Whale Poetry Writing

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Where logic has little to do, As all, Already simply is. This poem is actually about the ego's death. How I will mourne it, and how the fight to let it go will be immense as it is for us all. Of course, there is life beyond relationship death. Beyond a sense of end; and yes, ultimately all is good preparation for that all consuming final death.


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This poem was inspired by untenable love for another; by the paintings in bold, almost lurid, but zen-like brushstrokes of a fellow Tunnel member, Genevieve Leavold; and by my mate Chris Godber who alluded to whales. It also has to do with my Gypsy heart and Celine's Salon, in Soho at Troy 22, where we celebrated the traveller's soul. Finally, a YouTube clip of a talk given by Guru Mooji in which awareness is being conscious of conscious.

Bon Voyage! Continue reading Evangeline Ruth Hope Aug Thanks Cameron Just by moving through the ocean. Just by moving through the ocean Inside, I am swimming, swimming to get away, swimming to come home to what I knew.

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I feel the hollow dust of of confusion swirling inside me I feel my impossibility like I am trying to catch each dust particle: every old idea I have ever had, before it lands and makes me sneeze --only to blow all the dust particles back into chaos, so I hold my breath I am free. Sometimes its hard Ken Pepiton Jun Were I a Whale. Were I a whale, cartoon or otherwise, I would be for giving as good as I take, and, think, subject ob service auto shifts, if you know auto, yourself.

Ambergris, remember this, some aromas, sweet perfuma, you can't believe, sans gnose blowing during the withdrawals from 6 o'clock news and recovery from Bernays Virii. Behold how great a matter turns, under your standing and above and beyond all a non-liar can imagine having known for sure.

I knew this old guy, one time talked me into daring the deed, you know, it's hard for a whale to let some mind find time, he said, in code It made a good smoke. Life is a whale of a joke, don't you You read, you'll survive. If you can swallow a whale, you can know common sense is unforgot, get it. And with your getting, get standing under, like a shower, you understand. Whale of a feeling, eh? A new voice in my realm, The daring little poem is provoking me daily.

Khoi-San Oct Lama 4h. Andrew Nov I scoffed at my minor cough Until I was immobile as a sloth I had to press pause on my life's tale After I became a beached whale And my body turned frail In my illness jail My stoic resolve tested My pain threshold crested The way I act is antisocial The way I feel is anti-hopeful For I treat others poorly When I'm hurting sorely In sickness for health I give away my wealth To feel one hundred percent That's the physician's intent To make me experience drainage But I need the healing medicine So I can practice the discipline Of removing my diseased shark's fin Ramses II, known as Ramesses the Great Had a permanently fractured finger And his teeth were significantly rotten The pharaoh's excruciating pain Must have effected his reign A massive amount of men slain Is discomfort what's to blame?

When there's no pain relief We give each other grief And there's a lion with a thorn stuck in its paw Eventually that simple thorn becomes a claw.


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  4. Tommy Randell Nov Safe in the wet nest's rocking I listen, with a passion. The Party's ceiling, our bed's floor, hardly creaking with our pressing. Does the whaler harpooner dream of his girl or does the young man with his girl imagine harpooning the whale?

    Ah well, who knows Beatrix Feb Stream of consciousness. I'm swimming in a stream of consciousness rare is the occasion I get to rest I'm swimming sometimes drowning inside my head I need rescue help me please I beg I was running wild with the wind once against the current I flew through the glass window I came suddenly and fell into this room I'm a fish not that big not a whale or a shark more like a salmon in the dark at the bottom of the ocean where I'm not supposed to be I'm out of breath.

    Harmony Korine, the poet (done at SXSW 2010 with fizzpromatenta.ml)

    I'm a fish in your aquarium the one you never get tired of looking at you watch me do the same thing all day how I get bored and lonely inside my rock you watch me grow until I stop I can't learn anything new so I hide and play by myself Once you dropped me on the floor desperately grabbed me and took me home I slept like it was my last day on earth 'cause you never know what's going on in the universe's mind I thought I should've died before but when you're being killed the instinct is to fight I wouldn't mind stop breathing though I wouldn't mind not having feelings Fishes have feelings too I'm afraid of the dark too Here in your aquarium I get to see the most wonderful things!

    Masin Dec Brooke Davis Sep To know I was structured, I wasnt a jumbled mess. Like the mass jiggling, clingling to this withering carcass. Hide out, Hide not, there is a star that holds your promise. Look to the light and be. I would like to keep my wings, dragonfly said.

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    I like to fly. My worth, like pink coral, scrapes against your soul, asking can you feel me, swaying, bubbling in dreams. Enough is enough.

    The Weasel and the Whale

    You mean…I can be…me? I shall not dine on the dragon fly, but we shall eat cake! Behind the leaf of a bush, I searched for you, slipped silent past your heart to breathe goodnight, goodnight like the dragonfly, goodnight. Browse more surreal poems Browse more dream poems Browse more love poems. We hope you found something inspiring here today. No smidgen of editing this be, where hand crafts tweets to leave us shivery and quiet and longingly looking to sea to hear once more this Whale Song ended too soon. I feel that I have fallen down a rabbit hole and landed in this magical land.

    Many adventures here. Interesting too, how I lose track of where my words are in the mix. I like the blending, the way we all work together. Your email address will not be published. Notify me of followup comments via e-mail. You can also subscribe without commenting. The Albatross Albatross draped upon my neck, I toil like an ant pitched against the night.

    The Weasel and the Whale - Kenn Nesbitt's fizzpromatenta.ml

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