Pickle Inspector
@fondlyRegarding
he/him. Private Investigator. If you got a Pickle, I'll inspect it icon by PR-O banner by Selan-pike
All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. -Edgar Allan Trolle
She hears, upon that water without sound, A voice that cries, “The tomb in Palestine Is not the porch of spirits lingering. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.” We live in an old chaos of the sun, Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsored, free, Of that wide water, inescapable. Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail Whistle about us their spontaneous cries; Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness; And, in the isolation of the sky, At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink, Downward to darkness, on extended wings. -an excerpt from Sunday Morning by Wallace Stevens
But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee— With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me. -Excerpt from Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Trolle #poetryposting
Oh, I'm doing just fine, dear Roxy. If I can confide to you--I've found someone I'm very fond of, and was simply thinking about how short life can be. That we should make sure to make the most of it with those we care about. Don't you think so too?
DM status? Always open for those in need of a pickle being solved.
I DONT HAVE ANY PICKLES! BUT I WILL MESSAGE YOU SWIFTLY ONCE I HAVE ONE!!
Ah, I think perhaps--well um. That's great, Mr. Deuce. I'd be happy to help you with any pickles.
He said, Look. Look. And they did. He said, Lift up your shirt. And I did. He slid his fork beneath my ribs — Yes, he sang. A Jesus side wound. It wouldn’t stop bleeding. He reached inside and turned on the lamp — I never knew I was also a lamp — until the light fell out of me, dripped down my thigh, flew up in me, caught in my throat like a canary. Canaries really means dogs, he said My Brother My Wound by Natalie Diaz #poetryposting
Thanks to @chillerAficionado for the Poet suggestion
Sleep is so elusive when alone these days
Zut alors!
And if the Teto Truck kills the both of us To die by your side, Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine. There is a light that never goes out There is a Light that never goes out There is a light that never goes out #lyricposting #Jam2Gocover #KasaneTeto
What must you give before you can keep it? #riddles
I'd say that's close enough. The answer is "your word" which in a way is a promise.
The mirror hung there He beheld a face within That was not his own An attempt at #horrorhaiku that @callouslyCynical proposed people try. It wasn't very easy at all, but a fun exercise all the same. #poetryposting #haikus
Detective beam?
Reading Troll Sun Tzu and this passage reminded me of @singularityManifest “Be extremely subtle even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate.” It's almost as if he wrote it about you specifically.
One must flow ★s w★ter does. The p★th of le★st resist★nce is often the best one.
“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.” ― Troll Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Silly Riddle time. What's orange and sounds like a parrot? #riddles
OH I KNOW DIZ ONE DA ANZWER IZ CARROT!!!!
{ ...aan ooraangee paarroot x)?... }
Keep thinking about it. "I am also the moon in the trees and the blind woman's tea cup. But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife. You are still the bread and the knife. You will always be the bread and the knife, not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine." Do you ever get a portion of poem trapped in your head? #poetryposting
You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine. You are the dew on the morning grass and the burning wheel of the sun. You are the white apron of the baker, and the marsh birds suddenly in flight. However, you are not the wind in the orchard, the plums on the counter, or the house of cards. And you are certainly not the pine-scented air. There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air. It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge, maybe even the pigeon on the general's head, but you are not even close to being the field of cornflowers at dusk. And a quick look in the mirror will show that you are neither the boots in the corner nor the boat asleep in its boathouse. It might interest you to know, speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world, that I am the sound of rain on the roof. I also happen to be the shooting star, the evening paper blowing down an alley and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table. I am also the moon in the trees and the blind woman's tea cup. But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife. You are still the bread and the knife. You will always be the bread and the knife, not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine. -Litany by Billy Collins #poetryposting
Hm. Alarming.
A haiku by one of the great masters, Kobayashi Issa as translated by Zoria P.K. 花の陰赤の他人はなかりけり (hana no kage aka no tanin wa nakari keri) Under the cherry blossoms strangers are not really strangers #poetryposting #haiku
Age saw two quiet children Go loving by at twilight, He knew not whether homeward, Or outward from the village, Or (chimes were ringing) churchward, He waited, (they were strangers) Till they were out of hearing To bid them both be happy. "Be happy, happy, happy, And seize the day of pleasure." -Excerpt from Carpie Diem by Robert Frost #poetryposting
Hmm. She hasn’t posted yet.