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Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
sometimes you look at these people and think:
is it better me drinking whiskey, or is it better treating
them ontologically as zoological specimen
                                                  and worth of caging?
i think that the Aristotelian awe-principle
for the practice of philosophy was
overly-exaggerated with dues
that consider science, i think that science
confiscated the emotional
imprint of philosophy that's bound to awe
and said: willcommen unto die phobia-realm...
which i still ascribe to postcolonialism...
  the times' propaganda say:
             arachnophobia is perfectly suited
to match-up to a billionth remark of Islam,
which is why i find Islamophobia so weird...
   arachnophobia consists of only one spider...
minding the phobic in Islam?
                          it's not a case of one spider...
it's a case of spiders...
                             they can't reason with
the Big Brother opportunism, which exists...
turning the blind eye won't help...
  it will simply aggrivate such people...
and using this language has created such
frustrations... correctly? aggravate,
dance of vowels. phobias aren't big, they're small...
miniscule... tell people that something is
small when it's actually big enforcers
a postcolonial past more so...
   i see these children like the psychotic reaction
to a prophesy kindred ot Harold II's slaughter
of the innocents...
                  they're there to edorese someone...
      after all: who gives a **** about these people?
                                                         ­  (endorse)
the psychiatrist gets paid, the mental health nurse
gets paid... why would they give a **** in a way
that says: i wasn't paid for this bollocking!
  maybe up in Manchester... but down here in London,
they don't buy disguises, you're
labelled Romanian: you're bound home where
you could have been a plumber but are reduced
to a straitjacket because: some ******* said
you didn't **** her... Philip Collins and hey:
welcome to paradise.
                        down 'ere in Loon-town you get
your money's worth...      
                   i wish they took care of me...
   silence pays... you get your cringe's worth of ****
to the Kilimanjaro's worth of calling
               bottled crema-foam on a phallus
an anorexia... as i see it: anorexia in Freudian lingo
is an objection toward treating ****** artefacts
in culinary terms... means that paradox
of having a cake and eating it too...
                obviously you'll sexualise problems...
i think anorexia is a question of making
          ****** parts culinary aggregates...
                i'm not jotting: girl, aged, 16, ***-starved..
i mean in general... making ****** objects
equivalent toward a culinary status for a care
to make them more appealing in being ******...
the anorexic might start thinking: so i **** it,
and don't eat it?   penguin clap for an icecream cone!
ruffian yoga minus the slippers and the seal clapping...
the loudest revision of applause: i can guarantee....
cos the flippers were wet... hence the additional
aquatic acoustic.
                    this is very much akin to that quantum
theory of: tornado at coordinate a.,
         and a butterfly as coordinate b.,
          i can see anorexia as a substitute to sexualised
preferences in making body-parts partially edible...
            i see **** i think of the cow's ******-pouch / pillow...
    i don't know, maybe because being in my 30s
i can still fake arousal when looking at it...
       i am not the original alienist... some martian
took my title role...
          but i can understand anorexia as a way to rebel
against putting potato mash and a steak and a few
veggies with the same duty nod as one might put
a ******* object into one's mouth and having to
a Werther's Original suckling tactic on it and
never attach a bone to it, i.e. never eat it...
      anorexia by my standard is verily sexualised...
   you put something into an open space and
it's almost a trans-transgender movement...
      which is why i find the transgender "curiosities"
obstructs in art... post-transgender occupancies
           are not reserved for the easily pleased...
anorexics are such people...
             this is sexuality confused with dietary requirements...
this isn't a circumstance of pronouns politicised
and exploits of modern medicine...
                   i do tend to abuse seafood
whenever i am cringed by the suggested floral pattern
whenever i dare not see the benefits of cesarean...
and i just can't see islamophobia fitting the irrational
rationality of other conscripted phobias...
          poor choice of Greek to be honest...
                      i think they're referring to:
a subtler suggestion, minus the crusading empowerment
that's yet to be honed on...
                        well **** yeah...
once you've actually a philosophy book,
   you'll become immune to any writing advice...
                you'll actually become immune
to advice for writers.... bhy writers... because you'll
realise their opinions are disputable and therefore
disposable... because they forgot that the one thing
that democracy hates... is its subversion,
                     art is the foremost stealth-seeker of
despotism in democracy... because it simply loathes
plagiarism... art is despotism in democracy...
               and it knows it... it's just too "shy" (aah...
wee wee poo poo) to admit it...
                 from what i learned from athos?
the best advice? is to not give any advice.
                    athos? alex dumas, the three musketeers.
the moment you finish a philosophy book,
a creative writing workshop and a quote by
Hemingway will seems as nothing but a bad dream -
these quotes come from people who abhorred
the mere concept of spelling, due and through
it being an "inconvenience"...
this is from people who suggested you were always
an incapable narrator without a daydream to
escape into... these writers began sounding like
your english teachers...
              then again... is sexualising problem better
than abstracting them? personally, and
without due approval: and all the more happy for
such a circumstance having been presented for me...
            we know the sane are too numerous
because they are allowed to make too much sense
of their dreams...
                     i contend anorexia, not as an eating disorder,
but as a disorder of a culinary aversion toward
          sexualising non-culinary objects in culinary terms...
or adding cream to the phallus or melted chocolate
to the ****...
                 i find that certain culinary objects are
oversexualised...
   and this is the norm: that extends into what
quantifies as the norm, for the norm is always
a quantifiable parameter than a qualifiable
      exchange, since an exchange never appreciates
     a qualification, or a grocer's worth of norm
for a conversation of two quid's worth of earning
equates to 20 tomatoes...
    we have assumed to know it all
whereas we are congregating in a plughole
     of close proximity prefixes, i.e.
re-: reflect, reflection, reflexion, reflex,
  reiteration, reimagining, retraction, reaffirmation...
    it's a tsunami of language / lounging with too
many images... it's "lounging" with too many images...
it's the proximity of prefixes... twinned with
the opportunism of the genus of synonyms creating
a deaf-shaft of faking rhetoric...
     i still placard the whole circumstance
a dance of vowels, or the unforced deviation of
keeping up an aesthetic....
                     no, i can't claim schooling,
because i don't want to claim being indoctrinated...
     and perhaps my Freudian is a little-bit
copper-wired / ageist...
                  but isn't food for the anorexic
  a bit like turning a ****** object into food
          for the ennobled aggregational stereotype?
the jokes aren't jokes for anorexics...
  the cucumber is doubly manifest
                         as both edible, as both sexually
arrogant... and thirdly as "inspiration" for
an architectural project...
                      oh **** fame... little albino blondie
can **** on my testicular cancer for all i care...
               and say the bulge was: like
******* on a cowish ******...
                                      i like puppets anyway,
cos i'm a bit laxed in that way...
                         for all the things that might be
given, of the few things that can't be translated
from house or car, or a wife and 3.4 children statistic:
personal integrity.
        obviously certain people can only hum along
to the achievements of a zenith's worth of a house
and a car and a dog...
                            personal integrity is almost too much
for them, such "essential" components of being
a human rather than doing a human reaction
       later involve the cliche of the ultimate gamble...
and we all know how humans love to gamble...
well... few ever manage to gamble the stake of:
a leap of faith... and we all know how Nolan's inception
         ends...           that's me seeing the film a few years later...
      so how does man, the gambler fair
   when he's asked to gamble with the odds
  leap ratioed against a stumble?
                                      numbered is that 10:1?
it's just fascinating that vowels are the sole assured
                        proprietor of "dyslexia",
or as i care to mind: even with a language proficiency...
and tongue-tied waggle that's excusable for
anyone ready to write something down.
      i can appreciate being an individual,
but i can't celebrate it... i'll only utilise my individuality
to create a new plateau, a norm, the most
distinguished liberalism of my individualism;
     i will only utilise my individuality to create a new
norm - and anything that comes against it:
can burn in hell.
I heard someone whisper "he's such an arrogant *****" as I entered.
Those crooked sons of ******* don't have any idea,
I'm the kind you hardly ever come across except in winters,
when all the street rats are begging for heat.
I command attention at the head of the table,
I am the head of the table,
and sever the head to **** the municipal body.
The wigs and robes and gavels I accessorize command it too.
When I sign things I do it haughtily,
I carefully etch each and every ******* letter onto writs of demand.

I stand!
A hush lingers,
I catch the eyes of Walter Weiss, he lies with every breath
and did you know he is unfaithful to his wife? I heard.
the shudders are shut, my druthers. Oh, Walter!
notarize my forms of annexation, please.
and take down this:
To whom it may concern:

You have 7 days to remove yourself from the premises
as you are aware of the edict that preexists
and preempts your residence
and your squalor misrepresents
your laziness.
Signed: The holding powers, in eminence.

Oh Walter Weiss, address it to yourself!
I pride myself on tact.
And package with the writ this evidence form
sent to my office following a secret examination
conducted by the Department of Residential Safety and Heath.

Do not bother me with demoralizations, Walter!
Due to discourse with the Act of Discontinuation,
(which of course is subject to broad generalizations)
the lien sector of the Savings and Loan Association
have concluded you are found in violation of, through reasoning by generalization,
failing to pay duties on your mortgage issued by the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation.

Oh, Walter, how distressing!
Don't falter, acquiescing
is always the way.
Just never, ever forget to pay.
Aaron LaLux Oct 2017
Shook Drake’s hand,
after we touched down in New Zealand,
put my hand on my poetry book like it was the Bible,
and said “Welcome to New Zealand”,

he said “Hey Thanks,
man I really appreciate that fam.”,

gave his manager a copy of 777,
and his barber a copy of The Holy Trilogy,
see great minds think alike,
and we both have lines about enemies becoming energy,

almost wanted to ask him to put me on right there,
but my life is not decided my any other man’s course,
I’m on my own journey I’m not a groupie,
I’m on my own path I ride my own horse,

still though that interaction gave me more respect for him,
and like I told his stylist nothing is a coincidence,
and if anything Drake and Lux meeting there,
was a reaffirmation of what my vision is,

the opening of an art center,
in a place I’d like to call home,
where we’re open 24 hours,
and the mic is always on,

to this I must stay focused,
and not get too distracted,
because the arts has given me so much,
that it’s only fair I give back a bit,

and like I said I don’t believe anything is a coincidence,

all is divine nothing is random,
I am aligned in tuned to the patterns,
I life That Life and don’t know how it happened,
but I’m gonna keep writing like Drake’s gonna keep rapping,

which maybe has something to do with,
why we found each other walking through that door,
on Halloween none the less,
the last day of October,

October’s Very Own,
with this Night Owl out at sunrise,
passing through Immigration with Drake,
life is such a surprise,

he touched the carved wood entry way,
at the airport in Auckland,
I wanted to stay but I had another flight to catch,
en route to Sydney,

sometimes this life moves so fast I get dizzy,

Drizzy,
so surreal he was in how big he’s become,
kept his crew,
flies ***** with all his Day One’s,

that’s loyalty,
get your crew and move up with them,
don’t do as Judas did,
even if the weather gets rough don’t betray them,

these guys live for you,
and they’d **** for you,
walking with a living legend,
living in a fantasy that’s true,

a modern day Fairy Tale,
except there are no fairies,
goblins and ghouls yeah,
and this Fairy Tale can seem scary,

but don’t worry we’ve got this,
and if you need some reassurance,
come find me and ask me,
and I will gladly grant you some guidance,

see it seems I’ve found a bit of fame,
but in the process I lost my mind,
and I’m not the only one see I’ve got some company,
because that boy Drake is on my flight,

and it’s October 30th 2017,
sometime in the middle of the night,
which is appropriate given the circumstance,
that we’re both Libras and it’s October’s last night,

and we all wear masks sometimes,
outside like it’s Halloween,
maybe that’s why I only feel normal one day of the year,
maybe that’s why I give everything all of me,

October’s Very Own,
and yes If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late,
and yes it’s Comeback Season even though we never left,
nor will we leave but either way Sorry For The Wait,

God Man,
we are God Men,
and if you want to know how and why,
you can read my volumes,

written 8 books,
last one was entitled 777,
with the 6 God,
high Fivin’,

listening to 4:44 for real,
a living holy trinity Jay Drake & Lux that’s 3,
but I wrote this only to you,
in the name of One Love Yours Truly,

dedicated to the truth,

truth,

shook Drake’s hand,
after we touched down in New Zealand,
put my hand on my poetry book like it was the Bible,
and said “Welcome to New Zealand”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author of multiple bestselling poetry books.
Poetoftheway Jul 2016
<>

thirty years apart/making love at the midpoint/Zeno's minding the gap
<>

we are a thrifty thirty years apart

but we make love as if it were an
after school, really hungry, special snack

laugh at myself once again

for this tom, **** 'n harried foolishness
knowing no good can come of this
other than what has already
come and gone,
life's reaffirmation is not age dependent,
we love in the light of  embers brightest glow

the older man is at the midpoint trap of
Zeno's Paradox^

can never grow down to be
closer to her to her youth,
given his head start,
his slowing motion,
can never catch
her down,
or she,
up to him

physics laws forcibly insist they both have lost this race


"In a race, the quickest runner
can never overtake the slowest,
since the pursuer must first reach the point
whence the pursued started,
so that the slower must always
hold a lead. "

as recounted by Aristotle, Physics VI:9, 239b15

too quick to be born,
now the fastest and oldest,
though having reached
the equidistant point between,
will forever never be able to
close the gap

I mind the gap,
I mine the gap

for rousing poems,
from passion piercing fierce love making
prayers preserving the falsity of a
magic illusion of a growing nearness
that we will never grow apart,
burdened that truer is,
never ever closer

she asks me with great tenderness,
why I moisten mine eyes
after our great joy

replying, honestly
I am minding the gap
answers the broken joyous
poet of now, no way


<>

"Mind the gap" ( listen (help. · info)) is an audible or visual warning phrase issued to rail passengers in the United Kingdom (and elsewhere) to take caution while crossing the horizontal, and in some cases vertical, spatial gap between the train door and the station platform.

^https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zeno%27s_paradoxes
Solitaire Archer Mar 2010
The Power Enfolds

Its dark now and the silver light of Luna coats everything with a gilt edge
the air is cool , not yet summer warm and it softly bites my skin,
Still shy after all this time aware of the marks of time

not vanity really ... but the awareness of being a Crone now

Slowly/quickly the shush as silken robes fall to the ground with shy smiles
and giggles of proud young Sisters skyclad for the first time

Softly The Lady's Maiden calls us to the Circle

Brushed/Caste and Invited all the same as decades gone past

Hands clasped laughter replaced with solemn purpose
The drum beats to keep time the heartbeat, , , the Mothers heart

Candles shimmer drums throbs a warm breath .... She is here now ...with us

The Lady's Maiden smiles and our steps now fly
Smiles and hands now entwined ... The Power Enfolds

Voices now calling chants old and ancient beyond time
Luna's silver light enfolds, encloses and energizes

Now we dance on the drumbeats
Blue smoke sends our chants spinning high

Firelight flickers blue and orange higher now snapping crackling
Sheer white light the sheen covers the dancers
as though we were all gilded in The Lady's light

Tresses swinging braided , twisted , oiled and unbound crowns
Halos of colour and curls ... clouds of shimmering tresses
Our only cloaks floating now swinging in time

And the drum slows
and the fire dies
and at once all the dancers feel the cool night air

Soft voiced the Lady's Maiden gives our thanks and dismisses the corners
and the Circle is severed and time again begins

Quietly robes are once more worn and voices rise "Do you need a ride?"

And everyday life has resumes though the air is redolent with power

Sisters glowing with power called down, soft and gentle smiles
show that The Lady's soft touch...has blessed us all

The Maiden greets and blesses each Sister
a few quiet words and the soft touching of hands
fingers softly entwin and eyes dark with Power and Secrets

This has been a Ritual a Calling a Rejoicing Reaffirmation
And we are once more connected Sisters, Elders, Teacher, Mentors

Woman all .. Sisters all.. in The Lady's Light we are once more one

Solita Shadoewalker - 2007@Copywrite
- From And The Circle Cast
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2014
for Laura and David

so the story goes...

of a long ago silly fight and
then a Boston Bay boat ride,
magical moments of a simple interrogation repeated,
that recalled a man beach combing for what,
he knew he,
already possessed,
a permanent bezel for his love
that secured with human strength
their togethered life

You! You Two!

recall best
the forest,
not the trees,
not the ring,
the freedom from a symbolic beeper drowned


recall best
the ring's tale,
your unfinished yet-storied,
mid-trip bay borne voyage of denouement,
a retirement and a reaffirmation,
marked best not by any stone,
but by
the knowing  women,
all surrounding,
with righteous exclamations of envy for

his loving words,
his words!

the value of living,
raconteuring memorized mutual wisdom,
no diamond could ere cut a deeper groove
than his spoken words

words etched in flesh,
immutable and undying,
far exceeding
rubies and diamonds,
their gain, their loss,
merely pecuniary,
could never speak or prove
a love far better
than those special holy words
a spoken capstone,
tribute gladly given
to his shipmate,
his fellow voyageur,
his story of them delivered
but happily incomplete

of this I know
with utter certainty,
for more than twice,
with his eyes cast down upon
igneous ankle-twisters,
while overstepping
lazy sea lions,
invisible iguanas,
heard him tell me,
the frigates and the *******
and the head-popping turtles,
all who came
to see and hear as well,
them too,
all jealous of
what he spoke,
even then...

for well they and I
heard him say,
in a whisper
intended just for me,
but overheard,
and legally witnessed and thereby,
and herein attested hereby
by many citizens
of the Galapagos and
even one from the great
State of New York

those loving words,
those words

without her, I am lost,
with her, I am gained,
repeating in his way,
Proverbs 31:10:
A worthy woman who can find?
For her price is far above rubies*


so accept this as a free release
from one who listened to the
poetry of a ring's story,
and though he cannot recall the
appearance of the accoutrement,
the words, the words
they spoke,
the whispery smile she let escape,
never left, never could,
that being the thing of greatest
worth
the poet
deemed most worthy
of recording for posterity

__________


this expert poetic witness testimony
in the matter of matrimonial affairs
now entered into permanent part of the record of
Laura and David,
notarized, signed and sealed,
and internet delivered,
truthfully writ this day,
December 20, 2014
Am Montag
Such celebrations will be held
Roses, embraces
The reaffirmation of love
And this day will remind me
Of the year before
Where someone told me I wouldn't be alone

And this day will remind me
Of how wrong he is
And it makes me wonder
how
why
I'm still alive

Because my Valentine
Is not mine at all
Astral  Jan 2017
Jiangu
Astral Jan 2017
How I am walking with no radials, latched with leeches and gasping with blood filled lungs

Each act more desperate then the first, and tears become salt mines to the earth

I am certain the buzzards sing me melodies, they are the only true friends I’ve ever had

My burial will be the apex of cosmic certainty, the reaffirmation of the truths of astral fate

That we are all specs of matter floating in an abyss, filled with such beautiful stars and constellations
A poem about trying to find stability
Sean Grimes Dec 2018
Oh it’s all so surreal till the air gives out and the eyes blink in
You, you resurface in unpleasant reaffirmation
The dull smooths over
I don’t know pain
It is present
Play me out
Make it jazz

— The End —