"coherence" poems
It's hard to catch sunshine
In a jar filled with words
Sifted and strung into coherence
Since it enjoys slipping through my fingertips
So I'll just sit and watch
As you dance across the sky
Falling, laughing sunshine.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
Radness
The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more.
How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws
Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another.
The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole.
The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave.
Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry.
Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
.
\ | /
\ •think my /
pen's almost dry•it's get-
ting oh so hard•ideas seem to just
\ fly on by•i'm unable to deal any more /
cards•bottom of the barrel•i seem to be
scraping•trapped in a long, dark tunnel•
coherence eluding...the words that need
inking•i need a simple little trick...•to
soothe this perpetual itch•need my
/ bulb come on really quick•hope- \
fully as soon as I flick on
/ the...switch• \
| ooooooooooo |
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••••••
•••••
ooo
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
~ i am a preamble, seeking to evolve ~
~ my every emotion, thought and deed, cascades, consequence ~
~ your every touch forever impacts, in cascading consequence ~
~ we are all sacred, equal in our worth, may we each, behave so ~
~ paradoxically ~
~ our security is rooted in our acceptance, of insecurity ~
~ our cyclical attractions, and repulsions ~
~ are the forces which bind us ~
~ while i don’t understand all the motivations ~
~ or all the machinations ~
~ of the forces applied, to divide, conquer and control ~
~ i deem they are parasitic, and thus ~
~ reliant upon our cooperation, to survive ~
~ when i haven’t worked myself out in perfect coherence ~
~ i’m in no position to pass judgments upon any other ~
~ in absence of fraud, deception or manipulation ~
~ embracing sovereignty and free will ~
~ i vow ~
~ to wage peace, cooperation, creativity and love ~
~ to seize opportunity to nurture ~
~ our garden planet ~
~ as a humbled gardener ~
~ there is no spoon ~
~ it was only an illusion ~
~ there are no sheep ~
~ just tactics to divide, and distract ~
~ we are only ~
~ children and parents ~
~ friends and lovers ~
~ sisters and brothers ~
~ cosmic conscious explorers ~
~ shaping our reality ~
~ nurturing OUR Garden ~
~ namaste ~
Nov 13, 2010
Nov 13, 2010 at 2:15 PM UTC
*
~for Bill T. Jones~
two poets, laureates both,
on the nature of hunger, they discourse,
in temple, where sacrificing is to living arts
I was there, hungry in every aspect,
seeking wisdom of the hungering nature of human.
examine the word, hunger,
hardly a rolling off the tongue mellifluous.
you growl it from the gut, in gowned resplendent ugliness,
go ahead, try it, it’s coarse and powerful insistent.
awoken empty but for the hunger, hungover from
dancing words and imagery not mine, now mine,
maddeningly demanding my dutiful attentions,
as if hunger was the master, me, obedient pupil.
the clean white slate the IPad re-presents repeatedly,
insulted that I have yet to crayon color it with the coherence
of hunger-exhaled words, dismissive that I am but an also-ran,
my village of lexical too unsophisticated,
the page addressed yet unplanned,
Apple white
is the color of the
starving artist.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 1:44 PM UTC
Acerbic antagonist alliterates agonizing accusations,
blasting ******* backbiter butting beautiful bombastic brainy blond bomb.
Cumulative cranial casualties cease caveman's cognitive coherence.
Doom digger derides Daddy's dangling dire dreary ****
Eclectic esoteric eccentric egotistical estranger;
Forthcoming fathoms fetch faithless fleeting father.
God given goblins gather gossamer ganglions;
Hell's hairy harlot harpies hover heeding Hyperion.
Ignatius imbibes irrevocably insisting,
"Jesus juggles justice's joy jarring jams."
Kindness kindles Kilimanjaro;
Malicious mountains melt, Mmm, morning marjoram.
Nothing negates Neanderthal ninnying.
Overt obsessions obfuscate original object of
purest passions, paltry past pinings,
quickly quieted, quelled,
resisted, relinquished, readily, ruefully, roundly
saturated, suffocated; surreptitiously silenced,
terribly torturing the thrashed tamed tormentor:
Ugly, ungrateful, unapologetic,
Vanity,
woefully wallowing, wailing, "Where's
Xanadu's
zeitgeist!?"
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
How it is fickle, leaving one alone to wander
the halls of the skull with the fluorescents
softly flickering. It rests on the head
like a bird nest, woven of twigs and tinsel
and awkward as soon as one stops to look.
That pile of fallen leaves drifting from
the brain to the fingertip burned on the stove,
to the grooves in that man's voice
as he coos to his dog, blowing into the leaves
of books with moonlit opossums
and Chevrolets easing down the roads
of one's bones. And now it plucks a single
tulip from the pixelated blizzard: yet
*itself is a swarm, a pulse with no
indigenous form, the brain's lunar halo.*
Our compacted galaxy, its constellations
trembling like flies caught in a spider web,
until we die, and then the flies
buzz away—while another accidental
coherence counts to three to pass the time
or notes the berries on the bittersweet vine
strewn in the spruces, red pebbles dropped
in the brain's gray pool. How it folds itself
like a map to fit in a pocket, how it unfolds
a fraying map from the pocket of the day.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
sometimes-(sometimes);
i love you on the lips
moon garden
paradise hills and november
and it's temple
template of our own world of wild tales .. sometimes
sometimes twine
sometimes silent running sometimes engine purl
under our dark star
the wind rises ; blood and black lace
the pace of our isle
raw and in keeping
sometimes the lighthouse taps
blinking metronome and we use habits of coherence
and practicality and partnership
in some dark corners
alternatives
on another earth
seats an uninvited guest
viewing
(i feel.. sometimes)
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 6:30 PM UTC
I would like if I could, to venture out
into a baroque cave where the walls are translucent
and all that surrounds it are rivers of coherence
and incoherence
where I can scream, and when my echoes
radiate they bounce off on me and touch
the spaces in between my fingers
bizarre and ornate
rococo chimes lift my spirit
progressive, regressive
subliminal rising, into the sea of whispers
and final decisions
and crazed hands
and melting lips
and bruised knuckles
and fighting wrists...
I subsist to consist
of the fluid that makes me up
lavender barely breathing
flowers/continue/endure
hang tough, low by lakes of conspiracy
and hate/ block eyes/ shed those ill states
I carry this entity/essence/life gentely
in my arms like a ancestor. mother .
press its head against my skin and give it everything
in my blood filled hands, sinful/blessed/ tiered creatures
I feel beautiful in these worlds.
eyes closed in sleep, palms spread forth
oceans cleansing, I feel like an infant
stomach twists and hearts bat burnt wings
and learn to fly
I radiate.full hearted. eminence spoke to me
through her portal of solid grass and dieing trees
in the outskirts of the vagabond, slowly unraveling
like a child speaking
slowly growing like new love
stricken instantly
I am in
between Cleopatra and Mark
between Orpheus and Eurydice
between Odysseus and Penelope
between Elizabeth Bennett and Darcy
between Salim and Anarkali
I shiver in that love
that breathes in determent
and breathes out fragrance
temperate plasma hooked onto
the grind of my woman I beat like
the robins breast/ trembling in awe
like a living leaf blowing in the winter wind
resisting/giving in/ perishing/ breathing
to the sound of this beautiful life
Apr 29, 2011
Apr 29, 2011 at 5:53 AM UTC
*Carved in mud
horseshoe tracks..
he asked me
then remembered
she was correct..
literal reality here
now verified..
One track though
symmetry double
only this one
with appearance
holder and candle..
consciousness is
energized by
coherence
of difference..
nature reflects an
image of flame...*
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
I am darkness
a souless being trapped
within a world of expectations,
where we live for nothing
aside from our need to please
whomever we deem fit to be
worth suffering for.
Death looms around every corner
sneaking and leaking through
the walls and into the cavernous slits
dug deep into the unstable barriers of my
demented, sickened, disturbed mind.
I see nothing but never-ending black space
spanning for miles in every direction
but, sometimes, a flicker of light illuminates
a single line across my path
scratching through the key holes of
the hundred of doors, always locked,
protecting the world from my wrath and
holding me hostage
until Insanity offers its hand
to lead me to my only escape.
She is light
the brightness I've seen so rarely.
Her world, one of complete coherence
where everything serves its destined purpose
a cold world I know not of
but she is always so warm
so happy
and knows nothing of
the torment caused by that
blinding, taunting ray
trespassing into my world
my darkness
my home.
Sometimes, though,
it breeds hope of a better future
where her purity and
my evil nature can collide
morphing into an electrifying New
and it can be ours, together.
Then the beam dissipates
and I am alone,
again
until my nightmares welcome me back
and devour my soul until I drown
in my own destiny.
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 11:55 AM UTC
so many words and still
the essence is trapped
in the discreet quanta
in this autobiography
of milk in my tears
no wars to fight
nothing to prove
the ancient love will find me,
the unknown you
the right verbs
the earth of home
the cycle of life
in my dreams
the round present immerses me
in gratitude for all my selves,
the depth of coherence
the bottom of the sky
in this simple truth,
my heart is my home
Mar 27, 2023
Mar 27, 2023 at 5:23 AM UTC
She desires excellence – pristine, pure, perfection.
She desires excellence – clarity, cogency, coherence.
She desires excellence – sharp, sensual, stressful.
She desires excellence – alluring, artful, alone.
She desires excellence – too much, too much, too much.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 5:38 AM UTC
Rachel cuts the strings,
and it's bombs away.
A lost weekend for the books,
with enough fallout
to discourage three generations
of new youth.
Rachel sleeps,
and it's extraordinary toxicity.
A haze of isolation
to balance the height
of her supernal company.
Rachel goes back to prison,
and I continue my journey into the woods.
No light to guide,
no cold hands touching my face,
just yellow eyes and paranoia.
Wilt go the flowers,
cancer grabs the coherence.
Do you love me forever?
Do you love me forever?
Down goes the next bottle,
crawl into the body.
Will your old book make you better?
Will your old book make you better?
I won't be novel long.
Dec 18, 2010
Dec 18, 2010 at 12:38 AM UTC
*
*I know you, like no other;
"Does it hurt... the truth?"
Searching lips, forge answers;
**Tasting, solidifying, our known proof.
Nov 24, 2012
Nov 24, 2012 at 11:25 AM UTC
He was equipped with a fine vocabulary
Far in excess of his intellectual needs
An entertaining fool
Stocked with dictionaries
Obscure constructions
Medieval verbs
Circumlocutory, verbose
Impenetrable
A simple mind hid amongst
A confusion of entangled phrases
As if using a foreign language
Assembling hopefully meaningful phrases
Where a listener may find coherence
A simple message
Every request
Every Statement
Observation
From his mouth, no matter how mundane
Appeared decorated
Embellished, almost..
Baroque
In this wordy fog
It was hard to know
Hard to find
Traces of a real person
A tangible, relatable identity
Something predictable.
In the swirling wind of
Constantly shifting
Complex expressions
Seeming riddles.
He was a prisoner
A lifer
Doomed to remain
Incarcerated in his usage
Dense, cloying, exaggerated, unyielding
Usage
He could not avoid
Unconscious, reflexive, merciless
He did not struggle,
That ended long ago.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
My allegiance to be a leader
Leader of my culture
Vow to righteous cultivation
Raise my right fist
And I tell you this
I will never quit
Low souls I will always lift
My determination is greater than or equal to my liberation
Truly in the past I've gotten content
Bent
Ripped
Torn
Hesitant
Forgot why I was born
I ask for your forgiveness
While I'm a realest
I know I have to be rigorous
And stay consistent
Because now days everyone who's put in position loses their coherence and fear the consequences
Like why work so hard to be a star?and get everyone to witness,
Get everyone's attention
...
But don't have a mission!
PUT A CAMERA IN FRONT OF ME
TAKE A MILLION PICTURES
MAKE A DOCUMENTARY
I CAN BE COMPLEMENTARY
GIVE ME ENDORSEMENTS
I DON'T EVEN WANT THE PROPORTION
I'LL GIVE IT TO THE DISTORTED
MAKE ME A RAP ARTIST
AND PUT ME ON THE RADIO
LET MY VOICE BE HEARD THROUGH THE STEREO
I hope I don't speak this into existence
Because all I need is a microphone with my voice coming through the PA system
It's a shame that I might need security
But it's not strange that I might need security
If I attract too many brown faces and people who come from unfortunate places
That's where they draw the line,
Speeches for memorabilia
But my work will be erased
Hope I don't sound incredible
I would not sound ridiculous if you remember our intellectuals
They don't accept anyone who's exceptional
They don't want to see anyone who has a big dream in their retinal
Hopefully I can manage with
About 30 plus years of residue
Give up?
Naw that's just what the rest will do
Fight for our lives
And take a chance with my life
Whatever it takes to restitute
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
I have written so much
****** poetry across this city;
left it in bars, under streetlights, and
In the bathrooms where people have ******
all over the toilet seats
and I had to use my poems
to clean it up.
They are on napkins
and receipts;
pieces of toilet paper,
and even a one-liner
on the carcass
of a piece of paper
that once held a straw.
The words get soggy on wet bars
and bloom like black flowers
losing all consistency and coherence.
Sometimes
I write them out of pure impetus.
To get me going,
I need a couple beers and those
Pabst-drinking, past-drunk
drunk girls that get close up to you
and put their lips on your earlobes
like they want to tell you a secret
But all you get is a present
of soft stinging breath.
Sometimes
I write them for some girl I meet,
like the one who came up and sat down
right beside me.
She said her name was
so and so.
I said my name was
so and so,
so we got to talking
And the topic finally reared its
fat, ugly head:
“Are you going to school?”
“Yea I go to State”
“Oh that’s cool, whats your major?”
“Creative writing”
Then she smiles at me
like I’ve got some broccoli
in my teeth,
and she wants to figure out a way to tell me
without breaking
this three-beer-good-buzzing mood,
finally she says:
“write me something”
And I become a dog for her.
In my doggish way
I take my tail
out of my pocket
and tuck it's wiggling self
onto a napkin.
I write
about how meeting someone new,
is like trying to figure out
if what you’re looking at is a skyscraper
or a mountain,
or just a Norfolk freight train
barreling down the tracks
with your name on it’s front grille.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 8:47 PM UTC
“their mental state contains something lethal:
past, nothing but past” Nikolay Y Ossipov
you measured your height
with the mountains
your fists with the howl
of lonely wolves
to avoid helplessness stupidity confusion:
the all too encompassing human nature
I no longer want to keep you
in the alternative dimension
guarding your wholeness
I'll let you fall into pieces
I'll let you die the death destined
to you
instead of crushing him
or imploding myself
for him to rearrange his fragments
for me to hope for all the levels
of coherence
I/we are capable of
bodies afraid or in love are the most intense
I want my body back
from your battlefield of delusions
your pain is not my pain
your despair is not mine
your manic refusal of touch
is still my manic capacity
to love wounds tragedies
aborted laughter
some words are mirrors
I'll keep writing to you
till there is no escape
from the clarity
of dawn:
all my love is of
no real use
to you
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 4:06 PM UTC
Let me show you my alcoholic slumber
Waver with me down tilted, flat stairs
Lose your memories for the sake of the night
Laugh away coherence, wake in your pants
By all means spill
Spill it on you, on them
Spill your emotions, let loose
Never regret one, but the collective
Try to stop, but keep going
These are the woes, the woohoos
The alcoholic slumber
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
You articulate in swift flight, confidence soaring,
plenitude of words, justly convincing.
Floating on breathless wind between here and there.
Fumbling with sense, coherence of purpose
between twisted bed sheets, whispering pillows;
In the freeze frame static of moonless nights.
I feel the yearning burn towards hoping truth
in a splintering fire against which I warm;
crackling up all your feathers, and concord.
In the daylight you scatter ordinance together,
recklessly aspiring to repair undoing damage:
Wings stunted irrevocably through flailing flighted dreams.
Unknown weighted obstacles glide courageously in hurtled silence,
sideways across the cool air of this post-nested room;
Waiting for gold and diamonds to appear, glorified.
The slightest movement uttered punctures you,
a soggy blown balloon squirting off these walls-
dexterity lays useless on this love-laden floor.
I stare at you spewed inanimately,
like splattered spaghetti in a fitting rage,
across the boards of our echoing abode.
Depths of sightlessness reveal tentatively:
There exists no place for a soul
on the unstable face of the dead.
Oct 25, 2009
Oct 25, 2009 at 2:29 PM UTC
Silver Bullet Synchronicities, Literally, Layer into my Space a Perfect Union of Oblivion
The Ying, to The Yang, Baby....
Micro to Macro, Anomalous Events Don't quite Strike Me as anything Other than Normality in and of Different Scale
A For Instance
To my Eyes, the Sequoya Tree Appears to Tower, the Highest of the High
While our beloved Earth Teachers....The Ant....Grounded above and below the Mother Clay,
Will Look at Me as a Colossal Mammalian largely Trembling the World with Weight Infinite
To the Point
Perspective is simply a specific view, an angled ray of Light, Thus Strikes the Object in it's Own Precise Uniqueness
Note of Importance
If only One ray strikes angled Light, One angle of Light just won't Suffice....Every Perspective must be Offering of It's Own Accord, thus Strikes the Creation True....
Wholeness is Truth
Truth is Coherence
Coherence is Smooth and Steady
Do I know if I'll be Ready?....Not Really
This I Do Know
All Matter is full of Wholes of Space, NOT EMPTY, but Full of Life, Feeding the Flow into Motion, Flowing the Motion of Inert Mass, Spinning the Soul to Life, Spinning into Infinite Bliss
LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL MOVEMENT
Some will make Life into Art with Dance
To Live Life at the Threshold, DANCE Your DREAMS into LIFE
Everyday and Every Night....DANCE
DANCE
DANCE
Bless You.....Bless Me...Bless Us All
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
I practice Being Peace
out here by The Artist Colony on Hood Canal
collecting treasures and Bright Dead Things
the moon snail nesting in the Flatland of my palm
a Gift from the Sea carried ashore
on The Torrents of Spring
it may take A Thousand Mornings
to attain a Mind of Clear Light
to transcend earthly Crime and Punishment
to consume knowledge hidden in the Weathered Pages
of this Book of Luminous Things
but I carry on - Skinny Legs and All
Burning Daylight street preaching
The Teachings of Don Juan
"looking, looking breathlessly"
for internal coherence in this
Brave New World
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 1:49 PM UTC
An alien desire takes over
Never felt before
New awareness of existence
When I obliterate the visible
Fortify the mind from distractions
So many structures
Creating an ugly landscape
Obfuscating the horizon
Take control of the imagination
To expunge the unnecessary
Extravagant paraphernalia
Overt exhibition of the trivial
Making a jest of this rich life
Veer away from the mindless journey
Let the alien desire take over
None but you can salvage yourself
From the onslaught of false conformations
Nothing of this will last
Take refuge in the truth of nothingness
Be aware of new existence
In perfect ecstasy and coherence
With the harmonious waves of universe
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 8:26 AM UTC