#conditioned - Hello Poetry

It was silk that was choked on, It was wind which was blowing. For the fly never is caught Until the act of consumption! Yet, if by consumption, Is the spider itself conditioned? What few arachnids shall spin no web, Like few snakes whom have no venom. Defanged or deglanded, I suppose only fools make distinction Between either of them. Yet, if by the action, Is the hand itself also conditioned?

0

Apr 17, 2025

Apr 17, 2025 at 10:31 AM UTC

manx-kronos-pragna

Soft Hands, Brother.

It was silk that was choked on, It was wind which was blowing. For the fly never is caught Until the act of consumption! Yet, if by consumption, Is the spider itself conditioned? What few arachnids shall spin no web, Like few snakes whom have no venom. Defanged or deglanded, I suppose only fools make distinction Between either of them. Yet, if by the action, Is the hand itself also conditioned?

13

all the answers to my questions can be found in my old old poems (or by applying common- sense tbh…) how f#cked up do we really are that we can’t see the obvious, plain, and simple truth when it’s just in front of us?!!? sorry, I meant inside* of us.

0

Sep 16, 2021

Sep 16, 2021 at 7:17 PM UTC

nmo

told ya

all the answers to my questions can be found in my old old poems (or by applying common- sense tbh…) how f#cked up do we really are that we can’t see the obvious, plain, and simple truth when it’s just in front of us?!!? sorry, I meant inside* of us.

17

Hail the laborers at the mill, hail the jokers with witless tastes I ain't going to work on any ordinary farm, of the ordinance and well-ordained They sabotaged lifts and all walked but nothing was gained They huffed and puffed and blew themselves to absurdity They planned and plotted only to see boredom engulf the crowd Ne'er to do the foot-slog, ours is to laugh at the Wigan pier What is idle rest, I laid my hay long ago and made my peace With the catatonic curses, and scatological invective If the mill laborers know what I know They will see wasters working hard to make more waste For theirs is to work and fret, berate each other and work From birth till death to ghosts already remembered Above the antique mantel An educated mind would entertain the thought of numinous reminiscing An excellent habit, to focus at the elephant that cumbered the room The dearth feeling that was filled with scarcity, memoirs lay strewn Like the law and edicts, that flustered the mind Clinton and his economics liberalized my mind, but, piqued the market I read these in papers of the age of dying punk, and gregarious bylines Witty writers pen their names in bold, on pen and paper meant for the literate A kind spirit lies in the artist within Reminders and unneutered plants are willfully disregarded, with the milk untouched Spiritualism is stolen from my doorstep, sold to ragamuffins and rapscallions Exchanged for the dream of more reading, with an understanding of the antiquated climate Dostoyevsky, a small-time Russian who stole the hearts of many, living by his word Told us of crime and punishment, with a large intelligence and deep heart The darker the night brighter the stars In the empty sky, I offered my confusion Failure is not our punishment for laziness, its other people’s success It’s our hunger that floats on the surface of other’s hatred, more like oil and water Russia was a bed of gelid ice, unable to tell the approximated difference I make approximated decisions with calculated assumptions, and all my dreams turn to ashes Years past, and this knowledge brought me peace in my last try at catching the sky Catching falling stars, and preserving nature Some poets of the fall, prefer the winds of change instead of sprig icicles of spring lust

0

Jul 28, 2019

Jul 28, 2019 at 4:54 PM UTC

aditya-roy

Gelid Icicles Of Dover

Hail the laborers at the mill, hail the jokers with witless tastes I ain't going to work on any ordinary farm, of the ordinance and well-ordained They sabotaged lifts and all walked but nothing was gained They huffed and puffed and blew themselves to absurdity They planned and plotted only to see boredom engulf the crowd Ne'er to do the foot-slog, ours is to laugh at the Wigan pier What is idle rest, I laid my hay long ago and made my peace With the catatonic curses, and scatological invective If the mill laborers know what I know They will see wasters working hard to make more waste For theirs is to work and fret, berate each other and work From birth till death to ghosts already remembered Above the antique mantel An educated mind would entertain the thought of numinous reminiscing An excellent habit, to focus at the elephant that cumbered the room The dearth feeling that was filled with scarcity, memoirs lay strewn Like the law and edicts, that flustered the mind Clinton and his economics liberalized my mind, but, piqued the market I read these in papers of the age of dying punk, and gregarious bylines Witty writers pen their names in bold, on pen and paper meant for the literate A kind spirit lies in the artist within Reminders and unneutered plants are willfully disregarded, with the milk untouched Spiritualism is stolen from my doorstep, sold to ragamuffins and rapscallions Exchanged for the dream of more reading, with an understanding of the antiquated climate Dostoyevsky, a small-time Russian who stole the hearts of many, living by his word Told us of crime and punishment, with a large intelligence and deep heart The darker the night brighter the stars In the empty sky, I offered my confusion Failure is not our punishment for laziness, its other people’s success It’s our hunger that floats on the surface of other’s hatred, more like oil and water Russia was a bed of gelid ice, unable to tell the approximated difference I make approximated decisions with calculated assumptions, and all my dreams turn to ashes Years past, and this knowledge brought me peace in my last try at catching the sky Catching falling stars, and preserving nature Some poets of the fall, prefer the winds of change instead of sprig icicles of spring lust

35

Most people were conditioned To think in a certain way. Some cope with it with submission Others with rebellion. All the same In the end. -- Eleanor

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Dec 25, 2016

Dec 25, 2016 at 8:12 PM UTC

EleanorRigby

Conditioned

Most people were conditioned To think in a certain way. Some cope with it with submission Others with rebellion. All the same In the end. -- Eleanor

7

Do you form your own opinions? Are you your own person? Or are you a robot? Conditioned to believe the beliefs of your makers? Do you always believe what you're told to believe? Or are you your own person? With your own opinions?

0

Feb 29, 2016

Feb 29, 2016 at 1:28 PM UTC

xoavey

Nuts and Bolts (A Question)

Do you form your own opinions? Are you your own person? Or are you a robot? Conditioned to believe the beliefs of your makers? Do you always believe what you're told to believe? Or are you your own person? With your own opinions?

7