"Sempervivum" Poem (& Google Demands My Passport, Ruins Blog)

Google has changed the formating of my blog to make what I write readable to them and to private parties who are able to read my drafts, but they have made all the sentences run together for the public and anyone trying to read what I write.

They have completely ruined my blog. It wasn't malwarebytes that did this part. It's Google, and Google owns Blogger. Google is the one that controls and manages the formating and site and no other group has any control over it. I changed one of the options today to allow for my spaces since they ruined my HTML. They ruined the normal HTML code completely and the rest of the toolbar is ruined because they have ignored me and refused to fix it.

Google asked me to send them a copy of my PASSPORT and then refused to fix the problem they advertised they would fix. They advertised, lying and claiming that the only way to fix a problem with Blogger would be to "identify" me first through my passport or personal ID. My ID was stolen from my house so of course anyone who knew this would know all I had was a passport. So I reluctantly gave them a photo of my passport, and after multiple letters to them, and going through all of their channels, they have done NOTHING to fix the problem.

Google has turned into a CIA/NSA operation. It's becoming as big of a monopoly as Microsoft and they have ruined the blog I've had since 2007. They did this, starting with my attempts to upload photos of CT evidence of microchip implants. So who is at the head of Google? Jewish people. I am just wondering about that, since a large Jewish Community Center was one block away from the Utah hospital that implanted me with microchips. I mean, do the Google people have something to hide?

Bascially, in the hidden form of this blog, and on my user-account, the text is not formated out of order and there are spaces inbetween my sentences which stay where I put them.

But Google has left this so they can read what I write, and others in intelligence can read what I am writing but they don't want the public to read a coherent text so they've made it all run together when I publish it. So it stays in order in the private form only they can read, but runs together so the public can't read it.
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I wrote a poem today after being inspired by looking through a garden. The last flower I smelled was jasmine. I then walked downtown, asked for a piece of paper, and wrote a draft for a poem. After I wrote the draft and got some things done, I went back to find out the exact names of a few flowers and she said the jasmine I had smelled was "jasmine officianale" which, according to wiki, is also called "poet's jasmine".

I thought, "That's so true!" It is the kind I used to have in a pot outside on my veranda. This particular variety had a pale pink stem holding up the white flower. I think the idea to call it "poet's jasmine" must have been inspired, because after I breathed in the scent, the next thing I did was ask to borrow a sheet of paper and pen to scratch something out quickly. I don't think it's done yet though.

My first scratch, not in poem form but with a plan to mold was:

korokia sets like lace
over chick and hen rosettes
cloistered by a veil of translucent threads of
birch spun into silk to
stretch the globes of a
remade looking glass
to sit upon a bouncing knee of web
cradle of civilization
the cruchettes push a lotus from the
rosebuds up from the nest
to pierce the veil
can a mother forget her own?
perhaps she would but I
have graven you into
the palm of my mind
I look over the crooked
lattice of korokia as looking
through a frame for mosaic
my Moses lying with the
lotus-face in a cradle
of their reproach
can he yet breathe through
the spun silk of the birch
shall I tear this from
his face as sleep from an
eye or will
this hold him bundled in the
swath as others come to tip the bed
(red punch flower stand to side
apricot roses rise above chrysto-light blue)
and I smelled the
white jasmine with the sold sign by the door
sweeter than all of the autumn roses
for one minute, not minding the cool shade
as roses wait to perfume in the sun's warmth
release
fragrance
rushes
winter
odds
**** so I wanted to refine this scratch and I went back to get some names of some of the things I hadn't noted the first time. Found the red punch flower I liked was an avens or geranium called "Mrs. Bradshaw", a lavendar verbascum was "southern charm", apricot flowers I liked were "million bells", the jasmin I noted was offinales, and then blue alpine gentian. However, most of the poem was about the korokia and the chicks and hen, of the sempervivum arachnoideum variety and the jasmine. In one annual garden was all but the million bells and jasmin and then there was a peach-apricot rose above the red avens called "easy living". There was a lot of grace and flow in the annual garden and then I mainly wrote the poem pondering the mystery of staring down through this lattice work of korokia with the sempervivum arachnoideum beneath it, and then I smelled the jasmine and after this, I had a poem coming to me. I'm not sure how I'll rework it bc it doesn't feel done yet, but not sure what I'll do with it.

"sempervivum"

korokia set like lace
over chick-and-hen rosettes--
cloistered by threads of birch
spun to silk to stretch the weil
of globes from remade glass
--to sit upon a bouncing knee
of arachnoideum
cradle of civilization
cruchettes push a lotus from the rosebuds
up from the nest
to pierce the veil
can a mother forget her own?
perhaps she would but I have graven you into the palm of my mind
I look over the crooked
lattice of korokia as looking
through a frame of mosaic
my Moses lying with the
lotus-face in a cradle
of reproach
can he yet breathe through
the spun silk or shall I tear
this from his face as sleep from an
eye, or will
this hold him, this swath,
as others come to tip the bed
red avens stand to side
apricot roses rise above a chrysto-light blue
and I smelled the white jasmine with
the "sold" sign by the door
sweeter than all of the autumn roses
for one minute
not minding the cool shade
as roses wait to perfume in the sun
--release--
fragrance rushes winter odds.