"adaptive" poems
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,
plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories
abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects
rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
they said they did it for efficiency's sake.
birthed machine after machine,
just to increase the rate
per
time.
no god-given talent or skill,
can defeat this adaptive assembly line.
no man- P
no fire- O
no brain- W
no super- E
no will- R
it's flawless at first glance, and maybe even second.
simply perfect to the naked eye; even the telescoped, i reckon.
but under a microscope, it becomes simple to see,
this single-purposed way of life isn't human; how can it be?
just like control + C, control + V,
i believe they've synchronized simplicity.
believe they've synchronized simplicity.
they've synchronized simplicity.
synchronized simplicity.
simplicity.
.
.yticilpmis
.yticilpmis dezinorhcnys
.yticilpmis dezinorhcnys ev'yeht
.yticilpmis dezinorhcnys ev'yeht eveileb
.yticilpmis dezinorhcnys ev'yeht eveileb i
,V + lortnoc ,C + lortnoc ekil tsuj
?eb ti nac woh ;namuh t’nsi efil fo yaw desoprup-elgnis siht
,ees ot elpmis semoceb ti .epocsorcim a rednu tub
.nokcer i ,depocselet eht neve ;eye dekan eht ot tcefrep ylpmis
.dnoces neve ebyam dna ,ecnalg tsrif ta sselwalf s’ti
R -lliw on
E -repus on
W -niarb on
O -erif on
P -nam on
.enil ylbmessa evitpada siht taefed nac
,lliks ro tnelat nevig-dog on
.emit
rep
etar eht esaercni ot tsuj
,enihcam retfa enihcam dehtrib
.ekas s’ycneiciffe rof ti did yeht dias yeht
Aug 6, 2011
Aug 6, 2011 at 10:15 PM UTC
Tree of proto-monkeys,
brand and banded under Monkey King,
so clever, so adaptive
in substance and doing -
mushrooming in variants:
lemurs, monkeys old and new,
orangutans, gorillas, chimps,
and one big bushy brood
of extincted ***** brothers and you.
Trekking upright into dale,
valleys and over hills too
sore in feet to image
dragging a knuckle or two.
Scavengers making way,
scanning for patterns in
food moving or not,
adaptive doing from fin
to opposable rock.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 1:04 PM UTC
When was the last time you cried when
an ant hive was ruined to put a new building in place?
When was the last time you cried when a rich coral reef
turned into a dead waste?
When did you last changed your behavior so that
the globe would stop heating?
.
After a wound, an adaptive system stars healing.
Its antifragility leads to a stronger being.
The World’s wound is caused by the disease called “Humanity”
The wound does not resemble a skillful, sterile cut of a surgeon
It’s more like a boiling vile of acid poured over one's back
leaving bare bones with denatured flesh dripping down the spine
Yet still even after our **** nature will once again repair itself
It will heal and allow another disruptive ecological breakthrough to happen
.
When did you last notice that we are just another species?
Not that different from ants, to which we had no compassion
When was the last time you played around with the prospect of annihilation?
This is all so stupid, sorry. I didn’t want to mention
We are insignificant animals ripe for extinction
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
Magical and inspiring
All my heart lies in the tips of my fingers
The memories of where they've been
The hearts they've traced
The skins they've ached to dance against
The language in which they speak
A language in which they are fluent
A language that is foreign and ever adaptive
So much sensory intake
So much motor output
All in the most neglected place
Finger tips left neglected
For actions of rushed intentions
All that is needed is to hod my hand
All that is wanted is a warmth
A fire that won't die when the night gets too cold
I don't need the wind through my hair
I don't to be exhausted by emotion
I just need to feel that my heart can still race
I just want a circulatory high
I want something no money can buy
I want the euphoria that no drug can provide
May 30, 2010
May 30, 2010 at 3:37 AM UTC
Staying in tune with the balance
Courageously looking into the mind's eye
into all eyes
what is swirling in my limitless expanse?
Recursive Recursive
Tell me your dreams
share in thought
find the silence holding the world's sound
Peace is a pebble in the blinding storm, Pick it up
Fantasy touch Reality
Drive along watch
Find the tower over looking the expanse
climb the mountain high
stare around the expanse until your vision meets the endless horizons
its all out there
globular circle, perpetual motion machine
spinning, flying, tumbling round & round
hurtling at 7 decatillion light years
through time space and beyond
we, these seeming ants along for the ride of our life
space time travelers placidly in our world of chaos adapting,
adaptive shoulder shruggers on a planetary scale
This planetary potential genius to awake in us all
Does the last man come?
What will the over man make of paradise?
Sleepy progenitors, laugh
shake your curly hairy heads
cover yourself with rags if you must,
or Don't!
Are you comfortable in skin?
Do you fathom what is beyond your sensual limits?
***** woman do you know?
Have you found it in your fleshy delights,
the secret invitation for discovery is in every niche, every hole, every fold, every kiss, every caress, every stare, every touch, every smooth slide, fingertips tracing lines of hips, lips, backs, calves, feet, jaw, ear, cheek.
A young lover may know it there, or especially an old, a bucktramp
or the loveliest ***** lady
Label the divine and holy if you must
its all out there waiting and engaging
its here now with you, with us
linking along
the water moves but is constantly there, co arising,
what wave is where
Its all here
chant OM, can you feel it?
Hold that vibration, pulsate with your mouth closed and hum and shout melodically
emitting the vibe
Be the Vibeman.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
Attentive student of the songs of birds,
No beakèd beast hath e'er more sweetly trill'd
A pair of notes or call'd in major thirds
Or minor with musicality more skill'd.
Adaptive linguist, practic'd in the tongue
Of wingèd feather'd creatures, thou hast writ
Into "The Birdsong Songbook" songs unsung
By birds which yet harmoniously fit.
And though the book began in higher throats
Diversely tun'd by Nature's artful hand
Ere measur'd were the times and tones of notes,
(Which often rest them now upon a stand),
Its finest lines (o'er which I now do rave)
Witness thy penmanship on every stave.
^ ^
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
I feel like a puddle in front of a school.
Having children jump in me one after another as they see me on the ground.
But every time you jump in a puddle,
the water disperses..
the puddle gets smaller from the water splashing out.
And oh my,
far too many feet have dipped their toes into the hollows of my being for me to feel functional.
I feel as if I’m shrinking like that puddle in a sense.
Tainted by ***** shoes making permanent alterations to my pre-existing form.
Maybe sometimes there’s no “adaptive responses.”
The only way for the puddle to fill and grow again,
is for more rain to fall.
But there are no clouds in this sky of “me.”
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
Bubbles float upwards in slow motion.
Each one leaving behind all care and emotion.
The deep blue surrounding me drowns out all sound,
Spiraling like clouds floating all around.
Only now do i see the beauty.
It's long silky hair that floats in the sea.
See through for them is attractive,
Each movement, adaptive.
They rule the sea with their looks, so uncanny.
The jellyfish.. forgotten by many.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
Considering some pages I've covered, quite immersed I can be in nonsense.
Nonsense, immaterial..
Nonsense, derailed..
Nonsense, abnormal..
Nonsense, beauty..
Nonsense, imperfection..
Nonsense, is doglike..
Doglike is godlike... Yeah, thought crime, alot of things considered too sacred to ponder.. that's the program, the matrix.. But with poetry, THOUGHT CRIME is godly.
Thought crime.. is
the universal law of creation.
the wonders of the world are born.
Civilization is born.
Solutions are discovered.
Guilty and escape or innocent and bound. Your choice.
DOG.
Dog is uncleanness yet godlike in all ramifications.
Jealousy.
Longing..
Pure..
Loving..
Ever accommodating..
Protective..
Peaceful..
Violent..
Kind..
But most important it's ever forgiven and never complaining..
It's the friend I crawl back to after given up myself to the sharp edges of sins,
as others fled seeing me down with bruises, it cleans my sores without disdain and accompanies me.
Can you be with a
MAD man. He asked.?
Mad
Not in violence,
MAD in words..
MAD in poetry..
Oh mad,
Have he just unlocked the portal..?
Making a difference with words is the "IKIGAI".
Orders might follow suit,
Breakdown one..
Two in the process..
Immersed in nonsense finding it hard to discover myself in the sense..
The MAD lines..
First timer in the MAD lines, old-timer in the LOVE and SORROW lines..
MAD lines are..
Sensitive...
Creative.
Adaptive.
In-Sanity..
Unsensored..
Derailing..
Dark humor..
Lies...
Liers can't make heaven they say,
But even when he lies he made it to heaven...
Why lit candles while going to the source of light, little ounce...
Are u trying to compare your Shadow with God's?
Shadow..
An object coming between a ray of light and a surface.
The twist is in the rays of light and the surface, which do you belong..?
Don't understand?
You are not meant to, just flow along the lines..
Until you get to the end of the rope just then a glimpse of light might appear, Hold on to the rope..
Hold...
The breathe.
The courage.
The life..
Yeah, hold, hold on to these lines Coz you might miss them someday..
Jul 12, 2023
Jul 12, 2023 at 11:22 AM UTC
succulent heart only needs a couple of drops every few months
cacti are what I have become
adaptive to the inconsistent
search for storms no matter how violent
just to get that sweet sweet drop
just to feel my heart fill fill up
then leave in the flash, leave it in the past
I have no problem moving on
as long as I get my drops
Apr 20, 2022
Apr 20, 2022 at 12:13 PM UTC
Assuming 'survival of the most adaptive,'
why does Change tend to frighten people?
It should be seen as an opportunity;
a challenge to which One can rise
and beyond which One can grow.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:03 AM UTC
The bible teaches that we are sheep,
simple extensions meant to be herded,
but somehow I feel this is not true,
man's native disposition is not gentle,
it is raw, it is powerful, and it is cruel,
we are social creatures,
we huddle together for warmth just as sheep,
but we are not sheep,
we are wolves,
cunning and calculating,
why else do we **** and maim our own,
but for own entertainment,
our own gain?
However,
we are also extremely adaptive,
and so I say,
if you are sheep be sheep,
but if you are wolves be wolves,
re-purpose your fangs,
structure the pack and do not hide,
fight back against indignation,
guard your brothers and sisters,
keep watch through the night,
and when the time comes I say strike,
tear out the throat of inequality,
and let the lifeblood of the sickly fruit flow,
and pour it into the streets.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
Longing to escape his clutches
A subtle begging for aggressive touches
A breeze is building
Something soft
She sees the risk but wonders the cost
Constant hunger needs constant filling
This yearning insider her wont stop spilling
Torment lined with silver
A blooming darkness deep within her
A glint of light appears afar
Beauty and tragedy
A dying star
The wind is coming
She can feel my scars
A pain that can't be seen
Cracked lips fill with sensual screams
The freedom she seeks
Passion
Adaptive and flowing
The storm is here
The wind stops blowing
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 7:51 PM UTC
When I first set eyes upon you,
It was my soul that reached out to say "hello".
Those blue eyes beat the ocean's beauty in an instant.
And you led the way to go.
You taught me about appreciation,
How, in this world, we must give and take.
I reconsidered how easily I forgot,
And forgave, every single mistake.
You brought me into your home,
And sat with me through the dark.
Together, we lit up candles,
And enlightened up a world, with just the smallest spark.
You showed me to the world,
Then showed the world to me.
I admit I was frightened at first,
But then I learned what it felt like to be free.
We were meant to be,
You and I.
It was written in stone.
It was written in the sky.
We were destined for each other,
We both had lessons to be learned:
You needed to learn how to love,
And I needed to learn how it felt to be burned.
Freedom is nonexistent,
In a world riddled with hate.
We all must learn how to be adaptive,
In a world controlled by fate.
A wind blew so heavy,
During another darkened night,
And extinguished all our candles,
And we sat again without light.
I used to think our hearts were like locks,
And out there, someone had the key.
So when you try to open a lock with the wrong one,
Your result is you and me.
I loved how easily I forgot,
And forgave, every single mistake.
And how everyone just knew I was grateful,
Without immediate give and take.
I loved how no chains could link us,
And how there were no dependencies.
Back when we were wanderers out there,
Still searching for our keys.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
as space sufficiently expresses, or succinctly paraphrases with the concerns for time: or hue, or suntan, or baritone hummed weakening into a humph... crazy-bone etc.; sometimes poetry is so much more than the usurping of onomatopoeia... life is the essence of being timed, but that's hardly the essence in the space we occupy - over-versed thinking never formalised toward an outer-reaching imagination that might become copper-raindrops' worth of Disney, or a way memory is made adaptive to cure dementia... yes, space is the essential component for the compartment of life... i believe time has no place in what's to be called life, i believe time exists, but on an Olympic scale, in the metres and millimetres, on the minutes and seconds scales... space is the essence of life: so diverging from known apparatus to unknown operations, thus so diverging from known operations to unknown apparatus... and so on and so forth, until dinosaurs roar and we merely say: yawn - arrogant in our guise.
true, space devalues time; as said the people between us who we never had a meal with, but had the crazed look of craving an unnecessary contentment with despair. can i guess at something? i like your alphabetical onomatopoeia, i.e. pun for knocking, a sorta p p p / b b b, not necessarily needing the suffix for rhyme, why is it that poetry requires the echo, why not rhyme upfront? anyway... but it's there, that alphabetical onomatopoeia... a repeating of the first letter, like opening an oyster... which contradicts the orthodox methodology of rhyme... meaning that there's a repeated seance of an opening... which (although alphabetically staged to a prevailing repeat) equips the reader with many more surprising alternations - basically you begin with what rhymes alphabetically, but not necessarily phonetically: the lost suffix -ing via i had a cat called blinding, and he said all things were shining... one of your poems enabled me to spot this reversal of poetic orthodoxy, in that the rhyme became less musicological, and more rubric enlisting a coherent schema, such as a list... or rhyme via propped first, and cascading into oblivion, never really minding the waggling tail of a bouncy-ball of accepted verse. aardvark and acupuncture... the rhyme begins with A, and ends as it should end, diverging, so there's no feel for a repeat akin to drum or rhythmic bass... otherwise: shout an A into a cave and hear an echo... that's what poetry is damnably worthy to congest one's thinking with... don't rhyme: echo! and ensure that echo is alphabetical rather than musicological. perchance lessened talk, i too would have revised this example with some worthy emoticon.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
I want a man whose heart is so full -
Rainwater dripping from the pitcher on the drizzled grey of yesterday,
A soft sound in the great symphony of the wet garden,
Bejeweled and glistening,
Pianoforte drops
Upon the wet leaves
Falling.
I will know him by the way he writes, the kindness in his eyes -
Flashes of him in my professor,
In myself, caught laughing like a child,
In the quiet teenager who is becoming an
Unlikely philosopher, frontal cortex in heat,
With the implications of existence
(He’s awake in the early dawn, a furious Jacob,
wrestling with his God)
And he will be a Seeker of Beauty:
“There is no medium unworthy”
He will tell me, but never in words,
Crouching for perfection’s grace among leaves and dirt
Like a widow beneath rainbow fractals
At early morning’s mass.
He will be effortless, like the unspoken love
Between two old friends, bookends
Scattering crumbs of baguettes in the park
To clicking beaks, and dancing pigeon feet.
Burying himself in pages, when he thinks no one sees
(Was that you there, on the subway?
Dark eyes, fixated on the lines,
Crinkling with understanding?)
Both of us adventurous spirits -
“Let’s run away, you and me” and we will
Melt with ease into cityscapes, so transparent, adaptive,
Young and free,
Like the wood moths becoming one
With the aspen in its serenity,
We light upon
France, Spain… Italy.
I know I will find him
In my own verse.
Will discover him
In pages that I’ve turned.
Will recite his thoughts back to him, and will
Love him like poetry.
I will know him by heart.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
It's far easier to hate than forgive, can't give myself a break when the case study's retrospective
I hate that it's easier to die than to live, pull up just shy and see it all fall in and out of perspective
To be here, right here, year after year is the objective but the inner chatter from my dark passenger is persuasive
Life escapes through each back stab wound like a fleshy sieve, how much can one individual give
Just meaningless crumbs aren't attractive, I'm a no good, very bad human representative
So primitive, the smooth brain collective not selective enough to be proactive instead of reactive
The crazies run the nut house and the clubs exclusive, drunk off two fifths, the front doors elusive
I'm no detective, I just hope my karma is something I can outlive
Dark thoughts are combative, my own mind is abusive, held captive with no clear motive
The rush from anger becomes addictive even when self destructive
The me I want to be has lost all adhesive and every step towards a concept that moves forward feels counterproductive
From my perspective I should embrace the paradox, go back in time and hand my mom a contraceptive
I'd rather not exist than to be a relative to this bloodline that feels radioactive
But what's the alternative, trading one mess for another is gonna get repetitive
And every time, the byproduct gets more carossive, the rust forms a husk that falls away exposing the explosive
One that goes off erratically 'cause real change isn't a newspaper, or soothsayer, real help is expensive
Hand me that sedative, this repetitive narrative is too intensive, Lucifer's obsessive and I, compulsive
Destructive to a fault and so one sided I'm not even competitive
A cognitive function nowhere near adaptive, straight to punishment, bypassing corrective
Leaving me to always be on the defensive but that alone will fail to be effective
At least for the collection of the negative that is a bigger percentage of the me that's reflective
One of a fugitive on the run from my formative years, all the hardwired fears still active
Each with a different authoritative directive and all for the worse, who the hell's even driving this locomotive?
My words sound figurative, at least enough to label it an overactive imagination, so creative
But it's imperative that this is looked at as informative, a documentary type narrative
CAUSE I SWEAR IT IS
©2023
May 9, 2023
May 9, 2023 at 6:38 PM UTC
i do
expect
a bit
more
from
poetry
you can use it destructively like reinforcing mal adaptive
tendencies by
wallowing
in
comforting
emotion
or
you
can
use
it
to
steer
you
through
the
rocky
passage
of
life
and
insight !
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 1:04 AM UTC
Why did
we exile
that child that
always smiled?
I implore you,
get riled!
Find your child,
when your imagination
ran wild and wasn't at all
styled.
Beguile,
you cannot be
misfiled,
as an adaptive,
creative child.
Jul 3, 2018
Jul 3, 2018 at 2:07 PM UTC
*
well as an excess to thought
shell at a collective illusion
adaptive moral obligation
objective plausible intuition
norms deep-seated disposition
forms believe to self-justification
who be regardless categorical
do survive flourishin' hypothetical
left aside the unpursuaded question
theft arise of any residual inclination
'n' effective sense obey the dictates
went away true appealin' rationality
as the circle widens internalisation
has reason lead to scope off morality
before be noted as if socialisation
therefore is this really this (r)evolutionary...
*..love always...
عرفان بن يوسف © AH 03/04/1433**
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
In the space between spaces
An unchosen man dwells,
to make choice without choosing,
A ship without a sail.
A man with no expression,
A man with little zeal,
A man when only asked of him does he choose to feel.
Never is his allegiance limited to one,
Pleasing those that live under the sun.
Driven by uncertainty
Adaptive on command.
Like the letters in the sand
They have purpose for a while,
Forever they're rocking a fabricated smile.
The depth of a body of water on concrete.
The unchosen man does loiter,
But denies such coin featured, secretive behaviour
Like a guilty man next to his lawyers chair,
His spine begins to shiver.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 5:06 PM UTC
Amazing, this thing, time, it goes on whether you're here, or not, and to come back and see the irrelevance of all, is somehow calming.
Adaptive, time and life, it lives when we die. To observe from a distance, has, in a word, been relieving.
I carried my importance as a trait.
What a weight it is. Its good to know, no matter my place, I have one.
Very calm
Jul 24, 2023
Jul 24, 2023 at 10:50 PM UTC