Over Field And Glen 1994/02/08

Run free with the wind in the fielded glen. Fast as a cloud with a few minutes over a valley to spend. Then rest beneath a few trees with hints of azure skies above the boughs. Or bathe in the cool of mountain streams during spring thaws. For such occurrences I bodily strive. Bound through nature’s eternal struggle with happenstance.

To keep my life I write, I sing. I fly as in a dream with birds on a wing. An augury of flight. Innocents of the night. With our lives like ritual and a foreboding sense of might. Where we will land to the predator there is given no clue. Simply a fact that this story continues later is true.

A Candleweight Ten Thousand

In a word. Slammed! Mother Nature’s own son get out the tackle and using it to raise up both his arms. Still righteous and real heart rending. Oh but to make your query of the air. That same thoroughfare as the gospel messages. Given to flight by the birds and their unassuming breezes. Chill and aerodyte. A systemic set of ropes echoing clear. So bound by obstruction. So well fielded as to give strata to its broad sweep. Of the passages, the waterways, the landsdown way of catching tails midnight. A stormy concatenation of modernity and reach.

If there comes back to point, that poetic license is a dealing in proclivities. That meander before stealth is a cataclysmic reprieve from the dunder of a simple and shy hunting. To wink in the age of fascination. To be given to charmed reckless havocs. In determined causality of smelling a quaint blueberry pie cooling in the breach of an open and unguarded kitchen window. If the belt of a hefty broach said making good on the bibard, the penchant, the hustle, of gray eyed and stumbling dodgers.

There has been up till now a good amount of experience to remit the wealth of the common unto the dominion of the reel. There are not again as many oogling codgers to make off with the coffers of the house of justice. More of a due concord in the way that trees buffet and sands sift their dross unto dirty rain. A fitting contentment on the board of believers although still being thwarted by the contest of deserts where there are drowning and the mar of realities when there is not to be found a drop.

Life. Were it raised up behind the stump to reach the conversations of leading tonic and tones. The wistful and indeterminate in their contesting figures of art. The very air above can weal and turn in broad and cavorting temptations. While the given nature of the past time cross. If there are to be more sheep in the fold. Well then if the keep of their hearts to shelter will continue to bleet at their mistress like lambs. She the one to see to their high mountain passes.

Between faux geste and the solar bearing of a kept sort of universal time. Broad out across the waters beyond cliff face and hungry rocks of the reef and fallen takes on the humble towering of the above. A season to take off the normal chains of our intuitions and accept the vocalizations of a consulate. The remaining ephemeral traipsing of a bandy few to their watches and their wait.

To blow the horn of yesterday and remember the Winters release of our dreams to the Summer gardens and the liberty to make good on one’s time. Well spent and garnering both a memory and a taste. For the blessed sunshine and the greenery of the tree and field. The forest in its vertical ascension into the guises of the upward and outward skies in the fair above.

Simpleton Seeking Rhyme 1994/10/26

One and the same and I think of this often. One less nail in the coffin. Got to wonder what cloths he’s doffin’. These clues are out leagueing in the rain. I feel a bit certain it has brought me a deep seated pain. As if I have run the full gamut of my grain. The coursers on the track with a haughty swain. Once labeled legally insane. My how I asked to complain. If only creatively I were afforded substance and did gain. Then I could give a jingle the jangle and let it, let it lap at the harmonious in a fell dispensation of the rains. But I won’t be out there in that maelstrom messaging around in my bi-plane. I’ll be quaffing root beer and chucking pizza inside, in a corner, content, and without want to wane. Never die in bed for want of a tongue to give meaning to a blood red stain. It is something I find as primitive as my want to be found in a name. So no more dropping a shift by taking something lame. For I have found it is a no good old hilarious game. Though it dies early it is not forgotten for being tame.

This good gal I have got has on the goods with her raiment. Mister Bobby really just saps like hoopla about making the necessary payment. But as I can see there is no real telling where they off and went. I’ll win the lottery and none but a penny will be needfully spent. Then I will just go and give where I never lent. I’ll be a philanthropist or like a politician remembering all the babies he’s kissed. Can’t go and wake up in the morning there wanting to be pissed. In fact that bitter little witticism of mine might not even belong in this list.

The seldom gleaned but growing green of indich cud. Creeping along for some ancestral and graymalkin coping mean. A light’s reflection made this out to confusion with suds. Let the pruning gleaner round up a levee flood. Cold wash away the cow’s own barn-red blood.

And so we see it is for this good kid to remain in her trust. And though she can taunt a bit with her outlandish ways there is not a grain of sand that should go bust. So come on enou, righteous and simply, stop that poor reason from being your fuss. I’m telling you so I don’t have to go out on that limb there treating you to none of my cuss.

Thrice I delivered your sayings to the ends that were loose. My livelihood thus made out likened unto a Western flying goose. Some of the incarnate wars dropping their tools and bringing out their respites at a truce. She made up neither a name for the freshet in her locks nor the child without labor on her back in a papoose. But when back it came on the much emaciated bull moose we found he had gotten his stockinged feet stuck in the fecund sluice. We already knew it must have been how the honeybee squeezed a lemon to cure with his nectar and juice.

The queen could hold him tight though at first they were rather attending to something of a boost. The varied and auld diffidence fared its way through. The media and its channels right on out to the news. So I sat around and came up with a song for her I called ‘That Kind Man’s Blues’

They came calling on me, so I figure I had already paid those dues. And you know, I am older now and I understand more of the assignations behind the stemming of the loci and voci proctors in our melodics. And stone’s throw wooing of this foundling and nascent innocence. And yes even its delightful dumbfoundedness in the mete of these so many efforts. Out to know our very own peculiars. Our relaxations, and our austerities. As well we would choose to afford them a good string or two, a few clues. Shifting in these reels I almost feel like the sour in the mash of some homemade fruit-top booze.

Can’t Let You Be 1994/10/26

There are angels disappearing and the devil can’t let you be. There are angels disappearing and the devil can’t let you be. Only the right good son of man around here can set you free. I do hold a belief in a kind and endearing Lord. Travel the same dusty roads Angels have trod before. Ring out the calends with drumming dowel rod accord. And if its some fecund parse of earth that helps us live. Then we don’t trespass with want of our retractions to plod out afford.

Is God our own genius wood? I’d listen intently if I could. To the simple young man’s text uttered aloud. To a zealous awaiting crowd. When death its face will show to our ancient55% ancestral dynamo. It can in double helix twists continue to intimately persist in fratyries forma conceive of and consist. It is a masque only fit for portrayal of what the mind does resist. And the morning of our songs rises on this land to rapsodize and5566t l6ist.

Even in harmful animal gyres for what was once bereaved quickly expires. To reach loftily some foreground skyward. With a good heaven for our abitrator and bird. 56556565A dovecoat passerby noticed for his laurel leaf making out the rites in a customary way for the settled beast. Who turned his manes(manse) to the east. Where stands the last blown away blood shamed priest. To think on some old Western religion there was a due. Here troubling our game of ‘duck, duck, goose’.

So for a love of life and a father’s trust there recedes, like new ambers int66666686o the wood, shadows from a researcher’s bust. The long walk on a frequent road to meet up with some of that tireless dust. The old steel mills of Pennsylvania under their guarantee against the blades and axeheads. Unkempt and troubled by the awakened introduction of moisture and then rust.

Hello 👋, Hello 👋,

Offal Care

Offer care at a level somewhere. Above awares, are the sublimns of any lesser importance than the sort? Of matter rooting in its form. Is it motion that brings arc to bow? Those lengthy gaited and hallow strides in the revolution of their quandary. The cross borne plots of matter. Through space in motion. From the gravity of a fallen leaf or water down a stream.

The moon askew in its round from the general hobnobbing of the planets. And then the sol in its fascinating wheel twinkling on and off. By verifying a round succor. But itself triambulating a course of 4 motions or rather 3 motions bearant upon a core vessel.

A keeper of sakes floundering like some new fish on the dockside. And further be the plane in any reaction of numerous flight. Gaiting in volumnicity and stratagem. For some period at a reckon with mindset. And relative conjuncture of paradigm. And orthodox mitering at rite with revelation.

Could the octave and its few scales bear upon representation of the universal colossus? What to praefect the learning aptitude. And settle any qualms against practice and well contained hypotheses. It is a duel tremens that airs the third. Dimey at a mention-duration. Long enough to pick a gait. Long enough to bow under and lay.

The ground strewn in its contesting bouts with revolution(entrofusion). To find some harmony in this epochal. Like ratios of the interning fate. The smallest besmidgeon and the longest tide between ebb and flow. It is some method of emotion at a virile stance with any affection or fertility.

The fuse of consciousness looks for new and different means. To accept or rather digest the influx of such matter with precept in one’s self. Wit’ the rationale at want in garner for report. Some pliable civilized cant with the theros of imaginings making mendicant the hallows or shaded side. Some relative use, some mythic livelihood that grips the conscience by the whole. And then receding as if it has brought a new sketch of the stars to its own focus and frame. At a mete with science, at a core for sure. Yes my indigenous side still hankers for the evolutionary stuff.

A diversity of intentions has the watern soul, in converse, in sure measure, and to smart with such dole of the indicative and thoughtful process allured. A cohesion of spirited trains in the mirthful respect for one and his cohorts. This acclamation in encouragement for the pathos of the mind. How seek it, I, with cant equippage at the outset in the paranormal array to lay against it. Meditative states of robustness and boundary. The eternity space of marques thrown near to capsize on the shore. A prince of the heathen starside village.

The reinforcement of historical credence drawn by not langouring, not smuggling the mishap of a fallen dawn. Does the baroque cavort upon a surface or is it more a wheel milling of the course in its figure and number. It would seem the motion enrapt of self and charmed by offspring. To look back estrailing on some dremarian conquest of the exhibitionary mien and liege. It is curious that a revolution enkind could be left here remaining in odd sorts of spiel. In odd parts of a fused wheel. Or spiral or snaking filibuster of its coil and mane. The freeweight accumulation of firth and bow.

A last handled paying of the homage to any mentos serendip that escape the beauty of the rose and its stone in a messianic attempt to bridge the gaits. With cross-reflex inter-temerities of an awry muscular flex. And the Saint of a lock and bar counting up his cultural whereabouts with his head like a man.

On more than one mission at once. A mark skanse his halidome. Raising in shape like a stand before the new days rising sun. A penchant for non-vehicular movements, read to all like a list that fate is no worse fare. For a better common good than one who’s tune seems strong enough, but fails in its distant recoil and falls too often like a limb to the wind or other such disparaging weathers.

Kettle Bell

Looking into the gloom in an amusing and songwriting kind of typecast need to presently go about the ruins of this late war. Without fatuous displays make good on my coventry and in God’s good service, try to at least, to bring about weal in earning my wage. If this need to attest, to query, to make good on promises and petitions. And the descritory confluency of ramshackle husbandmen speaking of womins and lambs. Also Clara, and Elsy and Bessy, and May.

That the fielding of ryeman and crossbearer go passable into the drink and are reliable beholding unto the pools of a shoreline ocean at low tide. Good enough to collect supplicant realities of the rolling sands and the cut loose bottoms. With currents of the old whaleroad coming to bouts. Drawn upon the sea from the outlet of rivers worldwide and deluvian in their release to the high spirits. Clowning the rafts and jambs in their escapement of fealty unto the campus of those broad waters.

A crow’s harbour of the woeful and right to pity. A last ditch effort to get up to snuff in the lackaday and upright and relieve the hoveled and the pinched. With the nuance of charming clatter and the charge of a hospitible drum. Hoops and solace in the turning gait of independents’ that quivels and spits, burns out and fiercely requits the display of teeth.

With every other semblance to the reel strayed out to a glen of the fielding career. The gear and the Wright’s foot. A kings’ ransom for the fearing of civility. The goat’s head soup of a cavalier and assuming despondency. How it clears the roof and supports the filch for his carrolus innurement of medicinal blends and denatured tinctures.

A breadth of cover inclement to the diaspora of run down streets. The emblazoned recalcitrant, a stuffed goose of the bonnie pike. How now brown cow. Where does your garten frail its picts? Are the wicked and parsimonious the same flagrants of repasse as the rioter and his ill acquainted dogs. Not to die outright but within the guise of the earthly church. That sovereign empowered in the creature beats and elemental scions of the dutiful and fruited.

Surrendering to the clandestine hinterland of subjugated viands of green. As if the running down of burr and tawn. Where in the sidereal cogent of placer rhymes and cordial assays makes good on the all to often henpecking of dispassionate qualms and painted glare of a south going mystic.

The book gets thrown. The laurel crown it falls along with the thorny and them gone up and died. Only the ivy seems to understand the apparent lack of penchant honesty in the tooth gnarled pugh and quarrelous hangers on. If you don’t know then you are a lying fool. Got no real need to identify with any other than the devil and his Satan stick. Always in repair and high tallying to the tune of ignorance too toward earth-centric consistency. A regularus mood disparity amongst the locus of illegitimate sinners. At taught with the steal of the official broken plate diners. Without, the gone mayers just continue to place their jimmy the crow spinners and say I me mine you stupid farce of Witchhazel and blazing beginners. When the lie ties off it is at the betrayal of its persuasion. Not too many freakshow winners left to bring in papa his review of the wicked kempt treats.

No most of those people wound up kicking themselves in the head before they could get out of the way of the mess they were bringing. Eh? What’s that? No repulse for your thoroughfare. But I thought you were assuaged in your horrendous reprieve. Don’t tell me your back here for being such a complete pain in ass was all over again. Well the sickness of disease does enjoy the voluntary slave. Much booty to go to their bouts with chainsaws and watchers and in short order bring on the remove of the shrubbery. From its reminder, from its satiety, from its mien.

It Is By Attempting To Bring About The Singularity,,,

It is by attempting to bring about the singularity that people capture their most sussinct image of ourselves in the throes of our craft and we are thus best branded. That distinction of consciousness. That subtlety of charisma. The very fine and high meter of one’s personal effects and really driving home the whole and real reason for capitulation and surrender in the first place. We know that we will be judged and if it affects how we allow it to touch our feelings it will soon become apparent in how we are treated as well.

For we really do happen to stand outside of the general familiar with communal spirits. And in the accumin of personage, in the bearing of those standards for our craft and our spirits we are well to admit that circles close as well as they do open.

If not to say anything more about it than we eat our crow when we have our own foot in the proverbial mouth. And we soar beyond the elan of the zietgiests in the ragged but right way our temerities and wandering pathos are met with bye and bye. This at the tipping release of efflusion into the pondering of one’s own recondite gatefold midlife crisis. What is further defining of how now it is our path to an admittedly acceptable reign through the acquiescence of ascension.

Having passed on the ecliptic of the Vulcan pineball trotter and going the rounded diamond back to home without striking repasses of a formidably pangyric proof. The levee is no longer on our host, the maven. Who gazing daily upon the lawn as if in a scheme of prophetic acceptance. And as well in countering trouble by waylaying thoughts of a deluge that here anyone knowing participation is also them of a mutual and chi matter at personal attendance toward detail. Even at the affectionate interplay of touchstones alighting upon reminiscence and rare invited intrigue.

The age of the adeptus and all good company thus inclusive in taking up launches and verily secreting away the arc of that career path. Becoming likewise arcane and more robustly stout realism. A gainer of a subjectivity gone hard. Lowing ilk and the commizeration of playing the gaited ball fields has too within its cheer a sympathetic gauge. Now the look of a sometimes bleak, sometimes dreary road in from the country to a local set of streets.

Swift on the mall of a dog walking, a person jogging, and about 3 assorted riffraff doing their best while. All sitting under a single tree singing in their present tone the dirge to the vapid ages. Concerns withstanding of those presently attending haply amongst the consideration of business during the time passing.

Some few necessaries to make the best out of clemency in weathers also become apparent. Giving into one’s bedfellows and thus of an order to secure the initiative of possible outlyers for countering, philosophically speaking. This the train of ardor usually included in making due with the confab consensus. Each character heading up the camp and rapping with one another merry in the guise of passing ’round an afternoon hoot.

Not to get noticed for anything to quite perfectly historionic or verbosely thrown out of the mind in some offhand extemporare. And worthy once again of mostly, gladly, tything discerned their little church pew out underneath the daytime stars. In this the sublimely well cast, and by rote, from most beautifully kept veneration of a synod for its sugar.

Also of a simper and a wan and a smote kind of peeling at a more accustumed preparation for this laughter,,,, In being, the wellness of simple humanity adjusts really to hanging out parkside today enjoying the local brink of skilly scally closetkeepers and their tea. The levity of time wellspent is a passage of euphoric temerity and subconsciously drifts from numeries of selflessness to the very uptake of charge.

It is romantic and it is a founding. It supremely bows before the faith and does not stress beyond its mean. It is a satisfying and solid turn of decency. The passion it demonstrates is made out to welcome. For it is both timely and a beautiful thought. That respect I would trust and that indiscretion if it need remit is a sane and so soluble function of refrain from one’s own shame or fear. In tune with becoming one thought, one decision, one peace of holy and inequivable uninterrupted mind.