadays,
remarked that clever commentaries are no
substitute for real art. I, of course, heartily agree.
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Wet, Windy Night on the payment,
Lonesomeness with a will,
I walk the somber city streets,
Skirting the sides of a hill.
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You think that love, though separate, can sing
Itself a special pleasure born of two,
Or mediate what's old to get what's new,
Or hear joy shout amid love's whispering;
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The answer is not in the dark
Which you continue to investigate.
The answer is in the light.
This is because the constituents of problems
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Mary had a little lamb
Whose fleece was soft as water,
Which was a naughty little lamb
To do what it hadn't oughter.
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The lie is in the way we live,
The processed foods, the chemicals,
Each stupid pharmaceutical
That dumbs us down to suitable.
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Boffo, Boffo, it's near the end,
Tend what you know you most should tend.
Take Life's baggage by the tail
And piece by piece discard it well.
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Sense of beauty is religion's handmaiden.
Like religion it can be warped
All out of shape
Into phenomenal creations. But
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The golden goose that gave gold eggs is gone.
Its last poor eggs were alloyed anyway.
It did not leave a trail to inspire one:
Giving to those who could not true assay.
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The earth will not be free of hate and violence
And be filled with thoughts of good-willed tolerance
Until we've rid ourselves of the old religions,
And hold beliefs not edifice but stanchions.
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- note: just a quickee poem of alert on what could be the major turning point in modern world political history. -

Alex Jones
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