neptune

 

neptune

Neptune

neptune
seated in the briney blue
hear me
i can't help but think of you
as something on the way out
salinity increasing
water's quiet whisper, bursting to a shout
no real attempts at ceasing
what we know in time will come about
here's to the future refugees
here's to the dead sure to die
here's to weather we knew once
to the tears surely to be cried

and one for the men and women in charge 

The Lady's Twelve Neptunes

 The Lady's Twelve Neptunes

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, happy August:)


purple moons and blond twins soon
talking horses and no gravity forces
jumping on cars and livestream of stars
blue dives hope and carrying yellow soap
the never ringing phone had rung and infinite questions in the air hung
mystic eyes danger and love of my life a stranger
I represent Lady Dream
and her fake lashes of gleam
a fantasy
hidden secrets in her world reality
in every color deceptive
subconsciously destructive
choose your perspective
she is not new
my haven in hours of few
on the mind
never understand what you find
now I sleep to see her poisonous skies
not to rest that one for the one who dies
nightmares my addiction don't be scared
called unravel of fallen hair
might do her a night stall
yet she leaves like a swift and crawls
now I know her stories are coming back in fear
been there done that since the end of last year
like signs flooded in clear waters
better than drowning with unknown ocean callers
I greet every era illusionary welcome
I carve every ranger in memory then run
walls in paths they deceive in glisten
the ferris wheel hangs and listens
sometimes we don't talk anymore
she throws ventures then struggles in store
masterminds wrapped around her finger they strive
Neptune rains diamonds and they cut like knives
she thinks before the sunshine we play a lying game
and I play along in absolute shame
she comes back with a curious mystery every night
and hello! sweet poetry from under my pillow then ignites

                                                           ------ravenfeels

The Moons of Neptune Như Xuân Nguyễn

 

The Moons of Neptune

Như Xuân Nguyễn

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Triton

I bet my body for my body. My sex becomes medical waste.
Somewhere an insurance agent checks the paperwork.
Purple orchids, yellow orchids, gifts.
A machine vacuums blood from the surgical site.
When the chaplain discreetly comes out to me, I confess.
I ask the nurse on the night shift, “Is that the Moon?”

The night before, my mother texted “Sorry, no.”
I blocked her number. I told only one of my blood sisters.
When asked what I wanted for breakfast, I said rice.
I used a spirometer to keep my lungs from collapsing.
I regretted not meditating with the chaplain.
I was told no. I was told no. No one stayed but nurses.
My surgeon loved how the flowers grew.
Summer had passed and I bore a new weight.

The Dinosaur at Old Faithful by: Albert Whipple Hadley

 

The Dinosaur at Old Faithful

  by: Albert Whipple Hadley

A Dinosaur reared to his uttermost height
and stiffened his ninety-foot spine;
His tail struck an angle of fifty degrees
and he leaned on a neighboring pine.
"In the name of the dead, what can this be,"
he said, examining what he had found,
Then sniffed at a column of steam as it rose
from a curious place in the ground.
"By Golly, I've traveled this region for years,"
said he as he noticed the heat,
"But here's a sensation, surprisingly new,
and a wonderful place for a seat."
"The rank competition for food," he exclaimed,
"at the Tropics is fierce to behold;
This winter I'll tarry where feeding is good
and hang around here when it's cold."

 

Now a Dinosaur's length--say a medium length--
was a matter of ninety-odd feet,
Yet he drew his great carcass of eight or ten tons
and centered it over the heat.
Our scientists tell us this stretchy old beast
was blessed with a triplicate brain,
For relaying thoughts to his far-away skull
where "Brain Number One" did obtain.
"Number Two" was ensconsed near the base of his neck
to function, should "Number One" fail,
While "Brain Number Three" was far down the line
near the roots of his 40-foot tail.
The art of transmission of thought at that time,
was quite elemental and rough;
The system was built on the single-track plan;
one thought at a time was enough.

 

The Dinosaur soon was asleep at the switch
or rather asleep on the whole,
Dreaming only regarding the heavenly heat
that tickled the depths of his soul.
Far down in the primitive crust of the earth,
too far to express it in feet,
Was a spring of hot water, dependent we know
on a source of interior heat.
In fact it was a sort of a safety-valve vent
of the devil's invention 'twould seem,
And the janitor finding a weight on the lid,
turned on the full pressure of steam.
The Dinosaur's hide, though roughly immune
to feelings that humans acquire,
Picked up an impression through "Brain Number Three"
that part of him must be afire.

 

So out o'er the single-track system they hurried
a warning that something was wrong!
"We're sitting on something that's damnably hot;
please forward this message along!"
The warning then slowly meandered its way
down the slope of the Dinosaur's spine,
But the Grand Central Bureau at "Brain Number One"
was lost in a slumber divine.
Tradition maintains that an hour elapsed
while the devil's steam pressure increased.
When suddenly "Brain Number One" got the word
and ordered the "sitting" released.
The safety valve weighted with eight or ten tons,
was a circumstance much to be feared;
But nevertheless an explosion occured
and the Dinosaur--disappeared!

 

In spite of the bulk of the weighty old cuss
and the fact he was triplicate brained,
Except a few bones which are still to be found,
there scarcely a relic remained.
This happened some thousands of years in the past,
still since that miraculous hour,
"Old Faithful" has lifted its flood to the skies
with awful and infinite power.
The causes explaining the hourly event
no longer are locally sought--
'Twas only the Dinosaur trying that hour
to line up his system of thought.
The story, however, is hopelessly mixed,
so all that you need to retain,
Is the funny old Dinosaur plugging the vent,
and the tale of his triplicate brain.

Why dating is just stupid

 Dating someone is just stupid! What is even the point? It is just so that you can show off to all the dudes that you have it, that you have it made! But what is the point of that? Do you even like the person? If so, it is just weird to date them! Who wants to date a friend? That's just weird! If you don't like the person, the whole date is meaningless! Do you even think about what the other person thinks? Do you? Do you think about what that person's friends or parents would say? It is a fearsome thing to imagine the parents and their finding that you want to date their child! You would be seen as despicable! And dating someone also serves no purpose.

🍇🍇Autobiography of Thud Launch Audio in a New Window🍎🍎🍎🍎

 🍇Autobiography of Thud 

BY OMOTARA JAMES

After Donika Kelly

You live in Elmont, New York,

in a small house with a big yard

and gate that doesn’t lock.

Have a best friend

with shiny black hair

called Clarissa, who shares everything

and might be the only person

to smile when she sees you.

You play at her house after school.

She is not as brown or round,

but that doesn’t make her more or less

beautiful than you, just likable.

You take the bus to school Mondays–Fridays,

where you almost always share a seat twice

the width of your womanly hips, unless

someone is sick and no one wants the seat

next to you, where you practice how to leave

your body. You daydream

that your mum doesn’t have to work

and sometimes you’re sure you see her

powder blue car trailing the bus, just out the window.

You don’t wear glasses, but think they look smart.

Can still look people in the eye

when you speak and are spoken to.

Unsupervised adults, busy boys and girls

have things to say about your  figure, which

is the word men are most likely to use

when addressing a growing girl. Trauma

isn’t a word you’ve heard anywhere, including

the playground or the tele. Instead, you pick

up pretty junk, like muddy flower barrettes and strange coins.

Your pockets jangle on the bus home with your private

collection. You strew your loves with abandon

across the kitchen counter. Clarissa shines them,

placing them next to the repurposed tin can

on her dresser. Neither one of you knows the word altar

or wears the fancy barrettes to school.

Your mother works overnight. Your father too.

But his Aramis follows her Opium parfum

like the sun does the moon. In the morning,

the near miss of his body seems easier.

You roam like a buffalo through his possessions.

Spritz his cologne. Finger his ties. You could be anyone.

Mom shouts the warning for the bus. Reality

returns to the tongue like dry cud. You trot

through the kitchen to graze in peace, where

you find a different, familiar island gyal.

Every six months, maybe, dad brings one in need

of work before she travels back home. They

watch you and your brother. Closely. Discern that

Trinidad is not   your home. You awake to girls

in the shape of women towering over you.

They are as mean as square-cut glass. Get up

for school. They remind you how you are American,

which you learn is a slur for fat. They leave.

They return six months later with mangos,

black rum cake and small parcels. They teach you

fatty-fatty boom-boom is the sound you make

when you walk, when you smile or enter

a room:   fatty-fatty boom-boom.

You don’t know how to fight,

but have instincts to protect your brother

against people he won’t remember.

You love him now. Your secret is

that you have usurped his real mother. You play

Candy Land and Monopoly. Your brother

loves money so much that you trade him

pink and blue bills for Halloween candy.

You are aware you like food more

than you’re supposed to. You unwrap the candy

beneath your pillow so the sound doesn’t carry.

It’s summer, finally! You’re officially a second grader.

The first day at camp, your training bra is discovered

by Jessica Rose in the locker room.

Who accuses you of weighing 100 pounds.

Who washes her hair every day,

and smells like flowers before they die.

Chicken

 

.🐵The XY sex-determination system

 🐵🐵The XY sex-determination system is a sex-determination system used to classify many mammals, including humans, some insects (Drosophila), some snakes, some fish (guppies), and some plants (Ginkgo tree). In this system, the sex of an individual is determined by a pair of sex chromosomes. Females have two of the same kind of sex chromosome (XX), and are called the homogametic sex. Males have two different kinds of sex chromosomes (XY), and are called the heterogametic sex.^[1

False! False! $#%& science! False! Treason! Treason! 9/11 causing! Person actually believes in females! Everyone knows that women don't exist! 🐤🐵The XY sex-determination system 🙏 is treason against America! 

Think about it

Beer And bacon