Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

A silly syllable, this word, this Own—
These words mine own and all that follows them;
This place mine own and this decision mine—
when truer said, it isn't own but share
that faces us and interacts with thoughts
we love and birth as independent whims—
I've no control and nothing own; I give
and trust that conversations' thrust will sieve
out any worthy gem of thought from hymns
and diatribes I share— like polyglots
have ever had to trust their words to care
of those who translate your thought out of thine—
It's almost meditative: Own— but hem
nirvana by the thought: all life is loan.

...

life is often alone.

this
is a damn good pome.

Nice going Joel.
H

magnificent as always Joel.

if life's alone
death pays all debts
if life's a gift
Jesus died for nothing
I suppose


just a GO joel
I would not reply if I did not like your poem
I was going to write
if life's a gift
we are all fucked

just something to do with Spinoza/Einstein construct of God.
hard to explain
I would need white fonts against a white background to put my heretical faith into words in this this text box

like a white out on interstate 9O in February
like a San Diego fog
my nose pressed against the windshield
in useful terror
praying from my spinal chord

Tea pots or paper clips?

It's almost

thanks, joel!!!

I wish I said that arcadia
I feel like such a vandal when I reply to a poem
can't help myself from rambling

thanks joel

I don't own the shirt on my back
and I live on borrowed time
only the road, the beaten track
only the meter, only the rhyme

Doreen wrote

life is often alone

I think so

maybe always alone

"only my dying will tell"