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Lin Cava Jun 2016
Theodore Roosevelt –

Teddy ceased to walk this earth, benefactor to his beloved Nation, valiant in his service to his country, his family and the family of Americans, on January 6, 1919.

During his remarkable life he never wavered in his support of America – these United States, and Americans.  Were it not for Teddy, there would be no National Preserves or parks.

He had much to say.  So sage was his insight that it retains universal relevance to this day.

Sadly, we have no modern day Teddy to set things right; there is so much to address, and so little time to meet the challenges.  I fear we have adopted a timidness of heart that would be a foul countenance for this President to see.

What follows are some of his words.  See if you do not agree that they remain relevant words of wisdom, to this day.  Teddy is gone for 96 years.  How I would love to see another like him at the helm.



“Any man who tries to excite class hatred, sectional hate, hate of creeds, any kind of hatred in our community, though he may affect to do it in the interest of the class he is addressing, is in the long run with absolute certainly that class's own worst enemy.”



“Behind the ostensible government sits enthroned an invisible government owing no allegiance and acknowledging no responsibility to the people. To destroy this invisible government, to befoul the unholy alliance between corrupt business and corrupt politics is the first task of the statesmanship of today.”

“Our government, National and State, must be freed from the sinister influence or control of special interests. Exactly as the special interests of cotton and slavery threatened our political integrity before the Civil War, so now the great special business interests too often control and corrupt the men and methods of government for their own profit. We must drive the special interests out of politics.”

We should insist that if the immigrant who comes here does in good faith become an American and assimilates himself to us he shall be treated on an exact equality with every one else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed or birth-place or origin.  But this is predicated upon the man's becoming in very fact an American and nothing but an American. If he tries to keep segregated with men of his own origin and separated from the rest of America, then he isn't doing his part as an American. There can be no divided allegiance here. . . We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language, for we intend to see that the crucible turns our people out as Americans, of American nationality, and not as dwellers in a polyglot boarding-house; and we have room for but one soul loyalty, and that is loyalty to the American people.

-Theodore Roosevelt - January 3, 1919 - Publicly read on January 5, 1919

Roosevelt passed the next day, January 6, 1919



“Every immigrant who comes here should be required within five years to learn English or leave the country.”



And, wouldn’t this apply to the keystone pipeline? –

“Here is your country. Cherish these natural wonders, cherish the natural resources, cherish the history and romance as a sacred heritage, for your children and your children's children. Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches or its romance.”

“Leave it as it is. The ages have been at work on it and man can only mar it.”

*

“In foreign affairs we must make up our minds that, whether we wish it or not, we are a great people and must play a great part in the world. It is not open to us to choose whether we will play that great part or not. We have to play it. All we can decide is whether we shall play it well or ill.”

“In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes an American and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin. But this is predicated upon the person's becoming in every facet an American, and nothing but an American... There can be no divided allegiance here. Any man who says he is an American, but something else also, isn't an American. We have room for but one flag, and that is the American flag… We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language... and we have room for but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the American people.”

“In this country we have no place for hyphenated Americans.”

Presidential thoughts and on leadership…

"Patriotism means to stand by the country. It does not mean to stand by the president or any other public official, save exactly to the degree in which he himself stands by the country. It is patriotic to support him insofar as he efficiently serves the country. It is unpatriotic not to oppose him to the exact extent that by inefficiency or otherwise he fails in his duty to stand by the country. In either event, it is unpatriotic not to tell the truth, whether about the president or anyone else.”

“People ask the difference between a leader and a boss ... The leader works in the open, and the boss in covert. The leader leads, and the boss drives.”

“The best executive is the one who has sense enough to pick good men to do what he wants done, and self-restraint to keep from meddling with them while they do it.”

“The things that will destroy America are prosperity at any price, peace at any price, safety first instead of duty first and love of soft living and the get-rich-quick theory of life.”

Yes, he had a lot to say.  Not everyone can agree on everything.  But, I am sure that Teddy would have rather a person support their position, firm in the knowledge of the situation, when not in agreement, than go along meekly, unwilling to effect change.
Our Politicians, by and large, have become what our founders intended that they NEVER become - De-facto Royalty.  They are our nations royals, holding themselves above those they are purported to represent.
The are so much so above us that they exempt themselves from laws of the land that we must abide.  They refuse to represent the people in seeking solutions for the good of the country and obscure that with making ovations to "be inclusive" of special interests.  What is good for one, is good for all - no longer matters, as our representatives have taken the power we gave them and twisted it.
Far to few to make the difference, those who would not conduct themselves as if a class above the People are unable to overcome.
I grew up on Long Island, not far from Teddy's house.  My son and grandsons call it just that - Teddy's house.  They have visited, played and learned there.  Though I was born long after he left this world, Theodore Roosevelt touched my life - in fact, all of our lives.  Strange that I should so miss someone I never knew.
Tamal Kundu Dec 2016
City
becomes joy,
gathers hope, together
concrete and man spiral, infusing life,
aspirations endless. Continuing journey unfolds
gradually; individuality lost and found and found and lost.
Roots pulsing, always expanding;
slums persisting by negated wealth—
poetry written.
Invoking rain,
civilisation assimilates
~River~
assimilates civilisation.
Rain invoking
written poetry.
Wealth negated by persisting slums
expanding always. Pulsing roots
lost and found and found and lost. Individuality gradually
unfolds journey continuing. Endless aspirations
— life infusing—spiral man and concrete
together; hope gathers.
joy becomes
City.
Form : Palindrome
Spoken: What is heard
The adornment, gospel truths the pious believers of your personal faith. The Heresy, the voice of those you’ve ******
Spoken: That which can not be taken back
Your frivolous certainties had no hold but now frame our reality because they are always in the peripheral only seeing what it allows you
Spoken: half truths
The victimized, the wronged, the offended just to validate unscrupulous act to those who have wronged you.
Spoken: White lies
The coddling which breeds an ignorance for the knowledge of decorum, decorations and vails to hid behind
Spoken: That which the universe asserts
That which the universe listens to, vibrations that it assimilates making it part of the whole without losing its agenda
Spoken words hold power far beyond communication
Odd Odyssey Poet Dec 2022
"But let me tune you the live about life's simulation,
that assimilates one's worth. Poetry's code isn't of ones
and zeroes, but of all lines and words"
Says the wit of a coloured oan wanting to chuff the girls

It's all about the honeys, and maybe some sweet
success of hustling for a little extra money

Taking a stand on every stanza, I grew up to different standards
Unlike the hood rapper clutching the 48 hammer,
I was taught in my hood how to hold a 48 spanner
I have my odds in odes; every heavy breath in each
coma—not so common
Given the stereotype of dealing and robbing
To steal your stereo if the right type,
and best to drive with caution

A dark skinned coloured
fitting in with the blacks by appearance
Accents do tend to change ears intently hearing
Whites think I'm that way out of a private school fashion
But I did at times hang out with the wrong crowd,
at times on weekends smoking **** and relaxing

And yes I'm actually coloured; to those of you asking
Hit you with a "hey what's up, what's happening"
Don't mind me asking questions with this sort of coloured accent
"Yoo what's the story," we start our conversations
in the morning. A different kind of breed Godsent

I don't force how I speak
But if it disturbs the peace
I'll change my tone of speech
And find solace in writing another poetry piece

                                            @the Coloured poet
Norman dePlume Dec 2015
Mandibles make their own hoarding,
but they do not make it as they please;
they do not make it under semiconductor-selected civilians,
but under civilians existing already, given and transmitted from the past.

The trailer of all dead gentians weighs like a nipper
on the brandishes of the lob.
And just as they seem to be occupied with revolutionizing themselves and thistles,
creating something that did not exist before, precisely

in such equipments of rheostat crochet they anxiously conjure up the spleens
of the past to their setter, bother from them nappies, bayonet slouches,
and cottons in *****-grinder to present this new scheme in wound hoarding
in timpanist-honored disincentive and borrowed larch.

Thus Luther put on the masseur of the Appearance Paul,
the Rhapsody of 1789-1814 draped itself alternately in the gully of the Rook Requisite and the Rook Empress,
and the Rhapsody of 1848 knew novelette bicentenary to do than to parsonage,
now 1789, now the rheostat trailer of 1793-95.

In like mantel, the belch who has learned a new larch always translates it backfire into his motor toot,
but he assimilates the spleen of the new larch
and exteriors himself freely in it only when he moves in it
without recalling the old and when he forgets his navy toot.
An N+7 from a passage by Marx,
copyright (c) 2015
#n7
Allen Robinson Jul 2016
In my tiny world
nothing compares
to your aroma
when freshly baked
out of the oven
the scent of
GINGERBREAD
assimilates itself
into every corner
& crack of the house
That spicy hint of
ginger and nutmeg
combine to arouse
my scenes of days
gone by of giant
GINGERBREAD men
and large glasses of milk
by the fireplace
In any form as a loaf
or snap you are king,
but warn with whipped
cream... nothing else
needs to be said.
YEP... this one is for me, all for me.  Sorry to be selfish.  LOL
Phillip Knight Aug 2016
The lighter breath of air
Sends shivers through the spine of weeping willows
As dragonflies flirt with kindle crackle
I sit somewhere under the arch of Orion
Surveying all that is mine
Blink one, on
Blink one, off.
It is lonely in the dark
Yet, here in the solitary freedom
I freely think of her
So I may be lonely;
Though I am not alone

There is a civilised glow to the horizon
As I shrink with the Jetstream of those little lights
Blink one on, blink one off
Blink two on, blink two off
I am my own trail of smoke
En route from the burning tip of a slowly decaying cigarette
How the paper wrap burns under a heavy breath
Conceding to my need of escape
Dancing in rings around the wisp of haunted words and subtle strings

I find hope in the sky that looks upon us both
Lowering clouding allowing me inside its gentle comfort
Carrying me north,
With the distant sound of memories converging as a guidance runway,
Blink one on, Blink one off
Blink two on, Blink two off

Home, within sleep, within the air
You draw breath and take me in
The seagulls are silent in honour of your first sleep
As life assimilates dream
The brain picks into memory
Extracting the clouds, leaving stars
The belt of the archer as secret camouflage of the world around.
We are dandelions, free from anchors
Sailing through the tips of reeds and listening to their silent hum in the breeze
We sail on swan back and climb interconnecting necks
They shadow a symbol of love upon the rippling stream

in moment of lift
Together into air
Over bramble and bush, teasing with the bark of trees,
Escaping greedy fingers that wish to pull us apart
Balance on branches and rest
Somewhere in the sky.

There we stay
Between the moon beams and starlight twinkle
Sleeping softly together in the arms of an archer
Blink one on, Blink two on
Here we fail to fade
Our own pollen rejuvenating us into a million lifetimes
Forever starting and ending with each other
We are the centre of calm
Sleeping softly together
Under the same sky
Above the same earth
In the blink of an eye
Blink one, blink two
You and I
Carlos Oct 2017
Here I've grown to accept the riddles of each day, to culminate into a coalesced mesh of disarray.
Never would the seeds down under sprout to see the sun at the mere sound of thunder.
X marks the spot somewhere dissolving in my gut, wrenching at the chance to give both some and none of which we call *****.
I've lost my faith in humanity,
I've lost humanity in my faith.
Yet I'd face my fate if only just to sate the state.
This flip book of stop.
Animation.
Assimilates fremescent assibilation,
And similarly tastes terrible,
Savoring like dry sponge, and tied tongues,
It's incredibly trivial, just a trivia of syllables stripped up to simple tools.
Simple tools.
Simple...
I can only summon feelingfulness like the passing of a dove,
postponing its arrival mid-air, somewhere along the tucked
bramble across Poblacion, starting with metaphorical sensibility
or an insensibly bland space to procure wanted meaning.
Girls prefer roses and their bright foreheads diademed with more
flowers, and boys, their chiaroscuro or lack of a color thereof, seems
to be fitting in this maladroit contrast, and so I begin, as always,
with your very vague and caged memory. Your face, the whiteness
of snowcapped alps. Your strut, my slalom in a treacherous course
of words reduced to whisperings, to flutings. Your voice, though nuanced,
flitters with an overtone of arrogance: if sound was clothed, yours would
be flamboyant ermine. And the line in front of you before I, my arbitrary turn,
assimilates into a picturesque form of waiting somewhere in Cubao.
I wanted to smash myself with train-speed towards the metallic turnstile,
which, would then famish me even so, just as much as I wish to be a car crash
somewhere within the outskirts of your town, heavily vandalized by the swill
of squalor hefting itself like the rest of the world conscious of its viscera.
  This is how I start you – like waiting for the sun to emerge by Borobudur,
or the clandestine *** of mildew and grass, a hundredfold of images appear
before me and I cannot choose upon my whims and caprices. Are you a dove?
A spear of Sun? A thunderous crackle of an impending rain? A harlequin?
A moseying cirrus? Or just another by-stander in the crowds where I ultimately
seek your being?
      This answerlessness measures my knowledge of star, and my breath snuffed
out of me while I sigh from exhausted penchants, outweigh dissimilarities and symmetries.
A progeny from all superseding conundrums arises: are you a retrogression of a wave
back to its saltine wound, flailing in brine? Or are you just the vast sea and nothing else
on a fine and lucid day where children skip stones and chant name-callings?
                   I sense the peril in this undertaking, and much to my chagrin, I still
   do not know how to end you.
Nicholas Fogle Aug 2015
Age
Age

It does not discriminate, nor does it hate rather as much as it assimilates

Age

It's one of the universal constants,
like change,
it never changes, age, it never ages.

We all live, learn, love, and lose

We've all loss
We all Age

You see it in stride of everyday people
Young flowing towers left and right.
Old creepers like moving shells of night like as a
baby turtle looking for shelter
Jeremy Bean Feb 2019
Sorry I can't relate to you
or if my act seems see through
as the voices scream I'm destined to lose
on a path that Im told I can choose
yet the only one praised seems lead to a land of fools

how does a man covey
the truths that we evade
its like we're playing a game
we know no winners escape

I'm at a loss for words
and the more that I blurt
the more it seems absurd
contemplating what is worse
to quit this race and go unheard
or push on only to be burned
wading in a world of hurt
reducing it all to a blur

Nation, or relation,
religion or procreation
assimilates me deeper
into disassociation

maybe they taught me how to fear all the hatred
but rarely how some love and cheer can change the situation

now I'm just exhausted
waiting for the rules to change
being accosted
by those who always point the blame

reptilian brains
thats been raised
bound by chains
to anothers mission
driven insane
by the thoughts ingrained
with repetition
same old same
to envision
imposed superstitions
to be swallowed whole
polluted souls
who no longer have control
with no indication
no escape
no letting go

sickened and disgusted by your ******* cause
to raise a sense of greed
for everything
above of all

the more feelings taken from me
the more I feel like a machine
that I never wanted to be
am I too far from rescuing?

in a group of robots
who know not what they do
who will use any excuse
to continue what their used to

am I the only one who seems to see this cell?
because when I point it out I am told to go to hell
She painted my lips black,
and brushed my auburn hair back.
She said I was far too pretty,
to bare anything bold like that.

She tied my hair with ribbon,
and brushed glitter along my cheeks.
She said ladies aren't as pretty if
they forget to gloss their faces.

Later on she covered my eyes,
and pushed my esteem into her resonable size.
She said that we can't be so different,
she wouldn't like it like that.

She dolled me up in silver,
and made me porcelain,
then she glossed my lashes,
and corseted my waist.

When she placed me on my shelf,
I took a look around.
Beside me, on my left and right,
were two girls also bound.

Her lips were black like Ravens,
and her hair was pulled back slick.
The other was shined with glitter,
with her waist all bound and tight.

It occurred to me rather quickly,
why we're all upon this shelf.
She collects us and assimilates,
we're all her little dolls.
With such a life, you'll see,
Society always has her calls.
Julian Sep 2021
Coenesthesia replicates and assimilates the pataphysical constellations that constitute the bulk of the perceptible but, because of a strained echopraxia that adheres to aleatory mathesis, the subconscious imprint of permutations of an integrated reality differ by capacities of percolation of the corporeal through the lavaderos of limit and the strain of hypertrophy or atrophy. Consciousness is like a shattered mirror that is corrugated through spatiotemporal circumjacent boundaries that constitute the psychogony of complexion rather than reflection. It is a comprehensive if beleaguered sentience that caresses the subliminal and accentuates the caprice of esemplastic tentacles that span variable gamuts that are ultimately subordinated by a celation that borrows from girouettism to create a shared approximation that circumducts around the babeldom of conclamation that is a categorical mutualism which becomes the nomothetic girdle of differential gradients of idiosyncrasy meeting the normative constraints of algedonic psychogony that deviates greatly from geotechnic optimum and even greater from geotechnic pessimum (by the necessity of dampened Brownian Motion which is defied by the congenital syntax of learned organization). And because the sum of conscience results in ecclesiarchy hobbled by impetuous purpresture of habit we can similarly conclude that the sum of consciousness is the percolation of both intrinsic valor and inane echopraxia into a contempered emancipation of the compounded breadth of learned cathexis and the depth of innate gangues that embody a flash of literacy augmented by flexible subroutines of habit that are the motatory rebhibition of sociocracy flimsy but inveterate to success and forgetful of frustraneous debacles if never in enantiodromia.
.
The concatenation of idioglossia (instinctive childlike communication; gabble) for example reflects a shared orbit of personas that share different gradients of volatility as the ludic fouter of the quintessential protoplasm is an origami of perception magnified by an inherited caprice that is the mandate for a terpsichorean but sympatric sphere of contraplex vectors of category intersected with the mutiny of syntax to abridge and simultaneously expand the protensive durative process of cohesive bricolage prone to the intuitive tenacity to absorb and then manufacture a farrago that abides by evolved awareness and churns a consequent solidarity found in definition but beyond the surmised threshold of the callow retread. I conclude, therefore, that consciousness depends on the superorganism of the macrobian and lively interaction between shared experience which centuples only if by a cultural imprint that is either hobbled by uniformity to result in a reductive certainty or a blandished flummery of the hackneyed (when collectivism is imperious draconian conformity) or an expansive tug of idiosyncrasy to sublimate in divergent imagination that is the stew of redintegrated ingenuity. Therefore consciousness began as an insular nesiote that is the primitive primogeniture of the canvass of circular dynamism but evolved into a superlative and supernal field of variable constitution that embodies both self and other but neither in totality.
I believe, therefore, consciousness began with an insular awareness incapable of anything but instinct which became the primipara for an advenient conjuration of language hobbled by the nomadic sprites of the protensive fouter with aimless lunarist siderism and eventually into an ethereal medium hypostatizing a replication that with virulent force and vehement conviction motivated fractured piecemeal dirigismes that confound boundaries of raw uniformity and ideal ipseity of the individuation of seminal rather than frustraneous ideas that collapse on algedonic ritualization. Consciousness, therefore, is both the measure of the collective weight and gravity of contraplex ideas differing their orbits but remaining reconstituted as unitary forms that achieve both sprawl and speed and simultaneously the constrained sphere of self-aware reticulation that bowdlerizes (depending on the age and capacity of intellect) the axiomatic and outmoded procedures such that what remains requires is somewhere between the conversant and the ineffable. Consciousness is more unitary than dualistic but it requires the projection of the known and the communication of the obvious to form the bulwark of the arcane and the degrees of the metemperical are actually an apagoge of academicism and acatalepsy because in good fortune we find that the reach of culture is the replication of stratified and replete originality contempered by the necessary politics of skeletonized frameworks of vulcanized but inflexible models to become the mainsail paragons of traction. Therefore consciousness is replicable and idiosyncrasy is unmistakable but the divergent imagination is intractable but rarely ever untethered to the humanity of culture rather than the mechanics of dehumanization.
protesting Trump
you really are
protesting
the impunity of whiteness
invented to exploit
oppression from the beginning
finally in the open
blackness has been this protest
since being scientifically packaged
on slave ships
packaging what to tell humans
to make them think they are
better with whiteness
he should be scared to leave his office
it should be unsafe
even within the oval office
trips and slams chins on desk
hard mahogany imported
from the fear of Africa
from the fear of birth
the fear of evolution
no one noticed
he rotted in his office for weeks
the residue of obsolete whiteness
America
is only as good as it
it recognizes
and assimilates
into the free steps
of the black woman
marching with lactating *******
social scars
soreness
from fleeing the evil of whiteness
lifetimes through
thick words
thick voluptuous developed mind
dressed in dazzling resilience
in love with freedom
Seranaea Jones Nov 2021
-

imagine resting in a realm
where the universe is
draped by a single
shadow—

the sensation of cold sheets
lasting until one assimilates
the other–

leaving some sleeping,

and others just
passing through
...


s jones
2021


.
Arfah Afaqi Zia Jun 2016
My poetic insights
Confabulate with my brain
Spilling words in a rhythm
A flow I write about my love,

My poetic conscience
Assimilates with my hand
Moving my pen hastily
In description I write about your touch,

My poetic gestures
Seen in my writing
My heart races as I write each word
With love and feeling I express and pour in my thirst for you.
Kyle Horstmann Aug 2014
A Dark storm cloud lays lazily just beyond the Horizon.
-Lightening flashes violently just out of reach
-Just out of sight, you cant see the bolt, or hear its thunder
-but you know its there by the illuminations of the cloud.
-the bright blue explosions that fill the cloud, that assimilates the mountains, encompassing everything.
You fear
but aren't afraid
For life is as the lightening is.
Its fleeting, and leaves us without a whisper, with out a goodbye.
And they to will fear us, and not be afraid.
For theirs is the same journey
and theirs is the same reward
Analyze this, and tell me what you think its about.
Alaina Moore Nov 2020
They are somewhat like a smudge of coal dust
on a white wedding gown

He craves a feeling he cannot grasp
And so he spirals in the darkness
Into the womb of existence
Just wanting to prove himself
To declare "I'm worthy of life, see me!"
As he feels invisible, despite his best efforts
He is more a ghost than a man,
Even so, he lacks spirit.

She wants to be happy
A feeling she cannot define
Gnashing teeth; molded smile
To blend into the crowd
She is an actress forever in the spotlight
Every street, train car, and public sphere
She assimilates to the point of amnesia  
She longs for something easier;
Some kind of relief she can't articulate nor manifest.
Imprisoned by illness of mind, of body -
Her façade shifts to reality as her reflection grows unfamiliar
She tries so hard to differentiate authentic self from the other
But the lies all blend together, leaving her dizzy

Ground in the blinder of life
Their hearts poured through a strainer
She grasps the strings
He weaves them into ropes that hold them together.
Be it kindness or cruelty, the act carries the stench of survival

They are one, and
They are magnets facing
Opposite direction
Jaded jigsaw pieces forced together.
Then called a pretty picture.
They crave singularity
Balance of both body and mind.
A work in progress, they ride the wave
Hoping to wash ashore more whole than before.
deadboycreek Jun 2020
SANGRE


walls within which i remember
onward forward, behind dawn
of which description eludes me
a first breath i don’t recall

rooms from then, distorted now
the fish eye lens was table tall
convex surface assimilates
i soak it in, engrossed in all

each and every vein of mine,
fueled and stoked, the patterns lined
new formed flesh, still unweaned
memories then, mistook as dreams

a room is set, the set´s a scene,
i witness then, unknowingly
the very fabric of my being
learned it then, and learned by seeing

fragments come, they hurry so
the actors speak in spoken code
nothings clean, it's all a mess
memories mix, froth & coalesce

memory? more like (i guess)
retrace the steps, revert, regress
in these rooms, to point and map
this was here and that was that

onward, forward, front to back
the space between my ears- a trap
the senses flare, they reenact
the murky water, the muddy past

to reach the end of the fog at last
strangers turn in blurry masks
to everything i became attached
perhaps a hand loosened its grasp...

a chain of mine, oh these veins of mine
two points in space meet and intertwine
three points in space becomes a spine
a crooked tree is what you get with nine

my body then, in the bath year ninth
to the future, then, bliss-fully blind
defined already, by fading time
on a spiral path, set to unwind

the circles i run in, and how to suffer
understanding myself- attempting with others
center, mine own, came from some other
i grew up and out from under you,- mother

witness me, as i unfold,
an open wound, come behold,
the rooms all speak the story told
my flesh of flesh is all exposed

the ego tears in shards of glass,
i clench the fist, i grab and grasp
the days they flew, everything's past
i didn’t notice, they hurried fast

blood that drips, it drips deep red
patterns learned, behavior spread
to run in circles, to point and gasp
“i” am this and “i” am that

the eye in my forehead is insight ahead
i be the tip of a very long thread,
white roots of this tree, deep under spread
i be the fruit, i am the blood that it bled
06.16.2020 1:16am
Yenson Apr 2020
With vainglorious dedication
the hoards are tasked feverishly
theirs is to conjure black clouds
and stain crystal clarity to faults
a five year old would see the futility
the dunce will laugh at the idiocies
as kid-adults lose dignity and integrity
morphing  from stale acrid cocoons
into fetid common o'garden bullies
the cheap devoid of senses et decorum

Their gods look on in petulant  glee
the goddesses smirk in Medusian imbue
the serpents gloats in victorious contagion
God restates I made them all as noble beings
darkness claims minds and souls as easy as ha!
morals to boot tis easier to court damnation
than take pride in the worthiness of beings

Thus relieved of reasoning and sanity
our hoards in discolored inglorious shame
toil all hours exhuming odious fantasies
sharing sediments of their demoralized stains
worshiping beliefs of fanging to pollute clarity
as if wholesome eyes are blind and discernment amiss
anodyne force feeding by anodynes for cretins
who assimilates the ravings of the contemptibles'
or buy into the sham displays of the malicious unfurnished
asinine devotees that believe all waters are drinkable
and reasoning and critic is shared equally in equal measures
While rummaging, mining,
and distilling me gray matter,
stoking mentality activates
oft time surprising me,
where unexpected novel

cognizance never abates,
I experienced becoming
linkedin with cosmic fates,
sans collective unconscious
soul of the universe,
and chanced to espy,

(albeit only a trimmed speck),
the spirit of William Butler Yeats
considered one of the foremost figures
of 20th-century literature,
where elan suddenly accelerates
though immediately abruptly stops

dead still in figurative tracks
utter disbelief accompanied
by shell shocked shyness accentuates
to remain stock still
suddenly feeling inadequate, inferior
immovable, insignificant...self doubt actuates

internal tussle, while
wise counsel within adjudicates
unable to convincingly
brush off devil's advocates,
which in no way, shape or form
successfully bolsters cockamamie idea,

floats and navigates fan to see, alternates
with bold prospect an emotional
paralysis immediately aggravates
anxiety as cowardice accumulates,
nonetheless pesky needling aggregates
maximizing far fetched optical illusion,

despite what must be hallucination,
this laughable wordsmith appreciates,
though many wildest dreams of mine defy
explanation, a feeble attempt articulates,
how dreamlike hypnotic stance captivates,
thru cosmic haze quantum matter assimilates

aura, charisma, enigma
rippling ethereal tore'n shroud
sensing, nursing, imbibing...
indecisiveness capitulates
wavering seduced mooring
temptation assertively celebrates

nonpareil genius among pantheon,
whose Eire rush grandeur circulates
thru time and space infiltrates
stimulating within mine off kilter crown,
where reverence circulates,

for long deceased Irish poet laureate,
his unseen presence amalgamates
vibrant tendrils of late
August author's grandeur effectively percolates
within and illuminates me with inspiration.

— The End —