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895

A Cloud withdrew from the Sky
Superior Glory be
But that Cloud and its Auxiliaries
Are forever lost to me

Had I but further scanned
Had I secured the Glow
In an Hermetic Memory
It had availed me now.

Never to pass the Angel
With a glance and a Bow
Till I am firm in Heaven
Is my intention now.
I get edgy sometimes-
When I see knots-
I freeze up.

I get upset when I try to untangles them-
Like earphones and other audio cords-
Auxiliaries, usbs and inputs.

I get frustrated-
Easily with entanglement-
I hate knots but.

Our bodies could be a knot, that I wouldn't want to untangle.
K Balachandran Sep 2013
Slightly built, yet robust,
not frail, a daily jogger by choice,
shape conscious, proud-
about keeping the weight
in check, all these years,
articulates her feelings well
but, not the argumentative type,
this facet endears her to all,
keeps her Indian mind agile,
which reflects in her awareness
of eternity than here and now.
Takes oil bath twice a day, in keeping with
the true Malayalee spirit,
never a river in spate, yet
forceful and gushing in making heard
her opinions for others to consider,
from the first day of marriage,
unlike the demure Indian women.

None would doubt her might
that transcends the limits of material and physical,
hidden power sources are tapped at will,
cites her matrilineal heritage, that
stems form a long line of matriarchal grandmothers.

I can't imagine a day passing our premises
without she giving permission,
putting her signature,
all over each passing hour,
though we never keep a formal register for that.
Aren't we three, auxiliaries, the boys and I
in the orchestra named after this inveterate conductor?
Sweet to the core, but if needed
could be pungent, never erupts or go wild,
Smile is disarmingly gentle, yet
that firm answer, needed at the right time,
is never delayed.

Two adoring eyes flutter,
pledging support,
they never let me down, day or night.
a hand that gently touches, me
with the  fingers of reality.
when I dream in day or night.
Malayalee    - A person belonging to the southern most Indian State, Kerala, whose mother tongue is "MALAYALAM"(note the palindrome).As water is plenty here,  cleanliness is a near obsession for denizens of this land.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
my neighbour came over,
quick impromptu
into the dog collar
and you have your murderer
and the priest;
guilt ridden as if by small pox
she sat on my bed:
no ulterior motive,
no auxiliaries of conscience to back-up
now; a clear would-be **** victim...
jewish so i had to stress my fascination
with the jewish mysticism of kabbalah;
and i did so in all earnest
asking whether i said i am eh yeh correctly:
also the whole bit of original interpretation
the secrecy of the rabbinical
aHa                    aHe              
males as rigid as consonants
women as fluid as vowels *******
missing accents on eden's language of globalization
that's short of tartan english of glasgow
with key stress punctures of trans-punctuation
crafted for either serious distinction on consonants,
or ridiculous aesthetics when given to vowels
of parisian stilettos: fancy ah fancy nah fancy
a mistress in fishnet leggings? yes? no? maybe?
undecided i see. trophy wife material... next!
Marcos Dec 2011
A quasi fog hole is born
An urge to be somewhere
Anywhere but these islands of bloodstreams
Far maybe in Thailand

What awaits next is a scaber of thresholds
It's an unknown world if you fall and land here
Shimmering camels going about their own biz
Wearing demon suits with demon ties
Auxiliaries conversing in Bonomos
Common hats all practicing, choreographing all catacombs thundering novels that are occurring as they scream, pictures willowing one by one, second by second all occurring simultaneously
...and say again
Awaiting ...
Not occurring at all...
Never had occurred at all
I trust the universe
Not sure what i am doing
But i know there is a reason
We heal through connection
We are each a whole universe
Without movement
We become depressed and hollow
We forget about our soul

I am a magician
I see unseen universes
Before they appear or happen
We are all intuitive
But often we pretend
That we cannot hear
The secrets that are whispered
Through the silence
Whenever we are together
And yet somehow still alone

To love is the medicine
To heal is to be whole
To make whole is to feel and know
To feel and know is to discern
To touch, to taste, to smell, to wander
To journey into forbidden territory
To become inspired
I am seeking your heartbeat
I want to know your dreams
Will you show me your beauty
In very ordinary things

It's a beautiful bargain
The world is full of jargon
We came from a garden
And eventually we'll return
Or perhaps perpetually
To our hearts yet again
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
i never knew so much
could be extracted from a noun,
it's like a verb inside a noun,
the juxtapositions, the variations,
the laughter and the vowel eating,
it's a whole lot of Rio carnival tactic
in it - and i'm not even a Jew,
there's a bunch of them training up
to a rabbinical status,
doing this:
θ: th- -eta
ρ: r- -**
                             ω: o- -mega
                             λ: l- -ambda
but with only ~four letters... well, technically nine
given a, e, i, o, u.
i mean, because where's the proper incision?
how to cut up the musicology right?
Ziggy no Stephen no Damian
would throttle to a status of Bob...
Zion in the Caribbean - if i were
Jamaican i wouldn't wish to go back to Africa,
**** me... Jamaica and Nigeria?
send me back... send me back to
the pristine beaches and coconuts!
but linguistics in mind,
you give a noun to a shapely encoding
like ω (omega), but the complexity of
naming such an encoding leaves you
bewildered about the verb (usage of),
so you come up with diacritical stresses,
but it's not about that at all...
it's about how you detach the -mega
for the o-, and how you attach -π without
the iota - surely the π could also be
balanced with any other vowel -
given that consonants revel in balancing
acts, e.g. πα, πι or πε - where the *******
cutting up and putting back together
game of a plastic surgeon? rigid structures
the consonants are, they need attache
auxiliaries (tauto-, convened toward a
river of logic for further flow) to hold them up,
vowels the crutches, consonants the broken
tibias - somewhere along the way i was
asking for a duo of something, no, not a double
shot of espresso in my mocha - i'd prefer
the word moccha - or muchas gracias -
or mushy - or moo chi chi, cheap kiss - or i
invent the second coming of Saxony on
these Isles - write you in Germanish -
or Germglish - whichever - we all know that
the Saxons invented the saxophone (cheap joke) -
i said same phonetics as a cappuccino for the
mocca - but it looks ugly without η - η, precursor
of the Essex dialect 'ave as in not a salute at
a Caesar but as in Asterix rebellion of Gaul have,
same with wω (double-u omega) - as in wo er,
wo er - water - god knows who decapitated the
τ (Tao on the orient, tau on Rhodes)...
but you get me... if you name a letter so, as in
ω being omega, how do you extract the pure material,
the symbol O, it's still a Greek Umlaut...
how do you extract what you want,
mining in omega to simply get something
akin to omicron...
a double-o, a dumb dumb... as in:
how d you, how do you, how dough the cake
from raw yeast, flower, egg, milk etc etc.?
the same how doth we still sprechen Shropshire
or Cheshire, hmm? ask Alice, the ******* daydream.
well... this poems just ended like a premature
*******... there was an ******* somewhere
in between, but the end feels so unsatisfactory
that i better not write another _ _ _ _.
Terry Collett Sep 2013
James Dean died that year and Mother was in the loony bin as Father termed it but he wouldn’t take you or Joey to see her because he said There’s no point kids she sits staring at walls and talking to herself or gets abusive and comes out with the most choicest of words which I wouldn’t want you to hear and besides it’s too far for you to go on a weekend and you’d only get upset especially you Lizzie you’d be in tears before they shut the **** door of the ward and all those other drooling fools there and that was it you didn’t get to see her not a peek just what he said she did or said or didn’t say or do but you wanted so much to see her and have her touch your cheek and be home again and tuck you up in bed and tell you the stories that she used to do all sat up on the end of the bed reading from some book she had or making up stories right out of her head and you remember the time she sneaked you and Joey up some supper when Father said no you’d been bad and that you had to go to bed without any supper and be careful Christ didn’t send you to Hell and damnation but Mother brought the supper anyway and listened out in case Father came up but he never did he was too busy drinking or playing cards with the Smiths from across the fields who stank of ***** and sweat and laughed too loud and swore and smoke cheap cigarettes and so Mother’d sit on the end of the bed watching you eat and having that bright eyed look about her and that small smile she had when she thought you were happy but then she became odd and out of it and talked to people who weren’t there or went for long walks and got lost and the cops had to bring her back again and again and once she sat in the bath fully clothed saying she didn’t want Christ seeing her in **** or James Dean to touch her up with his ghostly fingers and so Father took her to see some quack who examined her and talked to her as best he could until she tried to gouge out his eyes with his pen and Father had to retrain her and hold her down on the floor until some auxiliaries from down the hospital hall came bounding in and suited her up in a jacket that tied at the back and you never saw her again after that morning with her getting into Father’s car with her dark eyes staring and two of her fingers giving an up you sign to the passing neighbours who stood open mouthed and tut-tutted and you and Joey watching the car go off and over the horizon like a crazy ship going out to sea with one lone captain and a wild eyed woman as his only crew and she looking back waving her two finger in the air at Joey and you.
Whether this is a short stories as some have claimed or a prose poem as others have deemed, it matters not to me. The work has both features.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
so please excuse me, i have no history going back as a roman invasion... unfortunately i came from the Atilla throng... i utilise your phonetic encoding like any barbarian might.... more in love with it, than with the women who use it casually in everyday talk; i'm so sorry that i can't use your phonetic encoding as peacefuly as i might to start a family, and keep the fading ritual...  i am prone to the mongol practice akin to: invade and quickly fade... which is also akin to: not invade, build an empire, quicken a false fire... and sadly never fade away; e.g. russia, america.

you have a basis of crucifying a man
who has no (a) history of a roman past
(b) a roman  phonetic / optometric
encoding, with a slight deviation
of (ć) - who am i? the wave from Siberia,
neither Mongol, nor Vandal,
of what tribe, am i? collectively known as Slav,
it is said my women
   were harrowed from their
nests like birds akin to the cuckoo....
  and where my national pride: you ask?
me know either.. if there were any.
    poetry is something
you call: trying to be an artist
while, at the same time,
          not becoming a plumber,
or a painter.
oh dear, painters are worst,
unless they paint a cubic-mono-chromatic
i have na value for them shoud
they be an example
of a categorical imperative....
there bartablondine roamed in thought:
  and bemoaned:
        higher the cabbage-head
rise above the caulifloiwer...
as said name:
            a saxon knife with writ...
on a blade:
        fay-far-goron!
                        poets never hear
of mention under banner, or worth a
weilded sword...
  to no defeat, as there is one assured:
but to engaging with a memory in thought
as needing statue...
           or said the one bound to betray
either thinking from doing,
  or memory and imagination from doing less
and thus doing thrice,
    such be the communal tongue...
  that the females go unto a searching...
and i be the last remaining seagull...
so unto the conglomorate of man...
              all our peace with individuals,
personalities and the likes be gone....
    they are dust, broken bricks, rust
and rabble...
                             i have no flavour for them...
or in different rhymes of war:
the women precede the auxiliaries -
we claim of woman once the need for axe,
but hardly her need to blood-thirst her genitals...
   lions lax...
            and watch the vulture-democracy
unfold:
   scower fools! scower!
                   led by bribe and death-threats alone!
i see but the ghosts of the pentagon *Krzyżtopór
:
what bone, what marrow,
there too laid a cement, a ceiling,
                a brick as bone...
                       to keep both hope of skeleton
and if not skeleton: a castle... a cruxifix-axe,
so in italics named... crux alias ascia:
or said compound...
           Krzyżtopór - Krzysztof...
christopher... some might have said:
a loved one, circa 1392 a.d.
       but not here, not now.
anything but Mongol,
    and i am here, and i am but a figment
of ink in a pond of bleach...
        i am Sting:
a Pole in a London...
               you toast, i roast...
       well... it might just be not exactly London,
the smog got me...
                  when a Greek idea
of city-state explores too much ethnic ground,
  London might have grown to be that,
but Berlin, Tokyo nor Mehico City didn't...
      now no farmer in me either...
so.... come the rotten apples and maggoty
potatoes...
                     and if it wasn't for being
a kid having moved to england
and seen my parents reach their status...
i don't know where i would have lived...
just watching these perfectly smug poles
come to university killed off my idea of
struggle...
                        and i never got it back...
the worst decision in my life came
packaged, an idea of a suitcase...
   came with the words: get educated...
   no... learn to make money...
  learn to turn mountains into pebbles,
learn to make pebbles into sand...
learn to make sand into dust...
            i love how the English fake being
immigrants in America...
lazy buggers never care to learn a new tongue...
or how Americans settling in Italy
call themselves as expat...
         because they really love to drink
that espresso 25ml.
                   me? where do i belong?
given my posture and care to speak very little?
on the Faroe Isles.
               Poland feels more obscure these days
esp. when i speak the tongue without an accent...
now i wish i lived in England and had
an accent... maybe with an accent i could
make it...
             there's actually no point in me trying...
     if there ever was:
              it was when it was me being human...
    now that i'm considered to be nothing
more than: the death of death...
                i have all the sentences i write
from scratch, as if prompt, to ensure i am
the last reigning magician.
Look around what do you see?/
No matter what endeavor
Visually/
was dream up by an artist
Realistically/
They create the world
Which we live
imagery/
aesthetic visions/
Precisely
entice thee
kitchen/
television shoes clothes
Cars and homes/
Think about it?
it's an artistic scheme/
optimistic exquisite
An articulate scene/
Step back take a view
Coppistetic articles/
clothed What ensues /
Open your eyes
enclosed in false truths/
Artesian the currency
Naturally Flows through/
artery
Eyelids down/
an optical torrent/
I've been drowned/
in surround sound torment/
cinematic pictures that
Visually pour in/
Articulate with in particulars
Such a beautiful song/
The rhythm of the words
Guide me and carry on/
Music to my ears
The universal art-form/
In a cold world storms
Keeping our hearts warm/
Auxiliaries the art of war
Artilleries
silly me/
Addicted to creativeness
Soliloquies/
abstract attract
In fact an artist
Artistically
Art of Art artifact/
aisyahaffandey Jul 2018
I swam across 7 billion people
To find connection
But still
To no avail

Drowning in a sea of motions
Sent up flares
The clouds and its auxiliaries
Oh I am still lonely

It rains
It pours
And loneliness flows in the river
To its abode in abyssal plains

Tell me now
Where can I get connection
As people began to tire
I put my foot on the floor

Switching lanes
Searching connection
But still
To no avail
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
i live in england...
which isn't exactly
continental Europe...
sure... the Norse
can come up with
their howling volf
imitation...
    but i thought the
English convened
and called my ethnicity,
vermin?
  why do you think
i imitate
king vermin,
   the fox...
in its calls...
  surging into pseudo-laughter?
ever listen to a fox,
esp. male, at night?
came running,
the auxiliaries -
    soloist foxes,
before the packs of
wolves...
   sniffing, the earth for bones,
and roots...
   of course the idea
diffuses when
  attracting
        the attention of
media titans,
to allow for the "idea" to propagate...
north eastern America...
Salem...
  as its capital...
   i had a love, who introduced
me to an antithesis of Ensiferum...
In Extremo...
  but then?
   i found Heilung...
7+ years to encompass
a break-up...
  forgetting her ******
has become...
   i rather east raw mustard
after dinner...
than "repent"....
     howl all you want...
but ever stay up at night,
cherishing
   the "laughter" of foxes?!
   never heard it?
oh... you're missing out!
it's transcendental
of the vampire motif...
             a shamanic voice,
that imitates the hovering
rasp,
of a didgeridoo...
         hearing,
   what the fluttering of
the wings of a kingfisher looks like...
a fox...
       relaxing on my neighbor's
roof of a shed...
eyes enlarging the proportion
of both torso, and the tail...
      relaxing...
       better than
feeding sugar to macaque monkeys
on a balcony in a Kenyan resort
for albinos or porkies...
   better than listening
to a macaw parrot,
stranded on a roof,
tell a fireman attempting to save
it... to?
   *******!
Ken Pepiton Apr 8
Until the peace essential settles, phonelessness
is disconcerting, unsettling mix up of a sorted outness,

tares and corn compilations sorted out seed,
useful to us, useful to life beyond us, seed

broadcast, laughing on a recent object's point
discerning irrealis indigo

from been there, done that, blues.
Babu we had no reason, worthless we,
as long no--w,
wow, this hole anchors in grammar, ai knows,
I do not, so some times I am only qwerty guy,
I just work here.

Real disconnectedness,
real off-grid, no bars, no wires, no antennae

disconcerting, mixing all harmony
with living will used to let be these things
that , we had no mind gives reason, merely so, so what.

Confirming suspected situation,
confiding chiral certainty reflection,
consenting acceptance

any time now, any time,
accepted use acknowledging need
to know certainly, now, this time
to learn and live beyond unknowing.

Which knowing would we be better without?
Knowledge of unknowables? Curiosity,
our inherent knowing how to ask,
what is this, what
you may call it, what those
in the old world
told the elites who sent useless boys
to learn discernment
of good
to know
from all that ever thought

All things, as comprehensible, thinkable,
all things working as one thing, universally,

we thinkable things, me thinking you think,
each word, each speakable sound still
English, but accessible

So old the scam, make believe, laugh
at presented absurdity, never heard words

fit to dancing steps,
fit to taken breaths,

fine for fixing infinite definitions, endless
conjecture and objections, guessings
this way or that, go on into unknowns,
or conserve the energy going on uses,

waiting in reasoning state, weighing why
and how, why and how not,
preposterous, before and after at once,
all the knowledge set in secret agreements,
minds let be used to make up gangs and crews,

many hands make light work,
many minds make gravitas willingness

out of tune, discordant, disconcerting noise
a susserating


Disaster, stars aligning against failure,
super positioning every instance,

superstitious curiosity inhibition,

singularities uniting senses inhabiting
rational reasonless senses

A mode
or modality, clarity
Summarizer
Mode and modality have different meanings.1
Mode refers
to the way in which something happens or is experienced,
while modality refers
to the distinction between a real action
and an intended, possible,
or considered action.
Mode is closely linked
to the idea of the "channel" of communication,
such as face-to-face,
epistolary, or SMS.
Modality is mostly used
in grammatical analysis,
when it refers
to the distinction
between a real action
and an intended, possible, or considered action.2
When people refer
to treatments, whether
medical or psychotherapeutic, as modalities,
they mean mode/method/procedure,
as in different types of treatment.3
Mood is a grammatical notion,
while modality is a semantic notion relating
to such concepts.0
Google it if you think I thought you thought
------- so little sense that makes to me
so I go to Redit and find this answer, assuming
I meant mood, and not mode, an aimodality,
may hap, as random wills to show a novelty.

Modality. A kind of meaning involving non-factuality or non-assertion:
He may know her presents his knowing her as a possibility; You must go presents your going as an obligation.

Mood. Verbal category expressing various kinds of modality. Mostly marked in English by modal auxiliaries. The were of I wish that were true is an isolated irrealis mood form.

{A Student's Introduction to English Grammar by Huddleston and Pullum (ASITEG).}

Gads, great gobs of precise distinctions,
real or irreal, isness irrealis or realis
-the whirr of I wish it were
As ifs, ai of a most ancient intentional will
to discern corn
from tare
BLT called for used conjectures, and I had this one lying around rusting.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
would you believe it,
but up until very "recently"...
prince was the most
protected by copyright
incentives that couldn't
match anyone...
wanted to watch
   a partyman video:
good luck...
              raspberry beret?
you'd be lucky
with a elevator muzak
"replacement"...
         i guess...
death really does free you
from, all, those,
mundane, constraints....
prince was nowhere
to be found...
sure sure, i'll stream,
then save up,
and, esp. now,
given i own a gramaphone,
sure, i'll buy the vinyl...
but please let me
play the tease...
          what else is made
available on the current,
high-street?
shoes stores,
  gaming stores...
      mobile phone stores...
guess you can't
"napster" the gaming
industry....
   pacman no no...
super mario bros.
double no no...
and it still feels eerie
walking into a supermarket,
when there's
michael jackson playing
in the background...
i was never really a fan...
paedo-up...
  paedo-down...
thank god i bought
the greatest hits
        on 80s silver lining
of a...
does anyone doing
the make-over
to a walkman with
mini-disc players?
           shambles... utter shambles...
well...
why wouldn't it be a vulture
fest whether in journalism
of the critics' shambles
sub-parrot in the whole
medium (of journalism)?
eh music is music is music
isn't some sort of
    a kama sutra "eventuality"...
***: it either happens,
or it... doesn't...
          rough tier around
the prostitutes...
      but when you know you've hit
"home"...
  that scar on your right shoulder
blade?
becomes a tattoo of a dragon
on the right shoulder blade of
the girl you just did it too...
i quiet like when
people elevate the medium
of cipher language,
  to imply where you've been...
and where they
take to make a memory of you
in something transcending
a mere, current,
******* of a (worth of a)
               photograph...
that's nice...
           i like that...
          
revision: it really doesn't count
if you're the person taking
the photograph...
but sure as **** it matters,
when someone takes
a photograph of you...
but given the current climate:
that's going to be, a "slightly",
rare event...

i still keep focusing on "that"
one point of interest /
  historical revisionism...
i.e.: what if...
           men learned to ride
bulls instead of horses,
into a charge?
  what if bulls were elevated
from their domestication
privilege status,
beyond the status of horses?

             i mean...
an army having abled itself
in saddling
a bull rather than a horse?
   i would love to go to that
sort of post-mortem cinema
where other avenues of history
could be screened...

what? hannibal and the (
****... the word just escaped
my mind...
waiting game... "too much"
is going on...
it's related to snails...
trunks, ivory...
       ****... what's that word...)

....................
..................................
ah!                        elephants!

fame...
such an elusive term...
it implies finding
an appeal outside
of the niche audience...

                 and we all know how
that ends up "looking"...
don't we?
               a canopy of ghosts
and greyish mob
               auxiliaries...

           thus said:
to every man who is bound
to finding "something",
he rarely finds it,
tabloid wisdom over 'ere
had to find a coping mechanism
for being forever "undermined"
while sifting through
late 20th century nostalgia...
but, not really
  (the nostalgia bit)...

              came as easily as
remembering black girls
back in school,
      uncurling their sun scortched
twirly locks applying
   vaseline to smooth out
a cow-lick  'air-do.

— The End —