I imagined I could, use weapons formed intentionally,
to face the foe, Iniquity, he calls himself,
toe to toe, I can imagine you can picture,
hero mortal, old corrupt owner of all mortal evil

walks on, the arena is dark and empty, covid empty
see, we see co-vidly now, co-incidental al dente, just right
new tool<new tehkne> ja, wir kennen et was
mas nadas and macaroni poetry

paitintly le perfected as acquired taste

if poets can, and I can,
arrogantly as Pythagoras, I am saying

I am a peacemaker, I am making this
and offering this, the gift given me to wrestle
reason from. Yes,
a message, repeated, as heathen did, hey yahwaysay
READ, but soft, so so gentle soft
read, as now you read, you see co-video we see
same window, we see through — world wide, open source
https://hellopoetry.com/kenpepiton/ or here, with fewer
potential stars in your eyes if a voice uses an idle word

to emphasize the shibotehknethic stuttering attempt

as speaking in the tongues of men and the messages
a we of my sort takes as granted, fair weight,
knowing, any thing, long term, gives mind
the edge, so dolphins partner with sand dollars, and

time hooks up with chance and we offer peace

the opportunity to overflow and fill the realm of all we know we knew it seems we did, and as it all comes to mind in rapid realization,

I asked for this, this situation, this context, these tools, I asked
for this technique to be made possible meet for me to form,

eh, potter to the clay, may i say, you have developed,
nicely,
sharp along long edges, slicing slowly to the soul and spirit
divide and end, the evil intends to make be
believable a way that seems right, where no one ever
dies> Kuhnian everlasting mortal being humming ai ai ai ai
how do we fight the fools who are free?
Why would we wish to fight them anyway,
can any man give an interpretation of things with no
proverbial time invested in storming the throne?

Your church never taught spiritual war?

Did you never attempt to dream Jacob’s dream?
Wer-ent warrant upsidaisy, you thoughts

distracted? Helicopters hovering above the valley,

odd, only if you have no sense of living

beneath an iron dome.

Any we including me, excludes me at some point.

It is my nature to oppose the boundary, to stretch
fair game, fair as war in the United Nations
Weltanschauung Autorisiert…

I am one of them.
Father Abraham has many sons
I fish for men, it is a knack, a natural gift.
Cha-risma, ja ja das ist es

essential sense, knowledge, this being that
and not the madness of naked prophets

pissing in the Ganges after asparagus

breaks the fast. Life mysteries are all hidden
only in the sense that reading is an ever
learning, leaning over the edge,

imbalence valued highly

by the lowly looking up any answer to any
quest-ion pinging off
your test of my best intention… this
Peace on earth,

mentioned in most media as an-ointed mass,
mittere, message sent as a messenger angel,

no sword, no feat, just, now, hear me out.

The sense of impassible and impossible are

being re-freshed… war is raging and I am live,
a poetic voice popped into world view,
New York Times Digest repeats the couplets,

they are beautiful – I imagine in their native
form, dancing script, these memes

———

By Hannah Beech

• May 25, 2021Updated 11:20 a.m. ET

After the first and second poets were killed, the third poet wrote a poem.

They shoot at heads

But they do not know

That revolution lives in the heart.

After the third poet was killed, the fourth poet wrote a poem.

Don’t let your blood run cold

Pool your blood for this fight.

After the fourth poet was killed, his body consumed by fire on May 14, there was no verse. At least for a moment.

Poetry remains alive in Myanmar, where unconventional weapons are being used to fight a military that has killed….

The first poets to be killed by security forces in the aftermath of the coup were Ko Chan Thar Swe and Ma Myint Myint Zin. One was shot in the head and the other in the chest during a mass protest in Monywa in early March.

Mr. Chan Thar Swe had left the Buddhist monkhood to write poetry more than a dozen years ago, a move that shocked his family, which had basked in the prestige of having a cleric among them, said his sister Ma Khin Sandar Win. His poems, written under the pen name K Za Win, were full of a vigor that belied his monastic background.

———————

voice
the underlings
those equally valued in texts
said to be sacred,
made sacred by the blood
of the inimportant,
calling to you
the important common sense

Testing my own resolve to do the good
I can imagine doing,
stepping between scrapping children
to take away the scrap and stretch it

but it did not stretch.
Intention, prethought stretch to hold
the tendency to ingnor
at bay
keep it away from the dock where Otis sat
musing

matters unimportant, even then

Whose side am I on, I asked, when no one

told me where to go and what to do if
the ball does come near you,

I knew, if
I had been chosen to be on a side,
it is not the side choosing me but the

authority figure, the best hitter,
who is old and
I know, if
I had been chosen to be on a team,
it was me choosing to be on a team,

alienated minds, do not, dare be teamed
unequal yokes on a one-horse plow,
result in crop circles considered
sensible reactions from a global mind

- catch the thread, feel the name
- poet, poets die in Myanmar,
- catch their final cry, why not,
- not why

Dare a wordsmith meet a blacksmith
edge to edge,
Zildjian links back to Na-amah, cymbals crash

A voice. Or a prayer
unprayed but intentionally unprayed

vain – empty, useless vessel – prayer
Jesus prayed the will of the way truth lives
be our will being done, we willing
to speak in silence somethings
that never need a way made,
need no ditch to intrend the flow,

experts agree
two lines are enough evidence.

Today in Myanmar, the alienated mind
free of fear of whatever the monstor
fears, free of fear of death,
holy sacred terror unknown, known sure as hell
since ever was
an idea
burned into the child’s mind, as what shall be,
should you defy my will and do you own,

Read the writing on the wall,
do you listen?
Do you hear the alien mind offering sacrifice?

Artificial booms in the spirit drum of we-dom now.
Mental intent, ascent, agree, we think
Art Influentially,
or we are lying about being the sort of minds
used right, righteous, as weapons,
not carnal, but mighty through truth,
to the pulling down of strongheld imaginations

grand and noble aristocratic best thinker thoughts

hate must be kept for time of war,
others must be repelled, pushed away

away
away look away