Author name: Hayden Veil

In an earlier incarnation, Hayden Veil enjoyed a successful career in software engineering, writing late-night poetry in pursuit of sanity. On 2 February 2020, the world of Hayden Veil changed: Ghosts became real and with its soul laid bare there was no turning back from the perpetual path of poetry.

Request

I would appreciate a few more porn blogs liking my writing, just to balance out the non-porn blogs that like my posts.

Can anyone suggest the appropriate words to use, tags to use?

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So little time, 
   so many sentences, 
                       unfinished
                                             •••


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all counters are 8-bit

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Maybe not

Completely

Unintentional 

I hope to

Confuse

More than

Amuse 


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Little was known about the origin of the Sign of Destiny. Even the scholars disagreed on the interpretation of what would ultimately turn out to be a lump of rock.

I told you “Summer is for Gelato and
Strawberry & Cream” and I
hope you share that moment with
those in pain,

In a Future Near You

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Who is the old man? He who
    sits on the bench each morning,

Who is the old man? He who
    waves at everyone driving by,

Who is the old man? He who
    keeps a brown bag nearby,

Who is the old man? He who
    stuck to 140 character tweets,

Who is the old man? He who
    once called himself president 

Who is the old man?  Everyone 
    knows, but nobody cares.


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Circles

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My life is a life of circles    {crisis}

    or rather – A Circle – that I walk
                                               round and
                                                          round 

until my thoughts are so familiar that I 
have to stop to linger on the one thought 

         “haven’t we been here before?” 

Was it last month, or last year, I rarely
recall exactly when but always swear
by the fact that these thoughts have
passed me before 

}} I need a panel van, let’s research,

}} I want to paint in oil, let’s buy a new 
                                                     easel,

}} My next bike will be a Harley, a
          custom V-ROD; in black

 Google search / Google find

 
How come I can only 

                                           plan,

How come I always fail 

                         the execution 

In circles I wander // wonder // with
execution so poor, what purpose serve 

               { PLANNING }


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Once upon a story

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Once upon a time 
there was a map
printed on paper – thin
made from a tree once 
living

Once upon a time 
there was a youth 
who got lost in a road atlas 
never to be seen 
again

Once upon a time 
       { no, this gets repetitive; 
           get to the end }
Once lost in the fabric of
reality, the youth roamed 
the highways of the great 
land, occasionally crossing
into the index pages where
he would use the shortcuts
provided in the T&C of this 
story. Only after travelling 
into the mighty Redwood to
ask for forgiveness for the
map maker who killed the 
tree that eventually was 
converted into the map the 
youth was freed from the 
curse of the atlas. He was 
last seen swimming across 
the Bay of Biscayne on the 
front of the atlas, in search
for cheap lodgings.
THE END.


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Whispers

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Your legacy, 

    { intended or not }

A never-ending pursuit of 
    perfection,

     { and }

In that,
    the ultimate weight of chains 

    { heavy, too heavy }

   and anvil,

Too much to bear, to carry 

      { farther } 

 the headston3 0n the gr@ve I’ll 

    Never See, 

He whispered


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The nose knows

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I sometimes cook, you know like from
scratch, with real … brown … round …
and sometimes they are dirty and
sandy … and some needs peeling …
and and and the best one smells 
really nice but makes me cry … but 
in a good way … smells good yes …
I always start with those that smells
good coz they makes cooking …
without there is no joy cooking …
The smell … yum … The smell of
onion, yellow raw onion always 
make my day, and cooking a play


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