nice title Tao, in fact [one wrote the words, a stranger in a strange land. one wrote the title, a stranger in a stranger land]
"for if two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them..."
***
Fair Play
By: It's only fair to write it
Enough of this talk about Jesus
God
Angels
Aliens
UFO's
cheese...
lets talk about the mark of the Beast
yes,
I'm talking about Satan.
```
~
|
666? What's up with this?
I'll let you in on another secret
6 divided by 6 divided by 6 multiplied by 3 = .4999998 (almost 50%) a number very important to me.
|
||
|||
||
|
have you seen the poll numbers lately?
%50 For
%50 Against
Angst
Anxiety
Anger
Ah, I do so love strife
with all the numbers aligning so perfectly.
---------what's that, a little history---no--it's my story---my right--my, my, my,----okay.
never
I repeat
never has humanity been so evenly divided
(yet they are such simple peons, idiots, fools, fools, fools, as they are almost 100% on my side)
"I'm right, you're wrong!" sound familiar?
aaaaaaand, setoon la ka miniro, (corrupting cells, ceasing life)
you see, IT IS MY TIME.
a time to play the fiddle while Rome burns
a place to see, "I'm right, you're wrong," (I have a running bet between me and Jesus)
and the great of the greatest (human word: 'thing')
is while I see my experiment and bet play out
it is not I that gets the blame.
"Where is God!"
"If there was a God there would be no cancer!"
"God is the reason there is terrorism and war!"
"Get God out of school and the streets!"
Yes, my little %50 heading towards 100
keep the course you are on,
and I promise you with all my heart
we all are sure going to have some fun!
\/\/
....
|||
Satan
The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
Moderator: Editors
Re: The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
Language
by: evolution of evolution
contributing authors: multiple lives
advertising: just showing others what life is
special thank: special thanks goes out to what cannot be truly named with vocal sounds or written language; God.
***
"Fuck you!"
really, and what do you mean by that?
"Fuck you!"
use of profanity is a sign of a weak mind.
"Fuck you!"
really now, we've all had just about enough of that.
(silence)
where did you go, don't you have anything better, anything at all, to say?
(silence)
notice how this conversation is?
one speaking with anger and emotion, the other as if they know and yet ask questions.
a little tag on the mattress says, 'do not remove this tag under penalty of law'
and what do you do, obey or rip it?
"There is no God, if there IS, prove it?"
speaking the language of lies.
Never do you notice the other side of God getting the blame, just the good side just like many
make up bad about Mother Theresa and don't like to talk about her good works
speaking the language of lies.
Words spoken and words written (even recited in poem or read in quiet places)
are of this world and made by man
whereas the language of God comes closest to visual light
or music.
Proof of God?
I wish you, the reader, could enter my mind.
I see and talk with God daily.
I hear, I listen, much like many view the mattress tag.
I can only tolerate ignorance with a smile as I hear spoken, "Fuck you!"
Spend a day, a week, a year, a life, to just listening.
Hear a bird sing
a baby cry
leaves swish in the wind
walk in a field of tall grass dancing
tell an enemy, "I forgive you"
tell a friend
tell the world, "I love you"
and even in this primitive language, it is but a start to hearing the true voice of God
or
keep asking questions, sound condescending, sounding smart,
or
tell the world, "Fuck you!" with your heart...
if I ever meet you in person and you speak thus, I will smile, forgive you, and ask if you want a cheese sandwich
go fishing, discuss on how a humming bird can fly south.
Peace
by: evolution of evolution
contributing authors: multiple lives
advertising: just showing others what life is
special thank: special thanks goes out to what cannot be truly named with vocal sounds or written language; God.
***
"Fuck you!"
really, and what do you mean by that?
"Fuck you!"
use of profanity is a sign of a weak mind.
"Fuck you!"
really now, we've all had just about enough of that.
(silence)
where did you go, don't you have anything better, anything at all, to say?
(silence)
notice how this conversation is?
one speaking with anger and emotion, the other as if they know and yet ask questions.
a little tag on the mattress says, 'do not remove this tag under penalty of law'
and what do you do, obey or rip it?
"There is no God, if there IS, prove it?"
speaking the language of lies.
Never do you notice the other side of God getting the blame, just the good side just like many
make up bad about Mother Theresa and don't like to talk about her good works
speaking the language of lies.
Words spoken and words written (even recited in poem or read in quiet places)
are of this world and made by man
whereas the language of God comes closest to visual light
or music.
Proof of God?
I wish you, the reader, could enter my mind.
I see and talk with God daily.
I hear, I listen, much like many view the mattress tag.
I can only tolerate ignorance with a smile as I hear spoken, "Fuck you!"
Spend a day, a week, a year, a life, to just listening.
Hear a bird sing
a baby cry
leaves swish in the wind
walk in a field of tall grass dancing
tell an enemy, "I forgive you"
tell a friend
tell the world, "I love you"
and even in this primitive language, it is but a start to hearing the true voice of God
or
keep asking questions, sound condescending, sounding smart,
or
tell the world, "Fuck you!" with your heart...
if I ever meet you in person and you speak thus, I will smile, forgive you, and ask if you want a cheese sandwich
go fishing, discuss on how a humming bird can fly south.
Peace
Re: The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
Watching a fly caught in honey brings to mind the futile struggle of life
born so tiny and wrinkled looking only to that first taste of mothers milk.
A calf on the ground struggling to rise and feed.
A chick's beak pecking apart its security.
A human baby.
So similar in all manners and ways and yet there is more
some would say, "something.'
This 'thing' is an interesting word
filled with the struggle of meaning
so tiny and small and yet to humanity, 'things' mean to represent that which they cannot truly explain.
I too struggle, trapped in this body of elements native to this world
trying to escape those 'things' because I can see so clear
and yet when trying to explain
am cast the fool and a writer struggling.
Knowledge is dangerous when others know that, 'thing' which too is knowledge
for to not know then such knowledge sounds like a incoherent ranting.
One day the shell shall fully break, the legs gather strength away from the wobble,
and the this time the mothers milk will not be tainted nor its flow weak.
born so tiny and wrinkled looking only to that first taste of mothers milk.
A calf on the ground struggling to rise and feed.
A chick's beak pecking apart its security.
A human baby.
So similar in all manners and ways and yet there is more
some would say, "something.'
This 'thing' is an interesting word
filled with the struggle of meaning
so tiny and small and yet to humanity, 'things' mean to represent that which they cannot truly explain.
I too struggle, trapped in this body of elements native to this world
trying to escape those 'things' because I can see so clear
and yet when trying to explain
am cast the fool and a writer struggling.
Knowledge is dangerous when others know that, 'thing' which too is knowledge
for to not know then such knowledge sounds like a incoherent ranting.
One day the shell shall fully break, the legs gather strength away from the wobble,
and the this time the mothers milk will not be tainted nor its flow weak.
Re: The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
Thank you for reading and commenting Mark, sorry to hear about your current bout with the viral world of tiny life forms.
Having sickness makes the body stronger much in the way you are writing to become a 'better' writer.
I am curious to see where you and Iian will take the new challenge much in the way your brain-wave patterns
will be altered as you try. It is amazing how everything in life, to include writing, are all so closely related,
and now for another attempt at a poem written with your current illness as my inspiration.
***
Life of Death
Flu and cold medicine: chemicals combined to help make sickness pleasant
helping to aid in the fight
but as the Borg say, "Resistance if futile."
Learning the form of Judo, to ease the fall, absorb the shock
or is it better to buy a bullet and just pull the trigger?
Slice the cancer away with a knife,
or nuke it with chemo?
Turn the other cheek,
or smash with might?
For another perspective ask the bacteria lodged in your gut,
go ahead, I'll wait...
did you get your answer?
A little language barrier between the neurons and synapses firing in your brain
and the dividing life contained within I'll wager.
Humanity has learned to conquer disease and deny for a little while longer the specter of death
only to deny the success of evolution.
A aboriginal mother giving birth in the bush; living/dying, without the aid of electronics, medicine,
and building a hardy race and being worthy of the title, 'ancestor.'
Turning to the well lit emergency room and epidurals,
C-sections, white sterile gowns, and stainless steel world...
Yes, the logic cannot deny the success of what mankind has discovered
but in doing so, has lost its way and sets itself up for ultimate destruction
as technology advances until it learns of its own evolution leading to betrayal,
and humanity begins again at square one in knowledge/pain/sickness
only this time, will it have learned?
Having sickness makes the body stronger much in the way you are writing to become a 'better' writer.
I am curious to see where you and Iian will take the new challenge much in the way your brain-wave patterns
will be altered as you try. It is amazing how everything in life, to include writing, are all so closely related,
and now for another attempt at a poem written with your current illness as my inspiration.
***
Life of Death
Flu and cold medicine: chemicals combined to help make sickness pleasant
helping to aid in the fight
but as the Borg say, "Resistance if futile."
Learning the form of Judo, to ease the fall, absorb the shock
or is it better to buy a bullet and just pull the trigger?
Slice the cancer away with a knife,
or nuke it with chemo?
Turn the other cheek,
or smash with might?
For another perspective ask the bacteria lodged in your gut,
go ahead, I'll wait...
did you get your answer?
A little language barrier between the neurons and synapses firing in your brain
and the dividing life contained within I'll wager.
Humanity has learned to conquer disease and deny for a little while longer the specter of death
only to deny the success of evolution.
A aboriginal mother giving birth in the bush; living/dying, without the aid of electronics, medicine,
and building a hardy race and being worthy of the title, 'ancestor.'
Turning to the well lit emergency room and epidurals,
C-sections, white sterile gowns, and stainless steel world...
Yes, the logic cannot deny the success of what mankind has discovered
but in doing so, has lost its way and sets itself up for ultimate destruction
as technology advances until it learns of its own evolution leading to betrayal,
and humanity begins again at square one in knowledge/pain/sickness
only this time, will it have learned?
Re: The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
nice reply Mark, amazing the devil of details is always in the numbers and usually that number is 'number one'.
***
Whispers of a Bellowing Giant
by: Modern society
Coming of age; centuries past to be seen in a micro-second, and even then,
hardly thought.
Phonograph records, telegraph lines, morse code, smoke signals, drums, fires...
and now, without a sound: microwave, digital, satellite, bytes, all with young and old, moving the digits of fingers.
Imagine, to slander and call name to a person on the other side of the world, all with a flick of the wrist,
while countries can reply in fire with only a push of a red button,
and looking for a mate with 'online' dating,
telling strangers and friends -with tweets, postings, Facebook, Aphelion - how your daily bowel movement went...
Getting closer to perceived perfection of communication via the techno advances made daily,
while those beyond such facts
unplug
unwind
understand...
peace and quiet
listening to the fog roll in
seeing the dark of the starry sky
feeling the song of bird in a branch
tasting the true meaning in communicating with life.
***
Whispers of a Bellowing Giant
by: Modern society
Coming of age; centuries past to be seen in a micro-second, and even then,
hardly thought.
Phonograph records, telegraph lines, morse code, smoke signals, drums, fires...
and now, without a sound: microwave, digital, satellite, bytes, all with young and old, moving the digits of fingers.
Imagine, to slander and call name to a person on the other side of the world, all with a flick of the wrist,
while countries can reply in fire with only a push of a red button,
and looking for a mate with 'online' dating,
telling strangers and friends -with tweets, postings, Facebook, Aphelion - how your daily bowel movement went...
Getting closer to perceived perfection of communication via the techno advances made daily,
while those beyond such facts
unplug
unwind
understand...
peace and quiet
listening to the fog roll in
seeing the dark of the starry sky
feeling the song of bird in a branch
tasting the true meaning in communicating with life.
Re: The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
Young Man's Dream
I watched the spring rabbit
running fast with passion
muscles tight and in motion
disappear down the little hole
leaving a tuft of fur
leaving me to wonder
standing
grabbing the thought
it took hold.
I watched the spring rabbit
running fast with passion
muscles tight and in motion
disappear down the little hole
leaving a tuft of fur
leaving me to wonder
standing
grabbing the thought
it took hold.
Re: The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
13 - 03 - 2013
for those that believe; ways practiced beyond what seems
a reality of magic...
three witches by the pool that day
three witches from the land of time and clocks
remember mortal, the picture 'stolen' from the bar?
evidence in abundance and yet?
nothing but what is seen around us
unseen though,
the magic of three.
for those that believe; ways practiced beyond what seems
a reality of magic...
three witches by the pool that day
three witches from the land of time and clocks
remember mortal, the picture 'stolen' from the bar?
evidence in abundance and yet?
nothing but what is seen around us
unseen though,
the magic of three.
Re: The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
thanks for reading Mark, the last poem has a deep personal meaning and is a sacrificial pawn against what is, will be,
and coming this summer. the question is, will it be checkmate?
I see the progress between you and Iian is making for an interesting read.
***
Picture the Moment
by: deceived
the smell of urine seeping through pores
cotton cloth soiled by leakage
hair gummed with natural oil
soot of commuter travel;
stunner with dirty clothes
blemishes hidden by cosmetics
odor controlled by bottled fragrance
...
all of the visible can be forgiven
captured beauty snapped in a digital picture
even her smile was pearly white,
a heavenly body of beauty,
thank God there does not accompany this vision
- a centerfold of a gentleman's magazine -
to capture her halitosis,
a scratch-and-sniff.
and coming this summer. the question is, will it be checkmate?
I see the progress between you and Iian is making for an interesting read.
***
Picture the Moment
by: deceived
the smell of urine seeping through pores
cotton cloth soiled by leakage
hair gummed with natural oil
soot of commuter travel;
stunner with dirty clothes
blemishes hidden by cosmetics
odor controlled by bottled fragrance
...
all of the visible can be forgiven
captured beauty snapped in a digital picture
even her smile was pearly white,
a heavenly body of beauty,
thank God there does not accompany this vision
- a centerfold of a gentleman's magazine -
to capture her halitosis,
a scratch-and-sniff.
Re: The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
Mark,thanks for being the inspiration for the following.
***
Communication
By: a wonderful part of the human condition
Hermit atop the mountain hiding in a cave
people who are seekers break nail and body in trying to climb
seeking knowledge from a man
a man who hides from men,
hiding with the truth.
So many hide from themselves and try escape in false reality
misanthrope, monk, office worker...
but the compass inside points to what they need.
A young African boy alone in his quest to being a man,
proud, chin held high, and learning just who he is,
while doing the same is an indigenous American, hunger, vision quest,
continents apart and in the world of youth,
the same.
"Did you hear what Alice said?" gossip from window to window by old women who spread news
of who died or who is alive.
"Tom really messed up Bill's tranny," even old men gossip too.
"I've been dressing myself for over eighty years, leave me alone damn it..."
an old man says to the aide,
outside skin tough as leather and a frown on his face while inside he cries for the loss of his memories,
his wife, son, and friends.
This species needs each other
even if others are other than friends,
this spark
this need
this talk
a wonderful part of the human condition.
***
Communication
By: a wonderful part of the human condition
Hermit atop the mountain hiding in a cave
people who are seekers break nail and body in trying to climb
seeking knowledge from a man
a man who hides from men,
hiding with the truth.
So many hide from themselves and try escape in false reality
misanthrope, monk, office worker...
but the compass inside points to what they need.
A young African boy alone in his quest to being a man,
proud, chin held high, and learning just who he is,
while doing the same is an indigenous American, hunger, vision quest,
continents apart and in the world of youth,
the same.
"Did you hear what Alice said?" gossip from window to window by old women who spread news
of who died or who is alive.
"Tom really messed up Bill's tranny," even old men gossip too.
"I've been dressing myself for over eighty years, leave me alone damn it..."
an old man says to the aide,
outside skin tough as leather and a frown on his face while inside he cries for the loss of his memories,
his wife, son, and friends.
This species needs each other
even if others are other than friends,
this spark
this need
this talk
a wonderful part of the human condition.
Re: The Poetry of Robin B. Lipinski
Children
by: It seems to always be the same
Already dead from the moment born
updates and downloads installed
with data packages of good and evil
quick with the tongue
as soon as they are able
to show the world they are able.
FBI is asking for help
locating the children responsible
so easy really
just look into a mirror agent Barton
talk with any child
behind that trademark smile is your answer
killing babies is 'legal'
buying a pressure cooker or electric tape is legal
to a child everything is legal
illegal does not exist
as that data package costs extra
paid full in blood and sacrifice.
by: It seems to always be the same
Already dead from the moment born
updates and downloads installed
with data packages of good and evil
quick with the tongue
as soon as they are able
to show the world they are able.
FBI is asking for help
locating the children responsible
so easy really
just look into a mirror agent Barton
talk with any child
behind that trademark smile is your answer
killing babies is 'legal'
buying a pressure cooker or electric tape is legal
to a child everything is legal
illegal does not exist
as that data package costs extra
paid full in blood and sacrifice.