new day, long time
no write, not right,
but humming flushing rhyming
sensory compulsion asking why,,
being bummed rhymes with hummed
and the kissing cousin connectivity, cannot
bee denied, delied, nor contradicted,
the humming is brief,
the bumming is long in the tooth
Aug 9, 2025
Aug 9, 2025 at 1:58 PM UTC
Mirrorball - “the fabrication of our performance”
a life long struggle to accept who I am,
of course, lose, and lose again, and
the fabrication of our performance now
inherent in every excuse and mirrorball
revolving asking, no, laughing, at our
vanity, as we endeavor, enabled by the
paucity of ego, the neediness of weakness’s
to catch, keep, hold each single flickering
light spot in our open, slick palms forever
we fabricate our performance of daily living,
modifying our measurements to match output,
only a human cannot wake only to fall within
each daily tabulation without thinking, once:
*I am a hero, worthy of acknowledgement, just
look at my hands! see how many spots of
light I can claim as mine! the mirrorball turns
and turns paying no mind to the worshipers
below, until some sorrowful fool confesses,
fools fail, fools fail, turning the dervish off,
the white flag of ego darkened, once more...*
we are all false poets, false prophets, occasionally confessing
7:34 AM
Sat Jul 18
The Year of the Virus, Corona
Jul 18, 2020
Jul 18, 2020 at 8:03 AM UTC
~for patty m.~
and all the others that surrender their truths
word by word by word
~
get paid by the word.
nothing particularly relevant-familiar to a poet-revenant.
we the Falstaffs, the literate fools of the world,
pay and pay on, pay forwards and backwards
once eons ago, in a confession blurted,
in a moment of spent outrageous misfortune:
*”what you did not ask was this!
With each passing poem,
I am lessened within, expurgated,
In a sense part of me, expunged,
Part of me, passing too,
Every poems birth diminishes me.”*
this is our only pay-out & pay-meant methodology.
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 9:38 AM UTC
your admirers are unlimited by geography or name,
but only by imagination
~for Albert’s wife~
~~~
the tattoos on my body, a complete list
of the seven names^ shared with a heavenly human,
who pretends he has no
skin in the game
but that is a poem for another time...
you thank me for being a “follower”
unnecessary for your admirers are unlimited
by geography or name,
(and all the sliced and diced human pieces deem greater than the
whole)
we are limited only by imagination
whatever name you/I choose,
what we/me love about your poems,
flora, fauna, the human cuppa,
is that you write what your eyes feel,
yet, it is I doing the seeing
for that
I’ll follow you kicking and screaming,
I’ll be your babe in arms
~~~
^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Names_of_God_in_Judaism
false poets
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC
"Colours" by Donovan.
“Colors” by a False Poet.
Yellow is the color of my true love's hair
sun dapples her gold shadings
In the mornin', when we rise
sun searching for the truest color
in the mornin', when we rise
peaking, she’s peeking, we waking, uprising
That's the time, that's the time.
her best time, sleepy doe eyed, all yellow,
I love the best
bangs tickling eyes, I write of sun sparks
Blue's the color of the sky
blue is the primary, the selected color,
In the mornin', when we rise
that’s chosen to be a lovers greeting,
In the mornin', when we rise
a cloudy white pastel of blue,
That's the time, that's the time
that’s the days first part, our best parting
I love the best
Green's the color of the sparklin' corn
*green Granny Smith apples, ****
In the mornin', when we rise
our mouths pucker, drool, chin juices
In the mornin', when we rise
that’s the days first part, a best parting
That's the time, that's the time
that’s the days first part, a best joining
I love the best
Mellow is the feelin' that I get
mellow is with me, all de day
When I see her, mm hmm
seeing her first eye blinking smile
When I see her, uh huh
the feeling infused, all de day,
That's the time, that's the time
she grants me loves freedom
I love the best
Freedom is a word I rarely use
except when I look upon her
Without thinkin', mm hmm
with knowing, full complete
Without thinkin', uh huh
with knowing, fully, completely
Of the time, of the time
of every time our morning glances meet
When I've been loved
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 9:47 AM UTC
the sweetest things to say
grizzled and grumpy,
old poets,
be wary, woman
they know all
the sweetest things to say
they know to use them too,
so well, beware their wellness,
waters cooling they will sprinkle
in your holy places,
willingly make your wells
refreshed
they are excellent
woman whisperers,
wise in the ways to talk-take
you inside, out of the sun,
and make you over heated,
nonetheless
just in the way exact
you truly see yourself,
granting the wishes you don’t tender
to anyone else, but the whispering angels,
hear all you want and grant you completions
in the way they say
the sweetest things
pity them, they have the insight,
the split tongue, to inside you
inside out, from outside they’ll come,
seeking all you have,
your inner wealthy they want,
not for greed, or useless using
not one bit
they
the sweetest things to say,
they
cannot help themselves,
the tricks they employ but tools
to satisfy the mutual melds
where need meets and the ganglia
intertwine and the synapses,
your mutual fireworks, explode,
in wine reds, blue sapphires, whiter diamonds,
ah the bejeweled colors of their words,
sugar cane and sweet *** perfumes to
persuade,
save,
themselves over and over
to know the love of the woman
was why the creator created them next to last,
for he saved them,
for his greater creation,
woman
so keep them too close and far away,
for when they knocking come,
you will surrender sense and speech,
in payment for
the sweetest things they say,
I love you,
meaning every syllable true
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 1:28 PM UTC
when you understand my poems perfectly then,
their utility is inutile,
their usefulness is, will. always be, in the
nth
*reinterpretation, a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth inner wired construct,
be pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
two lives (yours, mine), a paired wine tasting, we together,
believing in the greatness of joyous frustration
some say, as I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our at last armed embrace,*
when at last we understand our mutuality of need and salve...
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 9:47 AM UTC
words conveyed with a mutual clarity parity for communication
will end only when the world ends first
and the communitas is no more,and words, exist purposelessly
for there is no left with whom to communicate, precisely
but now, of this moment,
write words, sentences multiplied but circumscribed,
verses with mystical aura,
whose utility so suspect and multiple meanings hidden within,
taken by you for the specific utility you uncover and create
ah, to write of things clearly visible to all,
but possessed differently, by each reader, this is the greatest commonsensical commonwealth useful
for and of humans indexed by unique word tendons tenderly
when this passes, when literature no longer
can be messengered to 127 Persian provinces,
each the message same,
yet given up in 127 different languages^
when you understand my poems perfectly then,
*their utility is inutile,
the usefulness is in the* nth reinterpretation,
*a million and still counting,
as long as you must guess at its labyrinth wired inner construct,
being pleasured by the roiled and rolled curves upon your tongue,
a lives paired wine tasting, together believing
in the greatness of joyous frustration
some say, I do, the world is better for the
utility of thine own struggled understanding,
the truest combination of two way communication,
surpassed only by our armed embrace at last*
p.s. Pradip, be careful what you wish for....a poet false...
9:15am April 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 9:29 AM UTC
there is no value in a poem that reads
____________________
____________________
____________________
M M l i f e s u c k s x x x n o p o e m i g o t
just
nerve; crap bs, a denial of craft
seek the intelligent intelligible,
kiss the sensational thrill that
emotion harvests with resonating tenses
that beg our brains to differ, sense
this claims,
there is no value in no words is
a hoax cloaked as art by the weak,
make thy metaphors metastasize,
my every cell, a preposition,
preposterous and precious and
comforting in their
privations and provocations
speak to us in alpha and
line our eyes wide,
with pictures at an exhibition
of a faun immobile and beauteous
let me hang on every word of yours and
let it be the raft that sees me happily
unsafe home
take your bs line poem
shove it down your silent voice
this is not avant garde; this is insulting
p.s. write me a smile and all will be_______________.
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
complexity bias
how you love to criticize my poems
as too long and overly complex
poor me, I’m no genius, don’t prosper by exploiting
unrecognized simplicities, rather deconstruct the
intricate complexities that I flatter myself are the me-sinews
Writing is a **** temptation -
we focus on the 10% that is complex and ignore the easy 90%
perhaps this once I will surrender my bare bones
put aside the rich, satisfying of cave diving, urban spelunking
word caressing tongue verbiage rich tapestry exploring -
give you the plane of plain where nestles my destiny: nesting near motionless where the couch is my kingdom and cold cereal is
easily digested and there are no consequences
I am a member of a discriminated-against minority
we have no charismatic leader, no marchers anywhere, and government programs say
hey you’re free white and twenty one plus, get the crap out of
our faces, you useless piece of rhymes with **** and includes dirt, though I shower twice a day to keep myself occupied
25 years old, a high school dropout, of course I’m white,
my occupation is playing video games and making sure
my supply of opioids is adequate in these great United States
where I was born
there are fewer jobs than none that my application survives
a first glance discardation, and now my disability preempts
any demand to pretend there is gainful employment in store in
my future
this reductio ad absurdum is a technique to expose the fallacy,
ah what’s that you say no interest in hanging about,
on your way out, of course, of course,
we are the wrong flavor of downtrodden
my life is simple - simplistic in its a chaotic entropic way,
order slowly declines into disorder
my rituals are a fight against slip sliding down, falling off the
the Herzog continuums
and the poems are desperate hand holds to prevent my
going, gone under
so forgive me if I tax you without possessing not the
requisite taxing authority
you hone in on the obvious disparities and my contradictions
resenting my sending you this bill of extravagant length
compose with me and a mean will be located and to sleep I go,
perhaps to undress my dreams and explicate the wealthy multiples of complexity in the simplicity of a junkies life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC