"cohesive" poems
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience.
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation. Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor.
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 5:15 PM UTC
Before there was anything that mattered everything that would ever be existed , it was the essence of totality , it was without dimensional constriction or necessitated form . Optimistically speaking time had no relative realism to it’s progression because realistically nothing had happened yet . As it continued it became according to it’s innate inflections as a functionally integrable form . The questionably understandable nature of it’s conjunction was an omnipotent directive beyond necessitated action or morphological construction . The enigmatic consciousness of it’s relatively interrelated conception was spontaneous and yet it continued without elemental omniscience .
As the relative complexity of it’s interrelations evolved dimensional consistence was born. Humanly understandable laws of physical integration governed many facets of it’s conjunction yet the totality of it’s ramification was beyond humanly realistic conjecture .
The organic morphology of biological ontogeny was a conceptually reflective derivative of functional physical mechanics yet it’s diversity exceeded it’s physical complexity , understanding evolved . Relatively extraneous interpolations of adhesively practical extremity succeeded in a hierarchy of functionally integrable forms .
Retrospectively speaking pragmatic practicality is a humanly rational possibility . Rational logic can conceive of individually totalitarian structural forms , yet the implosive nature of their rational cohesiveness becomes a practical partiality due to the diversity of their definitive impetus .
Perhaps the essence of our being is the logical counterpart for the matrix of our subjectively conclusive social fragmentation , or perhaps we are evolutionally incapable of cumulatively rational correlation . Problematic diversity could be perfectible on an individually infinite level or contrarily perhaps ubiquitous causality is the ultimate survivor .
In any case it is beyond our subjugatively rational cohesive coercion to intercede en masse on our own behalf as an integrated unit. Our conceptual abilities have been thwarted by the unmitigatably individual nature of our extraneous conclusiveness .
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 4:14 PM UTC
Yeah, we have a great relationship. But imagine how much better this would be if I actually loved you back?
But oops, that's right. I forgot to tell you that I'm kind of incapable of loving another human being.
But it's okay, it's not like love is real anyways.
And even though a good percentage of the general population have the same opinion as me, I'm labeled by those around me as a cynical, lonely, pessimistic girl, simply because others can't seem to comprehend that everything I say is derived from my own personal perspective and observations that I've made.
What was it that the naively optimistic, overly positive young man from the book store called me?
Oh yes, an "unjustifiably, unnecessarily negative teen who is disappointed with her life because she has yet to 'experience love.'"
Despite his ignorance and obscenely immature mindset, which evidently accounted for his matching personality, I don't think he realized that my lack of belief in the existence of "true love" was the exactly the reason that I was in the book store.
Because, as I came to realize, it appears that the only form of "love" that I seem to recognize as being adequate enough to somewhat believe in are those spoken of and created in novels.
It's formulated by the birth of a ridiculously intense, love fueled storyline, supported by a mindful choice of cohesive, dramatic, and emotional words.
Hence, fictional love is born, except to most it doesn't seem fictional because it's so breathtaking to read about.
They believe in it, they worship it.
As if it actually exists in an alternate universe.
The unrealistic perfection of it gives them a disgusting, false hope which just drives them to cling to it more.
It's a drug to them, they can't live without the hope that such a "love" exists somewhere in the world; they need it.
And the sad part is, they're completely oblivious to the fact that they have just become addicts, that they just sold their soul and relinquished part of their freedom to a fictitious concept.
It's so fake, it's almost real.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 4:10 AM UTC
Derive the joy, magic and warmth of addition by connecting your soul to another's, yet remain independent as singular souls.
Meet the interference of envious, bitter and resentful subtraction which gives the process of separation from the souls you have connected to.
Both opposing forces with obstinate motivations coordinate unconsciously for the creation of an entrance-exit cycle in human interaction.
The pinnacle of human interaction is interceded by multiplication who compounds the congregation of the independent souls into a cohesive unit called groups and eventually society and nation.
Nevertheless met by the malevolent, destructive energy of division which ruthlessly breaks apart the products nurtured by multiplication, smashing them with propaganda, discrimination, and segregation.
O' how I exclaim that division is the truly nefarious power.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 8:22 AM UTC
I see you over the tops of uneven books.
I see your golden brown hair,
as wild as the tall tundra grasses.
I see you drop the musty book,
onto the pale grey carpet.
And you are unaware, of my peering eyes,
sneaking glaces from under my Algebra book.
And that the numbers are carved in my mind,
as if ingrained onto the bark of a dying evergreen.
PS700-PS3499 you are searching for great American poets,
as your hands glide over the worn leather covers.
Leaves of Grass, Sorrows Built a Bridge, Works of Poe.
As you glance at the Dewey Decimal Numbers,
Numbers flourish in my mind.
The probability that you would like me,
Numbers are more cohesive than the words,
that I have written to you in the margins.
In the distance I see you surrounded by your books,
deeply focused-serene,
I too am a poet,
I am a poet of logic.
Fixating on the truth showed by facts.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
1651
A Word made Flesh is seldom
And tremblingly partook
Nor then perhaps reported
But have I not mistook
Each one of us has tasted
With ecstasies of stealth
The very food debated
To our specific strength—
A Word that breathes distinctly
Has not the power to die
Cohesive as the Spirit
It may expire if He—
“Made Flesh and dwelt among us”
Could condescension be
Like this consent of Language
This loved Philology.
4k
My thoughts are
scattered ashes to the wind--
non-collectable burnt and charred,
wood that I would've carved into the likeness
of hearts, love letters
that I failed to make my point in,
and
newspapers that should be a cohesive story
but ended up a collision of black and white print
and jumbled media confusion.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
******* on my teeth and clicking my heels
I drink Smirnoff out of a coffee mug
The one with “I love my Grandma” stamped across the front
It’s Tuesday night
and I want nothing more
than to feel all right
College is ****
My classmates, conservative ****** bags with too much to say
So **** the weekend, let’s party now
Get hammered and show up to class still buzzing
Let’s call up our ex’s and show them how dysfunctional we truly are
Get naked and finger paint
Maybe even watch Fight Club
Hell, I don’t care
I’m just trying to make sense
So what if the Earth revolves around the Sun
Tonight
I just want the world to revolve around us
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 9:55 PM UTC
the markerboard on the fridge read:
sleep tonight.
the only thing i promised myself i'd do.
the day went something like this:
i woke up thirty minutes late,
i made do with only washing my hair,
ate an apple, yogurt, drank a cup,
****** myself to clear my head,
ignored the neighbor as i stepped out the door.
went to a dead-end, data-entry job,
where the girls aren't pretty, nobody is funny,
because everybody is a CPA and i'm not pleasant because i
don't give a good ******* about the
world of finance.
the highlight of the workday (as it is everyday),
was the break room chatter during lunch.
the earth-shattering conversations
revolved around:
*how good the nutrisystem desserts taste,
how there was low voter-turnout in the midterm,
and how that one girl is a lesbian*.
i got off work,
ate a sandwich, a banana,
put on sweatpants and a thrift store t-shirt.
i wrapped some fitness contraption around
my belly, whose sole purpose is to make
my abdomen sweat profusely.
no pretty girls at the fitness center.
i got back to my apartment.
wrote some phony poetry full
of half-baked sentiment
for no worthwhile reason.
i smoked.
i watched a foreign film, but couldn't find my glasses.
meaning: *i have no ******* clue what the plot was about*.
i went to the gas station.
made small talk with the long haired indian man.
i bought two smirnoff 40s.
something about smirnoff gives me really cohesive dreams.
my roommate tried to give me a lecture.
i told him christ was a myth.
a simple summation of earlier religious figures.
slammed the door,
lit some incense called *****
i fell asleep, woke up an hour later in a fright.
turned on the fan,
lit some more *****
closed my eyes,
and dreamt a complex novel,
containing:
*me missing church,
my mom calling me,
getting lost in canada,
finding my way back to
my hometown only to find
two dudes with heavy machine guns
killing everyone in the cozy, local shops,
then somehow i got a line in a movie
directed by none other than keanu reeves*.
at least i finally got some sleep.
Jul 28, 2010
Jul 28, 2010 at 6:21 PM UTC
Pertinaciously vituperative irrefragable determinism. Inscrutable axis of spontaneities’ imaginative. Perplexity’s prognosis to prospectus. Elan vital’s preternatural perpetuity. Cohesive coherency’s opaque opulence. Space-time continuum’s natural induction expressed as identity. Exponentially tangential imagination’s immaturity. Entropy catalyst blonds. Spaciotemporal telemetry tactician’s tellurian terrene. Protractive analyses dimensional delineation. Reflectively refractive positional empathy. Prophylaxis protocol. Objectified manifest's self inductive diminutive minutia iotas of interstitial edict. Graspy greedy stingy frugal mingy minions. Manumission’s indentured servant sail.
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 12:52 AM UTC
The sun sends us life as a
coherent cohesive beam, unfiltered.
Our science has shown us that
all it takes to rationalize this
is a prism, the rainbows'
gatekeeper, after whose interference
we can see the dichotomy of
each ribbon of color, naked
and categorized like society.
A prism isn't necessary to see
that life is beautiful, any
more than society or our
minds are necessary for us to
instinctively know that light
loses something as it meets
the prism.
The light was too beautiful for
us to comprehend, so we broke
it down to build up walls.
We used the walls to build rooms,
and our minds to bar the doors
and windows. Society took care
of the rest.
The real breakthrough takes place
when we take all that we
learned and use it to tear
back down that prison
of the light.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
You pace in circles.
I speak in smoke rings,
an occasional finger-snapped heart,
a masted boat if I could.
Away away to ocean
in long-legged strides.
Waves crash against the sides,
left, front, and right,
in ripe blueberries and whitewash.
Come to the cabin,
a tail of breadcrumbs,
keep your socks striped,
pinks and purples.
A David Austin rose, or three.
I'm not cohesive either.
Flaunt the ship's wheel,
solid oak, dark, mesmerizing,
nearly your eyes now.
Let gray skies form clouds,
don't pray for better weather.
The rain grumbles hunger,
veiled moonlight stretches its arms
down to slatted deck,
spraying it in gangtag graffiti.
Stay here, circles more on the floor.
Your hips, footprints up your toes
from a whiskered mouse with dusted nose.
He's escaped and curled up
the nook of your ankle.
Eighteen knots tangle your hair.
Call the winds to come in storms,
they'll surely lead the way.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
i breathe out & the world is calm. we are standing waves in the sea. i am a long distance, a collection of lip movements, and all associated aches. you were a fleck of snow i barely even saw, and the ensuing onslaught of winter. plans turn around, often; we stick no closer to 'em than our moralities- i knew what i believed, just some other day: i believed i could roll out of the feeling of wakelessness that i'd thought you endowed upon my eyelids. you were prying them open, though, and i was the one at force. "sleep, my fears and doubts", i would call to myself -round midnight- "sleep and you may escape, or somehow come closer to what you're not sure if you seek".
but my plans, moralities and i, all ambiguous at best, changed. i can't pinpoint why. you said "maybe you can smell my dying, from all that way" i said i hoped not, that i could sense you but you just couldn't tell you were flourishing.
in the heat, i would make out daydreams like dialogue, spread sense like contrails: seemingly cohesive monuments to my bearing, left out to dissipate. snowfields on sunlit afternoons. but you, you you you you you, you stay heavy-stuck to the ground through cycling seasons. variation, only nondecreasing patterns in my everyday thought. inconsistence, only meaningful or meaningless. no pain, just ache all the same.
finally, in month's transitions, i found meaning (or its absence) and realised each was a facet of the other. that all facets were tiny jewels, set into the world, puzzle-piece mirrors set just. right., to reflect the gleaming bright pearl inset upon the other side of our tiny universe, each light another stroke of your portraiture, and i found longing: to find the unknown, through all things ordinary.
and you were, at once, more than a question-mark and the statement of my circles through days. you were the taste of waking, without sharp slice of reality. you were a mirror, hung in front of i, also reflecting; and i saw eternity unfold in us each. you were, and are still, peace on the shoreline. and i was, and am still, drowning, but i can make out sand on the horizonline.
so, i'll just keep afloat, if you can do the same.
so, i just won't go changin',
shine brighter with each passing day.
smile.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 6:05 AM UTC
We wear dead remains on our expression
It’s all in relation to the cohesive statement
Fashion is a coyote at six in the morning
A mortician’s incision at an open casket fashion show
A funeral waits at the end of the runway
Apr 24, 2011
Apr 24, 2011 at 10:01 AM UTC
Let’s call it out
Our shared experience
Tell us lessons learned
We put together schooling
Protect our new tomorrow
Don’t get all wacky
My cohesive gal
Unlocked unglued
Let’s make it renewable
Come watch it sustainable
Line up my family in fine formation for
Despicable Me
Put it together again
That’s all that matters now
I’m here for you
Progeny protected
We move in tandem
Gospel Sunday
Pretty big legacy
Togetherness
Voices raised
Singing there was I
Am that I am
In love with fear itself
All around us everyone
Our children’s children’s whole community
Don’t shoot us messengers
Teach us well that love knows no fear
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
It is officially silly season
where there is no time for reason
and anyone can get away with treason
but even you can admit to falling to pieces
only seen from afar
you are like a shooting star
and if I get too close I'm left with a scar
I hope I'm not you're secret
but if I am would you keep it
so take my broken pieces and please make them cohesive
Apr 14, 2024
Apr 14, 2024 at 10:44 PM UTC
Its name has a warm ring
yet is the coldest place on earth,
so cold, moisture freezes inside the nose.
A mere sneeze can project a spray of silvery crystals
scattering like stardust.
No tintinnabulation sweetens the ears.
Sound falls dead like a grounded lark.
Conversation has an icy chill.
Life here exists with no excuses.
Slippery slopes bear no blame for
never reaching your destination.
Brutally bound to the flake white canvas,
existence is forceably cohesive.
And if you ever chance your arm to quit,
a valedictory shake of the hand
will leave you in the grip of winter.
(There will be no husky rescue)
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 8:57 AM UTC
the acrid unease of incence
emaciating the mind
hangs in the air at the edge of the forest
where the dew drops wither
the sorrows of the moon
where shaped and tailed eyes
pacified only
by a satisfaction of images
that buzz in frenzied movements
savored and perverse
strangle
in black, scarlet, white and pink
divergent parallels
the quantum connection of memory
listen to the deformation of silence
and tease the disunity of
attempted cohesive geometry
where nothing is heard
but strained articulated color
by shaped and tailed eyes
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
comprehensive and cohesive thought
is perhaps too sophisticated for a mind that
shatters upon arrival - i am not
boundless; my thought cyclic like a
sunrise or hyperbole or
the soft decay of trees upon
frost and grass upon high mountain,
failing crop upon a forever urbanised
temple. winding foundation i've clearly fallen through,
lost within nothing but a clear crisp
memory i think this setting
is lost here but i don't think that
your arms emanate enough heat for me to judge
you've emptied me of difficulty whilst filling me with
the clarity of misjudgement and this
decadent optical illusion.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 3:13 PM UTC
You don't understand all the things I've kept inside
The plain and simple truth that our tendencies collide
Tonight I'm being shifted in ways I cannot hide
So roam the empty pavement sea, walk here by my side
By stumbling I'm spilling my entire tainted self
Writing an extensive book to place upon your shelf
Open it with cautious hands and keep in mind your health
Then verify that what I've said wasn't dipped in stealth
Read aloud the prologue and compare it to the end
Tell me it's cohesive, an impeccably smooth blend
And after you have finished I hope you won't pretend
That I was seeing someone else when I called you my friend
Aug 25, 2012
Aug 25, 2012 at 1:25 PM UTC
This play
Has many acts
No disparate steps
That end in a result
An orchestra of events
Carefully planned and practiced
Carried out in sequence
With the final act
The meal
If these parts aren't cohesive
Cut and chopped into confusion
Your finale will fail
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
I pick this Earthly slide into Summertime, this season to begin, propels forward in all sense of Time, history retrograde, etched in Stone for Centuries, Coded in DNA, programed Circadian bodies, impressions applied geometric thickly glazed coat, generously slathered across my Retinal Screen.
Setup complete for me, attuned to Solar frequencies, aligned to cohesive Cosmic driving motion spiraling Syncopation with all partaking rotational bodies, all timers set to synchronous, all ties to everything celebrating their teamwork well done.
Activity accelerates, as does the heavy heat, both inseparable, together climbing ****** into sunburnt sweat, steaming, sizzling Sunday barbecue to reflect the Flesh boiling together in sympathetic Celebration of our Seasoned Sun.
Longer days accommodate for memories and fun, commemorate the Force of Season, into swing, will soon be swung, centripetal to glaze a different gaze lathered across my retinal screen, reverberate through Atmosphere, redistribute composition, smooth bottlenecking, flowing out yet emptying to take fill of what flows in.
No change of Season, nor change of Heart, no redirection ever knows emptiness, no moment leaves a Void unfulfilled.
No moment when the smooth Transition stutters to a Stop. The sync is in the constant movement bringing balance in equilibrium by shifting tides, Spinning Stars locking in, programmed by Primal Cause, the Synchronicity in Everything, so Summertime comes, this Time in which we rejoice, knowing it's all been planned, beautifully executed by mechanics of Nature.
Trust in understanding a Power much Greater is in Control, we are here simply for the Experience.
...Not to much more, just in attending to the Transitions of Ourselves.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
Words are like fruit,
hanging freely,
really just waiting
to be plucked.
Some tantilize the tongue
with sweetness,
pieces meeting
our mouth with
juicy meaning.
Others leave
a sour shock
to our senses.
When this
bitter biting
heightens
the now rising
sense of
crying,
we recoil.
Curling away
from the
not so ripe
narration.
Patient,
for a more
cohesive cocktail's
coming.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
outstretched hands
overlapping timelines and lives
circling back to the same origins
and stretching far enough out to forget them
promises twirled around fork prongs
paths meeting and crossing and departing
held together by cohesive experiences and sauces
the chaos of our own existence
shouldn't prevent us from taking a bite
Mar 5, 2023
Mar 5, 2023 at 12:15 AM UTC