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Carl Friedrich Gauss

When a philosopher says something that is true then it is trivial. When he says something that is not trivial then it is false.

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When You Read A Poem Do Not Expect Too Much

when you read a poem do not expect too much
from every word

my words too falter and fall short
of strength like the runner who always wins his sprint
and now in his worst state
mourns for his knee
which is broken

my images too wilt like some red roses that
a lover offered once to his true love
but now deserted
and looks at them in the state of dryness

when you read this poem do not therefore expect too much
this is just a sigh
looking for an opening in the crevices of an understanding heart

this poem is just a mirror and you will be the face who must
give your smile
the light from the window that shall provide the glimmer

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That's Not the Way I Groove

Fumbled up and down...
Tackled to the ground and pounded.
To unabled me to find my path.
Eventually I found.
Encouraged to get up,
And off my butt!

Stumbling to a crawling fall..
I again stalled.
With bloodied scraped knees.
But no one believed I knew...
It was more than a shallow ego,
I had inside with something greater to prove.

I'm not filing a complaint,
About how I have lived my life.
Troubles come and go!
This I have learned to know!

I am not looking for a better way,
To breeze through or make look easy.!
I don't pout...
When down and out!
'Cause that's not the way I groove.

I'm not looking for a better way,
To make this easy!
I've been down,
And have been knocked out.
Spotted silent in one place...
But I am laying with plans,
For a smoother move to cruise!

One that has a solid punch!
Updated and perfected to use!

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For Dreams That Do Not Come True

you sit on one of the marble pavements
of the hospital in the city
looking like a hopeless boy abandoned
by his mother
and people that pass you by think that you
are one of the beggars

you wonder why dreams do not come true
no matter how you pray
you look far without having to see
anything and anybody that is real

you blame no one though
not even the gloomy day
grays clouds heavy and about to rain
air so polluted and faces of people without the smiles
buses running senselessly
indifferent hawkers and arrogant schoolchildren pulling
their bags like a dragging day

everything seems to be surreal
gossamer-like as you float in the air
feeling like one of the illusions in your mind

you accept dreams that do not come true and you think
perhaps some day
yes someday, dreams may come and be real- true
concrete and smooth and confident to the hold of your hands

and then you stand like a true man on unreal dreams
you leave the pavements of illusions
you go back to one of the rooms in the hospital
'No tears! No tears! ' you tell yourself because now
you have learned to be brave and strong and logical.

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Seeing Things That Are Not There

Sometimes our feelings
run deeper than they should,
we mix them with our imagination,
seeing things that are not there.
We see things out of context;
only imagine what
we want them to be,
then getting badly hurt
when we fall back
to the harsh reality.

23 April 2008

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Christopher Marlowe

Who Ever Loved That Loved Not At First Sight?

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should love, the other win;

And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows; let it suffice
What we behold is censured by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

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A Kind That Does Not Flaunt

The kind that say what they mean.
Do what they say.
Accountable for their actions.
Reliable and believed.
A new breed.

A kind that does not flaunt,
What they have.
Want to give of themselves.
Smile when feeling bad.
Does not brag of accomplishments,
Performed in the past.
Ready to receive today in a way...
That creates a purpose,
And leave fresh deeds achieved.
Not display betrayed portrayals gone astray.
They are here to do.
Not discuss it with me and/or you.
Here to turn a dusted page.
A new breed has come of age.

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Something Loose Has Not Been Grounded

You interfere too much,
In other's growth process.
And your assessment of life,
Is limited at best.

Hypocritical and blasphemous,
You quote from scriptures...
But your own life you cuss.
With a daily disapproval....
Close to being diagnosed as bi-polar.

Something loose has not been grounded.

What makes you think others,
Are attracted to you?
What makes you think...
Your constant negativity,
Is a desired longing,
As one's dream come true!

Something loose has not been grounded.
Something loose has flown the coop.

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Luaghter that Was Not Mine

I heard and hear luaghter
That is not mine.
Luaghter dont bolong with me
Only shit and sadness
And uncried tears.
These are the things that lie with me.

I was only 5
You and your mates all gathered around
All the others watched.
While you told me its a new game.
You told me I'd like it
When I didnt
I cried
I got a smack.

I tryed to struggle free
but you were to strong for me.
I had to float above.

I hear the luaghter to this day
You and your mates
Thought it was funny
What a grate luagh.

I wasnt luaghing
I was crying
The pain was intense.

I jhate you
I allways hear you
Hear you luagh.

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That's not rape

A man was convicted for rape even though he didn't commit that crime.
He'll be branded a rapist for the rest of his life and that's a long time.
When this man slept with a woman, he promised to wear a condom but he did not.
He didn't deserve a rape conviction but that's what he got.
Rape is making a person have sex by force.
Not by neglecting to wear a condom during intercourse.
I'll be the first to admit that what that man did was wrong.
And he probably does deserve his jail sentence that is long.
But he shouldn't be called a rapist, that's not fair.
Such injustices might not happen if people were more aware.

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One That Was Not Sought

A gift is given...
Without an ego displayed,
By the giver attached.

The receiver of the gift...
Believing there to be more,
To this giving...
Than something as simple,
As that!

The gift given is given back.
With sarcastic remarks...
And other unnecessary verbal attacks.

The giver of the gift,
Although offended by this...
Keeps a head straight on shoulders.
And makes only forward steps.

With a lesson learned...
And not a temper to display,
The gift giver never shows a disappointment.
Or has a thing to say.

Knowing that a wisdom,
Came as a surprise lesson taught.
From a teacher in disguise.
And from one that was not sought.

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But That's Not It On A Hartford Train

Riding backwards
each brick is
surprise peripheral.

Gaze shapes itself

a moment then to movement


And I am dumb.

Strike no pose
that a poem
could love

much less linger
petulant in a
tinted window.

A brick sticks
in the throat.


An eye.


It is red.

It is dead
weight leaving
residue in
a palm

or place it
sighing to my
chest still
overcome by
the last

brick, and
the other

and so on,

all lost,
a last attempt
to see without
poses and write


The heart says,


The other eye,
the one turned
away from the
window, says:

'God forbid I'm
going to crash the
whole universe.


But that's not


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All That's Not Love . . .

All that's not love is the dearth of my days,
The leaves of the volume with rubric unwrit,
The temple in times without prayer, without praise,
The altar unset and the candle unlit.

Let me survive not the lovable sway
Of early desire, nor see when it goes
The courts of Life's abbey in ivied decay,
Whence sometime sweet anthems and incense arose.

The delicate hues of its sevenfold rings
The rainbow outlives not; their yellow and blue
The butterfly sees not dissolve from his wings,
But even with their beauty life fades from them too.

No more would I linger past Love's ardent bounds
Nor live for aught else but the joy that it craves,
That, burden and essence of all that surrounds,
Is the song in the wind and the smile on the waves.

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The Road That Was Not Mine

The road that was not mine
I've often wondered about?
If I had followed that road somewhere
would I have felt left out?
There must have been something calling to me,
something too obscure
to understand at the onset
that the road I took was my lure.

I do not miss what wasn't mine
for in its absence I learned
how the road I'm on was exactly
the road for which I yearned.
There must be a defining purpose
that propels us to where we go.
At the end of our travels on this earth
we will look back and we'll know.

We will recognize all the holes
and sympathize with unfinished goals
and regrets will fall away.
For the adventures that come to you
will always have you say.
This was my life. I did my thing
and the road that was not mine
was for someone else to travel on.
But I wonder about it sometimes?

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Like everything else that is not here

like a birth in a red rose
sweet flower growing
like the rain falling down
to purify the heart
like anticipations
when the soul cries out
the bolts of words smashing
the silence broken ground
like tears leaking out
the cheeks of shame and pride
like touches untouched fevered
healing broken spines
like getting up walking
across the desert ground
like hailing the sun
when the moon's too bright
like praying words of love
sing no song to silence
across the waves of blue
like a wrath and sorrow
like a pain and smiles
spreading arms in needful
waiting for the signs
like the dresses wrapped
in wardrobes of the mind
never woven fibers
textiled patchworked clothing
like those wounds of blood
clotted in the sun
dried out eyes of sorrow
rising in a laugh
like all those things all people
scattered on the palm
and like everything else
that is not here
like love

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That's Not My Genre

The only ones that might be offended...
Are those who know I am Black.
Speak the truth.
And know they seek ways,
To renovate the plantations.

And I am not surprised,
By those who are working overtime,
To realize that effort.
I don't care how many calls for unity they make.

Those just barely able to read.
Have no comprehension.
Nor ambition or discipline.
And expect to get paid for doing nothing.
No one has to be a detective,
To search for that evidence.

Other than that...
I can not understand 'why'
People may get upset by my poetry.
My writings depict their lives.
Much like what a landscape artist does...
When recreating what is seen to apply to canvas.

Some may not like the colors I use,
To brighten up what they believe...
Needs more enthusiastic touches of embellishment.
That's them!
I am not into black face wearing and banjo playing!
That's not my genre,

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Words That Need Not Be Spoken

There are words that need not be spoken
like you telling me that i care for you
for how would you know what i feel for you?
it would be too self-assuming
for you to say that i really care for you
what if i do not? what if what i do is nothing but
an obligation of one human being to another?
what if it is not love at all as you would want to impress
me with it? what if it is just a projection of yourself?
you loving me and me not knowing it
me not believing it, simply because you are also afraid
to love since i may not return that love with its face value,

there are words that need not be spoken
matters of the heart, presumptions that good deeds
are shadows of hidden desires, vested interests,
blessing in disguise, wolves in sheep skins

in love my friend, you just don't make assumptions
at the end, you may regret it, for despite my emptiness
my ugliness, and my loneliness, i also know how to choose.

it is something that i have never spoken
but if i speak it all, it will only be to you.

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What Head Of Hero That Did Not Roll

Times when the winds howl
and chase ships home to brood
there are no fish in the water
that did not tremble too.
In the nude of the dawn
and at the trembling of the day
a rapturous melancholic wonder
holds you at bay.

Then the meal that's stripped in form
is in remote mood sliced
and you did not know
if your hand you cut for cake
nor did you think it could…

In such times too
in the teeming thought of the town
think you:

with all eyes chasing you
down the street
you draw up at red
and stretch out when green

did not do it
did not will it
but you did it all the same
why you couldn't think of blame

yet all the company followed you
way from vacant luminous glares
of gathering traffic throbbing by

but then even in red wheels roll
and what head of hero did not roll…

You have talked to her out of sight
in the placid coolness of the night
you had never thought this could bite
and despite old odourless days

winds will rush in spite

for even in red wheels roll…
and what head of hero will not roll

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That's Not All They Do

People do not listen to others.
In fact,
If they are not directly affected...
They could care less.
Not all people.
But enough of them to make this noticed.

'My dog,
Who had been my best and closest friend...
Since a puppy.
Was hit by a bus this morning.
And this makes me sick to my stomach.'

Many of them have no respect.
You should hear those kids that live near me.
That's not all they do,
When they get on public buses.
It's enough to make me want to throw up too.~

'No. No.
You're not paying me any attention at all.
It was my puppy.'

~You've got a puppy that cusses?
And your a passenger like me on a public bus?
If I were you,
I'd look into having my own reality show.
I have never heard of that before.
That would be an instant hit.~

'What a friend you are! '

What can I say?
You want me to make a few calls for you?
I know I can get you an appointment,
To see somebody.
Male or female? ~

'What are you talking about? '

~You puppy's gender.
Or preference?
A dog that smart can be what it wants.~

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John Donne

The Flea

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two;
And this, alas! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true; then learn how false fears be;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

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That Is Not the Diet We Are Fed

It would be wonderful to recognize our failings,
And immediately correct them.
Or face the truth and deal with our insecurities.
But we are suspended within mentalities to react,
Too quickly!
We are prepared to defend such conditions...
We find ourselves in,
Much too fast!

Offended we are and preconditioned to attack,
And not listen.
Becoming less respected because we disrespect.
For purposes that generate a reflected unhappiness.
Handed down from one generation to the next.
To annoint our fears to the innocent.
Hardening their hearts before they are ready to speak.

And when someone is 'intentionally' like this,
Who cares how the bleeding is done?
Or how it has come to manifest.
Why bother to empathize with this stubbornness?

One in which an attraction for habitual lies,
Cries foul constantly to themselves in active denial.
Taught to whine and complain.
Why commit to be placed on trial by nitwit misfits...
Socially unfit?

Where is the benefit of it in this process?
Tied to become unified with an ignorance...
That desires to incite conflict.
And resisting the agony,
That comes with enticing more of it!

It would be wonderful to recognize our failings,
And immediately correct them.
But that is not the diet we are fed!
And we even get upset...
When placing an order for fast food to infect us,
That it does not come fast enough to do it...
Upon command.

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