"conclusive" 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
Indebted shadows prey on a prayer
They drink up their glories and sins,
While contending for souls so rare
And endow nails upon my skin:
Clever born,
Hearty,
And silver to the bone.
Nevermore,
Sadly,
Now mutely grey in tone.
“Awake!
Arise!
Win our war in Rome!”
They break,
They lie,
And never came home.
Forget
Please never,
This threat
I sever,
Regret?
Too clever
to lie.
Faulty sins hoist a ****** banner
While goodness is only a trend,
And foes are convenient in manner
Convenience: a conclusive friend.
Too clever to lie
What a convenience am I
Am I: your conclusive friend;
Answer as to why
You raise the stakes high
When you have no soul to lend?
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 3:32 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
The question regarding the question relies on what the question really is.
If the question implied is a question directed outwardly, then it may be misinterpreted as a question to oneself internally.
Otherwise, a question explicitly directed inwardly is critical to deciphering the question that one will address outwardly.
If an indirect question is questioned through the user, then the question itself becomes a metaphysical question to choose from.
In the event a question is said through alternate means, consider the quantitative/qualitative state of the question at the time being; as it may be resolved by asking the question in a subconscious level indeed.
Superficial means tends to seek fundamental questions to the reality of the state one naturally possesses.
In the case where the unconscious decides the opportune event to question the conscious reality, one must interpret the means in examination of the intrapersonal mentality.
If the question is imposed through correlative thought and subliminal expression, then the question itself is related to a parallel conscious state intertwined with the unconscious state of mind of progression.
If the question is relative in combination to the solutions mentioned above becoming apparent, then one has means to ask the question without questioning the question itself in disparate.
Otherwise, the question continues to perplex the question through the continuation of irrelevant questions that one will have thought; creating a treacherous belief so concurrent one could not have fought.
Therefore, is the reality of the question portrayed to the reality you live in or the reality of others? As this poem was conclusive to subtly evoke thought in the questions we construct.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
Heartstone is a reflection in music on a ‘lost’ poem. The poem described in its two short verses a summer’s day, a landscape, a fossil found and placed in the palm of a child’s hand. The poem inspired a seven-movement work for wind, brass and percussion with solo piano. Here is its poetic programme note.
Chert
The piano draws an arc of rhythm
rising then falling.
Above
two choirs of wind and brass
exclaim, fanfare, mark out
shorter, determined
gestures of sound.
The procession, almost a march,
becomes a dance.
Alone
Two choirs of wind and brass
become four couples
whose music weaves
from complexity a simplicity:
Chromatic to Pentatonic
twelve becoming five.
Prase
Four stopped horns,
five extended tonalities.
Together they wander
a maze of Pentatonic paths;
alone, and in pairs, as a quartet
they discover within
a measured harmonic rhythm.
Tension: resolution
. . . and surrounding
their every move
the piano
insists an obligato,
a continuum of phrases,
absorbing into itself
the warp and weft of horn tone.
Sard
Oscillating
in perpetual motion
the full ensemble
occupies a frame
of time and space.
Flutes, reeds,
double-reeds
brass, piano,
percussion
mirror-fold on mirror-fold
layer upon layer
overlapping.
Yarns of threaded sound.
Tuff
Without a break
the mirrored oscillations
patter pentatonics
on tuned percussion
of marimba and vibraphone
whilst
a batterie of drums
lays down
shards of beaten rhythm
against this onward
folding of tonality change.
In the background
a choir of winds
flutes and single reeds
waymark this recursive journey
gathering together
cadential moments and the
necessary pause for breath.
Marl
Relentlessly, the motion is sustained,
piano-driven,
a syncopated continuo,
rhythm-sectioned
amidst layers of percussion.
Adding edge,
a choir of brass and double reeds
amplify the piano’s jagged rhythms
providing impetus for
phrases to become longer and longer,
ratching up the tension,
ever-denying closure
until the batterie
delivers
a conclusive flourish.
Paramoudra
Pulse-figures of winds.
Motific cells of brass.
Both
negotiate a stream of
fractal-shaped tonality
expanding: contracting.
A blossom of fanfares
folding into
pulsating layers
of tuned percussion,
flutes and reeds.
A dance-like episode
absorbs a chorale.
Four horns in close harmony
against the continuing dance.
A duet of differences
flows into a cascade of chords
in closed and open forms.
The piano supports
brass-flourishing figures
before a final stillness.
Heartstone
In gentle reflection
the solitary piano –
a figure in a landscape
of collapsed harmonic forms -
presents in slow procession
the essence of previous music.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 12:41 PM UTC
I, like the pendulum
Swing from one extreme
To the polar opposite
Before coming to a conclusive rest in the center
The intensity of applied force
Determines the height of my emotion
But the outcome is the same,
With every swing, I come down
Kinetic converting to potential energy
Until I am frozen in time, dead center
An emotional ground state
Completely still in my own calmness
Where I find that the initial force
Of what troubled me
Was nothing but people
Performing an experiment
To prove a point to themselves
That they could rouse me
I, like the pendulum
Will eventually come
To a complete stop
Alone in my stillness
Breathless and apathetic to my surroundings
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC
i am of the light
despite
my shroud
that crowds the villains in the toppled telemetry of my steeds
galloping gallantly from the burning cities of my dreams
i shall gleam from her or he
that which delivers
their truths faithfully to their dreams
open wounds turn invitation
in the pity of hungry thieves
who dared to dream
of peasants king-ed.
as we sing
sing
of desperation
in passionate confessions
of jaded wisdom
passed on through every failure
never to falter
in the betrayals of Walters
lost
in loss-less flac files
i have miles to go
smiles to grow
daggers projectiles
from mild mannered children
freshly ridden
of maniacal miracles
spiritual
but not stupid
we are troopin
this lucid movement
grooving
to the repetition of the drum
the gas blow back of a gun
the bursting bubbles of bubble gum
having fun
i learnt goodly on the run
learned nothing in victory
learned nothing in simplicity
complacently
snickering it all away
bullet by bullet
case by case
and eventually the blade
in my compassionate displays
we shall congregate
and hate ourselves
**** the donks to hell
dwelling on the cellar doors
that darkos teacher adored
in verbal massacre
of the written literature
of cracked brain fixtures
seeping the lines
in cold tingles
down the spines of maniacs
just relax
mix it down on a track
spit the thesis into pieces
through the creases of cracked sneakers, and out the speakers
of trouble seekers.
mistakes make us
deliberate chaos
tossed
upon the fakers
who cry to think
the dream
became a reality
mistake us
for serrated blades that rip the hearts from beasts
sometimes i stop to think
while having a drink
conclusive brinks
of sanity creaks
of my humility
secreting
frivolously
the disposing of my jealousy
of your feelings
hellaciously
i rip a felony
from a face
in appealing agony
antagonizing me
in the frenzied forensics
of my oblique
outlooks
none of us
were ever crooks
speaking to self
while being booked
in hell
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
pride
falling from a
suspension
bridge
easy
death leap
sparks
a final
thrill ride
splashing
down with
conclusive
thudness
an epic
detritus
skimming
along the
heave of long
regretfull
rivers
buoyantly
bobbing
atop eddies
of hubris
cresting
aimlessly into
nothingness
one way ticket
expiration dates
are strictly
enforced on
leapers
but the final
gulps of
briney pride
swallowed
by loved ones
chokes them
in welling
floods of
unresolved
incomprehension
forcing the
bereaved
to forever swim
in a churning
flotsam during
unexpired
lifetimes
Cab Calloway: Jumpin Jive
Paterson
10/24/13
jbm
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
Effortless dust conspires with the ephemeral wind's devious desires
Lucid time transpires, while the illusion of life prevails then expires
When I need you, you're elusive, fleeting and distant
When I have you, you're abusive, cheating and resistant
When I leave you, you're reclusive, retreating, and nonexistent
When I bereave you, you're conclusive, defeating, and insistent
I rely on you to pass, mend and heal all my wounds, and cleanse the stain
I admire you in class, am reminded on full moons, and lose you in the rain
Blatant slaps in the face, blessed with you to waste, then we ask what you're worth
Silent gaps lost in space, stressed with a virgin's chaste, been by her side since birth
Eat the scraps fall from grace, obsessed with the taste, so many hungry facing dearth
Burned maps without a trace, pressed to make haste, as you tick down upon the earth
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC
An excerpt from An excerpt from
a poem by T.S. Eliot. a poem by the False Poets
Between the idea no permanence in juxtaposition
And the reality where Falls the Shadow, the shadow
Between the motion. a divisive notion caught between
And the act composition & action, the response is
Falls the Shadow Falls the Shadow
Between the conception grayed outline indistinct, the cognitive sap
And the creation leaks, contradictions irritating birth sac,
Between the emotion whereupon Falls the Shadow emerges
And the response the response conclusive, occlusive, collusive
Falls the Shadow Falls the Shadow
Between the desire juxtaposition insertion, need to achieve
And the spasm *the blurted ****** of spurted letters born*
Between the potency. in the potent white seeds of black words
And the existence coming into existence as a riptorn issue,
Between the essence essences of scents blood+logic foretelling
And the descent birth & death, descent & the ascent, both,
Falls the Shadow Falls the Shadow
Between the desire the desire desired, completed,
And the spasm the latency uncovered,
Between the potency the potent toxins of spit and tears
And the existence the birth fluid of of existence
Between the essence the formulation of the human essence
And the descent from blood dust to blood dust is where
Falls the Shadow. Falls All the Shadows
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
Earth: our ominous all-mother,
she, the greater good:
the interminable fountain out of which stems life and vivacity itself
always reaching
and grasping for the abstruse azure heavens above.
her hair never stops growing. the mites and parasites never cease to fester her scalp. She is growing and changing and rotting and dying. but where death comes, there is no long interval until more
life.
the liveliness is everywhere; it promotes to all faces and regions and niches. Multiplying, begetting, propagating. all for the greater good of our orb and its inhabitants. Most dwellers are humble and solicitous toward her, and learn to keep a vigilant eye
as she can be so
forceful and violent.
She does have, however, one rascal who believes that the globe belongs all to Himself.
He is the man.
He has a masterful gift, yes. He is profound and competent. He forges the impractical query into a conclusive answer. He, however, is also egocentric and pompous, and He sees her as a specimen to which
He has the rights to dismember and pervert.
He makes a mess of her unique vistas. He tramples and stamps on her face, running about as if she were the coliseum in which the gods gather to view the Species fight itself to extinction. He works her to the
core, always asking for more, more, more, more,
until she has little left to give.
But she never loses courage in His asinine and moronic views and His sprawling village,
for she created Him
out of herself
she is the framework out of which the mind is able to mundanely manifest itself.
Without her, He would be nothing.
And she is so immeasurably loving and benevolently caring and forevermore giving; for
She is life, she is love.
We are love.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
the hands of time
do tick on by
in the process years
passage quickly by
our clock's cogs
speedy of haste
there's not a spare
minute to waste
a youthful soul
racing along
then into old age
comes a final gong
the hands of time
do tick on by
in the process years
passage quickly by
life's every moment
strikes a chime
until they reach
a conclusive prime
days on the rapid
circuit decrease
as momentum's lap
will so cease
the hands of time
do tick on by
in the process years
passage quickly by
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 5:46 AM UTC
Living in a world of confusion
confusing words of transfusion
transfused, with a simple conclusion
conclusive to living a delusion
it's a story of a new creation
created out of a liars frustration
frustrated without a new translation
translating to a new declaration
It must be just like an addiction
addicted to a life of fiction
fictional words, then a new depiction
depicting your contradiction
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
consume endless stimulants
anything to get through this
lifeless eyes with sunken souls
tucked away in hidden holes
the hands on the clock do a full rotation
returning then surpassing their first location
alternating breaks between coffee and bogies
i sit on the floor, my effort withholding
breathe in, breathe out, inhale deep
i know not about counting sheep
a few more bodies tough it out
"we are the champions," i want to shout
and i'm delusional, so i just might
tell this empty room about my sleepless night
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 8:47 AM UTC
Letters not sent
Words untouched by hands,
There is no softer gaze,
Opening radiant ways
With rapid pulse of breaths,
In spoken sentences.
The invisible margin of lost attention.
I saw unsettling light,
The sun glinting on the window,
An ordinary building across the street
And an elusive, surreal reflection
Of a blurred sphere, not giving warmth.
I stare at this distorted image,
Wanting to endure it directly,
Longer than I could bear,
In a motionless pause
The side effects of this manifestation.
My eyes were slightly closed
To hug the contours of an unclear shape.
The luminosity from a distance
Safely stays at a fragile layer,
So as not to freeze and not to burn
Before the piercing, conclusive truth.
Being for so long and perfectly alone.
So many hours punished by the silence,
The long days in tamed anger,
Waiting for relief,
All those good wishes in letters were never sent.
The gleams turned in the blunt, painful light.
Just two living spheres and a clear, cold glass
In the ocean of rigid duties,
A star’s slow implosion,
Reshaped colorful memories, grasping at remains.
The vivid balloon with the air gone—
No longer flying above our heads.
Nothing else, just indifference that forgot
How it used to cry.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 5:14 PM UTC
Vision...the perpetual resurrection of light,
tipping point whose interstice of darkness
is overcome, spreads the image clear.
Furrowing the brow of space like a great
perennial philosophy--the nexus of
contradistinction and unanimity.
Brilliant point via wave, wave via point lit
manifest...hence, objects to sequence the
speed of light which relents time.
Unerring panorama whose open ended gape
presupposes the conclusive evidence of
poetic salt in all its worthiness.
At the starry behest of a many-sunned
convention, apace with rarefied perception.
Vision...the illusory stasis of light, whose
translation is perception--mines the fusion
of angles, of a three hundred and sixty
degree order.
This plenary dispatch, exalting the sum of its
parts...inbuilt fractal minding, mining parts
which are The Sum.
...Om...
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 10:29 AM UTC
Figure a trigger
pictured fingers
scratch the brain
pick it **** exposed;
********** minds only craving one more dime.
Insane
vein blade
neck noose
she drinks some to feel loose.
creeping
convulsions
chills christen me a martyr
King of the opiophiles
Christ of the smackheads
Conquering coconaut
Hero to heroinites
Majesty of the methodonians
Glitches in systems revolving
rebel against or kiss them
Ring the bell to bring out the MOB and roll your future to face the dice
who are they ask for advice?
You draw towards these demons while behind you attempt to bask
a mask
Cody raises a flask of poison resentful regrets
Brody the roadie is always on the move
that ****** basement edm dub scene sure did become crass
which only leaves you, alone to groove
and we drink my flask our flask and bask in romance and death
Sorry Sir that you asked…but wait I have one more thought before the session reaches the inevitable conclusive aspect. Listen to my
Unexplained Law
Of
Academic actualizations
Basic casualization
Capital causes compound connections only resulting in casualty
I am orbiting you
Blazing comet
A simple sultry satellite
cold convoluted
Sad
at my farthest reaching far flung Aphelion
Warming and safe at my closest approach to You
Blazing life bringer
Holy holy holy art thou oh Eye of all
Allow me to forever remain at Perihelion
The laws of Keplar could not keep us from colliding
in the end
fire
will be all dividing
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
what if we could grasp things in our hands..?
I don't mean plain, concrete items,
I mean what if we could grasp the memories, the changing of the seasons,
and the people we love into one little item?
how long could we contain it inside such a microscopic view of abstract
morals and views?
how about that titian leaf lying around in the pile near your door?
go and pick it up.
what do you feel, hear, smell, see, perhaps even taste in the moment?
I think that in that moment when our minds have come to a conclusive point about the values grasped into something so simple,
we can hold it.
(j.a.r.)
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
remain campaigners
are Neo-Nazis to me,
they want Germany to
rule - *******
Aryans and the stag do;
try buying a house
in Hackney you *****
425 thousand to mind!
i'll buy the slave trade's worth of
Minnesota with Kenya
and Kent to boot with that. *****
n'ah mate! n'ah!
i'll pile on the Cockney you pill the
urban gay-parade worshippers
fancying the remain campaign -
once it mattered, now it doesn't, really -
maybe i'll wake up
with SS-men in fish-stockings
or rainbow tights - whoever,
the gas, the chambers, the broken skeletons.
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 8:08 PM UTC
Architectured backs hide secrets in their bends,
rising up from foundations built on brown tanline sands
secured with concrete cloth, tied to posts either side
of lengths and widths.
Ask the professor, he’ll know how to demolish a building:
he’s a degree in unfolding the unnatural
and his last paper was in firming up the dunes;
with wooden poles his tests were conclusive
almost allusive as he marched on at night,
but we saw him, with others under car park, notorious, car rocking
lightly in the light, light.
Due to administration cut backs his papers were never reposted to sender
and now I’m bound by glue
that leaked from their spines and lines
of the book
to you:
we’ll never not be apart
but shall remain forever not together.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
Inflection detection in wording circumspection.
Emotion induction from sentence construction.
Thinking,reckless, breathless.
Intrepid interpolated meaning interpretation.
Conclusive concussive membrane concussive.
Paranoid, panoramic, irrational.
Dogmatic denial Vexing act servile.
Divisional divisive delusional decisive .
Thinking,reckless, breathless.
Paranoid, panoramic, irrational.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 5:56 PM UTC
sadness has always been here
hiding somewhere down under
rooted deep within my ribcage
which cracked from all the thunder
i felt it there when i was small
but didnt know what it meant
i never guessed
it'd turn into something
I'd so much resent
once the bones were broken
there was no holding back
the sadness came right through me
and waited to attack
it'd linger here
and linger there
always messing with my brain;
it made me anxious
made me scared
this sharp
conclusive pain
it told me this was the end
and there was nothing i could do
it fought my once so bright ambition
and turned it
shades
of blue
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
As the sea is dolorous
My soul is untamable
As the moon perpetuate the sea
One can make me conclusive
But who can bottle that be?
The sea may reverberate
My affection may extravasate
The moon dispassion the waves
Of my life's precipitation
Who can prevail against me?
As deep as the sea
Is my love and my heart
As the moon faultless the sea
I need someone to quiescent me
Who can rival me?
The sea is so atramentous
As is my disposition
The moon luminosity it's light
Can someone genuinely love me
And make me whole?
I need a camaraderie
Like the moon and the sea
Commensurate and exhaustive
Come find me
If you dare
I'm lost at sea.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC
I have discovered myself to be lost in shimmering puddles of an ancient dream where the recollections
of an acoustic guitar delve into the depths of an autumn sky.
They are unequivocally related to damp wellington boots, butterscotch and bacon.
At last, I have balanced upon the glorious edge of unfathomable childhood rituals where esoteric plantations are shrouded by a hedge of Britannic history.
So, as you seek to slide down the steep and icy pathway into the park, make sure that you return by 9 o’clock in the evening because the black nun wanders around those ghostly woodlands where religious buildings remain to be sunk into historical graves.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC