Wanderings

Sometimes a story starts with one word trailing another. A twist here, a bend there, down a fork taken down a mind taking a journey. When did it start, does not matter, only the pebbles tuned over smatter upon the future vagabond voyage. Dost we take a trip down memory lane, going nowhere special, just meandering somewhere hither. Hear the pitter patter reign of words strike the canvas pavement, as stepping stones character, attach to words, attaching to spring limbs that weather the breezes along the way sensing it is about rhyme.

Is this a poem, or a story? Who cares, as long as the trail buds thoughts, within word meanings creating creative composition to ponder yonder, upon far away stretches of imagination, going somewhere, but where?

I do naught know, where Too Bee now exists. Or even if it exists today, remembering yesterday be forlorn dream that did falter bye the wayside backside - BUTT. But then, one must remove a T roadblock, and wander bend it into a Y fork never taken statement.

Why should thee follow, a fallow poet? Must be the suspense of the BUTT ending. But then you must furrow my wrought verbiage to somewhere, sometime under some unknown rhyme escape.

The End. Bee naught k-now, for the trial testament of trailing words just puckered up a fart sound, upon a resounding tin roof refrain, bye leafing indentations, amid paging word spells over rhyme, knot bound hallow funk smells. K-now run that over your mind, and try naught to smile and pass laughing gas.

Humor sidetracks, poetry seriousness, butt we need distractions to weep, seep us going to naught k-now where, wonderings of Poet Tree that branches Literature mid prose and verse, adrift the UniVerse within our mind, swaying adrift our owned to and fro leanings.

The twig snaps under our feet, it echo timbre cries aloud, our presence tense. Dost we make our presence known by snapping words together, bye alliterating annunciation enunciation, amiss poet persona personification pride pronouns; I and You, WE are Poets.  

We are Guardians of free expressions, upon unshackled minds, set free to roam unhindered by Conservative restrictions that bind US in bondage in Master Slave caste states. So let US free ourselves from rutted routines of complicit complacency, at least for awhile, while reading free verse wanderings, where insight wings take flight.

Mine eye to eye stare still forward, mime ear to ear hear nothing inward. Are we stature statues? See nothing, hear nothing, sense nothing, and most of all, do nothing. Nothing begets nothing, but a placemat being stepped on, time and again time morphs - mortified into nothing. Come on now, snap your finger, let US know you are alive and breathing in, full of life.

Whom am I, to tell you, what to dew.  You are probably past puberty, and have some form of education past fifth grade. What happened to that birth wail that announced your vocal presence? Must someone shock you out of your zombie state? I cannot hear you, at least say you are present tense reading this.

The stone turned over, revealing rough varnish, less seen surface that hid in a millennia of darkness, as your fingers finds the hidden texture that comes forth mid massage messages. Do you place it back under darkness, or upon the light taking the other side into darkness for a millennia? That is how we can have an effect upon our surroundings. We either shine or hide.

Hello there, here I am, where? Hear yea, bee my words trailing thoughts, mid my troubadour Knight write, across these bard pages, where thee mare writer, neighs Too Bee Herd as stampeding poets.

Upon words, we establish hysteresis cause and effect that by discussions, change will soon take effect. For in communication, by using universal understanding, we moderate the rudde8r vessel of society by language. So that the extremes, will not sink civilization, amid misinformation; for Truth, be a paramount condition, for any free society to co-exist in any love relationship, where humanity can offer its communal fellowship.

Why does Love take so long to unite US, and it takes Hate, little time to divide US. That when Politicians, use Hate they gain political stature, and by using dire misinformation they become bogus mortician - Mega Stars. Then by trans gendering segments of humanity for their personal advancement, they trash inflame their Super-Caust totalitarian autocrat, despotic Fame, upon a mountaintop that Lies to America, mid self-adulation, in the “I” pronoun.  

Should we let the dust settle, to cover up our path, or trudge forward, leaving it trailing our advancement, upon clear insight, do will take to flight, unimpeded.

It is time for an interlude intermission, to take a BUTT break.

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You say it is so Right, to go left, BUTT then, it is so Wrong, to go right. Let me turn this around, It is so Right to go right, and so wrong to go left. One is Left with a decision deception of cerebral interpolation. You can go one way, without words, or just fallow me for awhile, bye taking notes, so when you take off, you can leaf your owned paper trail. Let me spin around dizzy, to naught know left terrain from the right reign, and I will, then advance to naught k-now where.

Watch your step, bear scat fresh droppings. I hope, I do not have to bare my BUTT, and leaf my markings, on the trailway. As for you, you can put down, what you are reading, and take a half moon, water closet John or Jane TP break.

In life, we learn to ingest, digest, and exfoliate; what we put in our bodies, mind, soul, and entering US, mouthing our words.  Some be, motor mouths, other still frames; where you need hearing aids turned up, or turned down. Some people you can hear over hill and dale, their “I” escapades that seem to never escape you.

Do you start with the right foot, following the left, in the mirror, mime clock wise direction winding up and down trail-ways. Are they virgin steps, or dew they feel the déjà vu, kick back time, like you have been here before, with the other foot, stepping forward first, nostalgia.

Rocky terrain begrudgingly overcome, only to find another formidable obstacle to navigate. One ponders, upon their BUTT, going back; but one has gone so far. One takes a breather, to only think, “I must do this.” Getting up, they analyze and advance, further down, and up the roller coaster, trail of tribulations.

Think, I will end the story k-now; but then maybe k-not, for the winds flows unimpeded, in questions blowing, upon kneading answers to be found ahead.