The Light of the Refrain of Fresh Strawberry Glee in a Late Feeling of The Way to Strawberries

the way to the song-writer's Marquee-pen on the Branches of the weighing weight of the way of the likeness of the day, the world of the day, of the noble ship barge...

- Ben Aperitif

"The Country Pop Star 'Gal," written by the power of Ben Yosaf Aperitif

a flash fiction

β☐☐∏Ω∞∆∆∆○●

Delphic. Bard. of Athens., Benjamine James Bussewitz’

Light of Sunrise’

Penmanship

(the following herein arch of language attributed for the goodness of life well-lived unto the hope that it helps the reader [always ask Athina]):

 "The Willow Tree"

The willow way is the winding tree, from resolute to infinite.  Infinity taking off to the head.  They would all say I am blessed; I guess I’m understood.  Well— the way the willow wants me, to the best of its knowledge, I suppose.  It imparts this wisdom, asks me if it is understood and I agree?

Oh, willow tree, which way are you wishing and welling me?

To the part of the parcel on the trail, where I follow the path just as well, or turn off to the side and beckon off to a home in the woods.

I guess I’m understood.

Your great authority surmises in me, what have you seen in your willow branches; what have you imparted in your willow chances?

The luck of the path is the wayward home.  I am on the good weeping willow’s meadow of love.

                                                                                                        by Ben Aperitif

a short story

 Hair

... an autobiographical short fiction

It had been an instant pouring; 'twas one that was graceful.  As all good pours can be (each one is, another way by which of it to think)

Out of grace I'm made.  To eternity back I shall go.  An instant scoop and a night of hoop, rolling by the state of the artwork, creating sometimes, often sideways, most slanted, well-on.

That is how my life began and always is.

From Here to Nashville I Make My Stand.  That is the way this all goes.  From Here to Kansas; Heart of Throne; From Here to Mexico; Neighbor-Land; From Here to Yesterday; All-God's Plan.

All is all right, as into this heart I am kindly tossed as in the always already the light of all my days.  All my time is just light.  All is light for me.  All is light.  Is all I see.  Into this heart I'm kindly tossed.  Like a salad twisted and satiated with Balsamic Vinaigrette upon a field of lettuce, along with some nice slices of guacamole, some mango, some crispy Chinese water chestnuts, onions and scallions, good croutons and a nice appetite.  That would probably, while I'd say, likely it'd be the best salad she has yet had.

Now I know that you know.  I have no doubt that you know.  That is the way this will always come.

Back To Sandwiches in New York; To The Braves in Atlanta;

That is the way this always come, from here to the other side of the Earth is where I'm from.  That is the way the lights are all on.

This is the sounds of my wonderous magic wand;

That is the way the lights turn up and on.

--

--

That is the shell of the wonderous mad frame.  That is that, without any name.  That is magic.  That is extra caliber.  That is put it on delightful.

That is: Here Down to Dallas.  To The Cowboys In The Wild.   Wild West Singing A Song.   That's the way I want it all on.

That is the sign above my head.  My crown of perfection.

One 'twas a virgin, and upon which, finely wed.  That is the right way; all has once been done.

Spell is divinity to show you where I'm from.

That was a joke, of course all things are me.  I am to where I am going.  I am an Chinese-Grecian-American life by the sea.  'Specially the Mediterranean.

More than just remembering the long, lost New Year.  That is the way from Christmas to there.  Easter without a question may finely be the best holiday of all.  Certainly might be, it was the day He took His life of the grave.

--

--

That is the way this all has become.  That is the soundwave.  High and vibrant, rainbow-tilted particles.

This is carbon, a monad of truth.  This is the way to Earth from a higher apparatus.  This is the way I do it for all my good friends.

This is the way I keep making sense.  This is the way to here and from there.

The Right Way to Time; The Perfect Way To Time Square.

This is the heart.  I'll keep it like a dolphin.

Sing some, make some caliber, get some people hooked.  Write some good hooks, chill with good shape, hang out with the shapes, the ways of the wave (sometimes right it out) and have fun writing good music well, maybe get some crowds some time; I'm a poet either way and who could tell but me but I'm hooked, either-way, show and tell or live and artwork sizes up somehow; I'll write the good poems and God might as well check them out.  Anyway way I have it, I've been chillin' with him somehow.

Short Story by ben aperitif

three poems

poems by Ben Bussewitz

A Spell of Distant Harmony United in Untitled Breezes

Where does this shame come from?

This insistent disconnection from the one.

Covered up by signs of dissent

In times of improvement

Carried forth straight by chance?

In what direction do my eyes see

When I face it straight on,

The guilt within, the guilt residing,

Along the stone-sidewalk and florid lawn?

Where shall my eyes roam when they only can make it

To where they belong, within, in the Son of the Maker,

To whom shall I insist I am the home of a creator,

Or confess my heart, the buried within,

The whatever it is You make it?

Heaven

If heaven is the place to be,

I will be there.

This Blessed Heart Within

The way to the moon is through the spell of a spoon,

To the way of the sky,

To going way out of the mind’s eye,

To being on top of the world in a peak of transcendence,

To coming down for the wayfarers in their spell of ascendence,

To watching out for the do-gooders riding their marches of freedom,

To being at peace with the painting of the whole chapel’s ceiling,

To being in harmony with the way all the colors blend together,

To remember besides you there is nothing better,

To going to a circle through a body swirl rush,

To going sideways, upside down, with the moon in the rush,

To the way the stars are all hanging down o’er our heads

To the way we always keep on keeping on making sense,

To the sound of the freedom caught through the windows,

In the lair by the garden where the sad roses grow,

To the liberation that comes with the heart of yearning,

To the sound of the children making up the bees swarming,

To the sound of the stillness and sad harmony

Of still, sad humanity, heartfelt made of leafs,

And trees all in yearning for the sound of more freedom,

While their tossing and turning to all they are given,

To the way that it comes for more and more to go,

And the way that it goes for more and more to know,

And the way that it sounds on the meaning of the dock,

To her at the quay wandering without a twisted knot,

To taking off on sailboats to far distant lands,

To embracing life as exiles, nomads with a plan,

To running in circles to the way that it all sounds,

To remembering the function of the halos coming down,

To recollecting that its better someday because all is brushed aside

By the power of your redemption when it opens apples’ eyes,

And the power of your freedom, taking up full control,

To the heart that is yearning for the way that it is known,

To the heart that is dawning upon his salvation yet again,

To the gratitude that fills up this blessed heart within.

a poem

"A Fun Time in Spring"

in the meantime by the view

we will get into the view.

in the meadow by the field

we will rock out of here.

in the Springtime at the pond

we shall sing a good 'ol song,

by the moodside on the beach

we will live in willow land.

by ben aperitif