"conversely" poems
Corpses proliferate in soaring violence; heirloom of franchise and eminence— perish in erosion.
Timid denizens of derision, cynicism in roaring silence — optimism’s paling vapor—commodity of Indecision, our halcyon days forgotten.
Chosen token of audacity; the onyx maladroit feigns, prevaricating beneath the Sacred canopy.
Etudes of apathy; attrition unlamented; streams of guile— quixotic squall conversely merge — veiled conceit, eloquent arrow of equivocation.
The policy of attenuation.
Treason’s vine obscured beneath the blind surf of consent.
© 2014 & 2016 W. S. Warner
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 3:12 PM UTC
Against the saturated
Horizon of dawn,
Loitering in the dark timbre
Of emerging consciousness -
Dissipating somnolence
And preemptive despair,
Tacitly adumbrate the
Yawning abyss.
Chastened by the cunning and
Lubricious nihilism,
Igniting fermented provocations,
Silent subterfuge; death,
By mirth - the inane;
Lament of the mundane.
Fallow paradigms, accretions of
The last gasp -
Evaporating empty liturgies
Of suspicion;
Charity and equanimity -
Lost in confinement,
Triumphant avarice bearing
Descendants
Of intransigence;
Wielding imperious
Schemes of orthodoxy.
Pollard fragments of
Silken tapestry,
Miasma draped depression
Abridging;
Conversely,
Permuted flurries of anxiety
Dislodge
The vestiges of meaning
That abide
In brazen equivocation.
Tributaries of dogma reach
Their confluence,
Watershed moment,
Numinous effusion
Streams naked epiphany,
The precarious vision -
A gesture of providence,
Certainty and contingency;
Gratuitously derivative, life
Equals choice.
Verdant branches of intention;
And opportunity the vine,
Live forward -
The pen, my voice,
Piquant conduit pouring,
Exuberant wine.
Footprints found in givenness
Underline,
Penumbrae of my soul;
Mirrored silhouettes,
Thoughts and words engender;
And in verse adorn
Fecund soil, Line after line,
The cosmos altered,
Continuum of permanence -
Artist’s art articulating
Essence of my imagination,
I proliferate, I design
Phrases unique,
Participation mystique.
Words creating world,
The apparatus of infinity
Heidegger, ontologically precise,
Language -
The house of Being,
Ineffable, Promethean
Literary devise -
Envisioning possibility,
And abundance to allow,
I occur
Inhabit
Manifest
Future phenomena
Experienced as now.
©2008 & ©2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 2:02 PM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrationist humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love. □□
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 8:10 AM UTC
Ah, in my opinion and in general Indian opinion, love and *** are irrelated. I'm nearly 23 and I'm in love and I'm proudly a young man with preserved chastity. Gender has lost its place in the active vocabulary and the word for ****** *********** *** has replaced it widely.
People around the globe have simply forgotten that the real meaning of love is not *** but instead of this, *** is one of the many expressions of love.
Love is when you get the feeling of being a friend and a family member of a person you are not naturally related to and the person is from the "opposite" gender irrespective of how the system tries to make sense of same-gender love by going great lengths for despising the truth.
As for the homosexual people, it's high time for them to accept the rules of nature as those are and stop doing what they are. They should mingle equally well with the people from opposite gender and find or wait for somebody who matches their thinking about wiser things.
Virginity, or more appropriately put, chastity of a person is defined as the situation of being totally inexperienced at having had any ****** activity. It is a treasure trove of humanity, and is not just a physical state but even a psychological state. This treasure must be shown to and shared only with one person from opposite gender when one is ready for exercising the activities of ****** ***********
If a person, a female in particular, is ***** and their chastity is snatched away by force, or conversely, they lose it to some physical injury resulting from sports, and their mind is still untouched by the notion of *********** they must not to be treated as someone who has been having ****** *********** and wilfully so.
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
The unseen is so intangible to humanity that it screams Hersey in defense of limited carnal senses. Even if the womb could inhabit scientists in pre-birth form they could merely predict that the umbilical cord was the result of the big bang which was brought on by flatulence before the great earthquake of indigestion. The true miracle of birth is the unseen…how in the darkness of gestation a blind love is reflected through a heartbeat that is perceived only physiologically. They could never fathom the deeper water of love that a man has with a women! Conversely we are not immune to this fallibility within the new embryonic process called mother earth and its new limited senses that perceive love as tangible. Love is not a feeling like an umbilical cord or is it a marriage that brings beauty and personal happiness on earth. Love is bigger than the thick and thin of this imperfect dieing world! Marriage is the umbilical cord to a true love that is again unseen and reflected in the heartbeat of the Cross which eclipses all Physiological and cognitive impulses. Love never fades………………….
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 11:06 AM UTC
Directly related to gravity is the principle of escape velocity. Escape velocity is what we call the speed that an object must travel away from the planet or satellite to free itself from the gravitational pull. The stronger the pull of gravity, the more speed that is required for the object to free itself. Conversely, the weaker the pull of gravity, the less speed that is required to be released from a gravitational pull. The escape velocity for an object on Earth is about 25,200 miles per hour. It would be easier on the moon, which has an escape velocity of 5,355 miles per hour.
I don't remember when I started to fall for for you.
I don't remember when your arms started to pull me, holding me close like it was the gravity keeping you to this earth. You held on to me like I was the only reason you were still here. I used to think I was the reason for your existence.
I don't know what truth is anymore but I remember it was you who made me feel this way.
You told me once that you couldn't imagine being without me.
You told me that that I was more than just the sun who kept your days bright. I was the moon who stayed with you on the coldest of nights.
You pushed me back and gripped my hands and you didn't let me go.
----------
I don't know if you remember any of this.
I don't know if you remember the moments we've shared or the secrets we've kept.
Oh, the tears we've shed.
I don't know if you care.
I don't know if you've ever cared at all.
I told myself it's nothing.
I told myself that I'm better off without you.
Oh, the tears I've shed.
It's been two years.
My heart no longer mourns for you yet I still can't help but wonder when I will ever be free from your orbit. I don't know if I'll ever be strong enough to face it, to face you.
What I do know is that I want to escape.
I want to be free.
I will be strong.
I will be free
I know who I am.
I know what I want.
Knowing is enough for me.
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 5:51 AM UTC
i like watching
the grey disappear into day
forms emerging from the twilight
conversely i like watching
the day disappear into grey
the forms merging into the twilight
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 11:53 AM UTC
There is a fair bit of you in every garden of my life.
Truly, that is nothing extraordinary, you should know it as objectively as I do.
Nevertheless, there is something I’d like to clarify:
When I say "in every garden”,
it is not only in relation to this of now,
this of waiting for you, of hoorah! i found you!, and ****** i lost you!,
and found again, and hopefully stops there.
Nor in regard of you suddenly telling me "I’m going to cry”,
then with a discrete lump in my throat "well go ahead”.
And then a graceful invisible rainfall arrives to assist us,
perhaps the reason the sun rises unhesitatingly right after.
I’m not just referring either
at the day-to-day fluctuation of the stock in our little decisive complicities,
or that I could or believe I can turn my deficiencies to victories,
or of you to bestow upon me the tenderest gift of your most recent despair.
No.
The situation is more serious.
When I state “in every garden” I mean to say that in addition to that sweet cataclysm,
you are also rewriting my childhood,
that age when one utters "grown up” and solemn phrases,
and the solemn grown ups celebrates them,
and conversely, you think of it irrelevant.
What I mean to say is,
you are reassembling my adolescence,
that time when I was an old man full of insecurities,
and contrarily, you know how to extract from there,
my germ of joy and consciously spread it.
What I mean to say is,
you are stirring my youth,
that vain vessel no one took hold of, that proud shade no one got close to,
and you on the other hand knows very well how to shake it
until the autumn leaves start falling
till there is nothing but the flesh of my triumphless truth.
What I mean to say is,
you are grasping my maturity,
that mixture of stupor and experience,
this unknown horizon of fear and certainty,
this relentless faith on my questionable strength.
As you can see, it is serious,
extremely more serious.
Because with these or different words,
I mean to say you are not only,
the dearest girl you are,
but also the splendid and cautious* women that I love and have loved.
Because thanks to you E, I have understood,
(you’d say it was about time, and with reason),
that love, is a beautiful and generous bay, that lightens and darkens as life goes by,
a bay where ships arrive and break away,
they arrive with blossoms and presages,
and they part with krakens and storm clouds.
A beautiful and generous bay where ships set down and then leave,
But E, you, please don’t leave.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 2:14 AM UTC
I was on the way to find out my destination,
It was a rugged terrain without shed of trees on the road side,
Burning Sun shine on the top of my head and
Stony patches below my foot,
On a junction of the two roads,
You came out!
With …..
“Generous green of forest in our face,
Deepest blue of ocean in your eyes,
Melodious wind of mountain valley on your hair and
Splendid light of the don on your smile”,
As if this new path after this junction
going to lead me to the nature’s own womb.
Conversely, when we face each other you asked
‘Who I am?’ and ‘where I am going to?’
I was surprised; no one poses such questions to me on this long walk,
But I have already comes a crossed the Security man with gun in their hand,
The Beggar with stony beggaring plate in their hand,
The Food vendors with hot food in their basket,
The Knowledge tycoon with bag of books on their shoulder,
The Political guardian with embryonic power in their muscle,
No one asked any thing!
Not even look at me!
Probably for them either ‘I was insignificant or invisible!’
But your questions,
Compel me to think about my identity,
I don’t have a search engine,
to take help from the world wide web of identity,
So, when observing you with sensors of Imagination, Emotion and Cognition,
I found my lost identity in you,
As your child everything rooted in you,
Than I started to walk with you
Just to get the aspiration of living planet and
To protect you from the spite of ownerships, rationality, consumerism,
and demonstrations humanity.
But after a while,
Every one started to pose question,
“Who I am?”
“Why I am walking with you?”
“How I get the right to do so?”
Than I replied my scruples enlighten me to do so!
No one understands ‘what I replied?’
Now the Political guardian of the society starts a campaign,
The knowledge baron prepared software for this operation,
The beggar and food vendor distributing the literature with illustrative interpretation,
That…..
“People like me are threat to the society”!
“This is an evil force of our society”!
Tomorrow…..
The security man going to declare a ‘decree’ on
Emotion, Conscience, Humanity and Love.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC
a contradiction contracted in
lowest terms are
you.
[it’s metal edges]
your beauty is
of
a
garden
(suspended at mid-
clouds), to enter
and
to say
that in such a
variety of
flowers
there
can not
be
one that
attracts
you
to pick it
to dismantle it
and
to
neglect
the
rest.
[it’s plasticized segments]
you know how to
quickly imprint
yourself
on me
when
you laugh
at times
and
conversely
you weep
and
you are like
those skies
that shake me
to my core
when
they are
blinding
on one hand
and
violently bleak
on the other
so
clearly
fractured
they shake
me pierce
me
pierced
i am
by
you.
[it’s just thinned points]
imagine if
a chameleon
started
to
acquire
each
gradation
of
another
creature
in the form
already
similar
to
it:
where
could
he
ever
escape?
[it’s inconstant semicircles]
(i can not
delineate
you
it is like
sketching
a tidal
wave
nobody
can:
painters
invent them)
[and it’s shoved arches]
i’ll tell you
of
a
woman
her soul
shattered
and
subsequently
imprisoned
splinter by
splinter
in hail
stones
she
fell
and
she felt
herself
crashing
at the same
instant
millions
of times
however
she
never
went
insane.
[it’s torn curves]
(and I know well
how a continuity
interrupted
succeeds
to make
you
fumble
convulsively
but it’s not
enough
for me to
restrain
myself
don’t
ask
me
to)
[it’s petrified vertical axes]
what i see
is
a cross
section of
enclosure
handfuls with
disconcerting
efficiency
consisting
of prisms
and
you know how to decompose
yourself inside
an innocence
delimited
you proceed
by inconstancies
you lacerate
metabolizing
you struggle
silencing
and
i could
only
teach you
one thing:
gray is not
a faded
version
of
black.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 9:04 PM UTC
i overthink
i panic
i stress
i worry
but
i trust
i care
i stay
i love
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 3:08 AM UTC
This crazy conundrum has been conspicuously contrived quite cordially. Of course, one could concede this cordially contrived conundrum could carelessly conflate the countless quandaries causing quintessential quantities to question the conspicuously questionable conspiracy. Conversely, carelessly questioning conspicuously contrived conspiracies as cordially quantitative quandaries could create considerably confusing claims countering the critically acclaimed crazy conundrum so callously clarified as to continue to count as cordial. Consequently, with careless acquiescence, I must confess that the conceptually contrived conspiracy, so inconspicuously inconsistent, conflated considerably contrary quandaries quite questionably and continues to confuse the crazy quite cordially. To conclude, the crazed conspicuous conundrum confuses the cordially questionable quantities of conceptually countless claims clearly clarified as conflated quandaries continuously contradicting a considerable count of conspiracies.
11/2/16 11:59 p
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
Up and down; a trend in life that continues to death and potentially thereafter.
My life has been a mesh of many strange moments, days, minutes, and hours... I have yet to completely shake the solipsist angst I coyly developed following the summer after my graduation from high school. Sometimes, I really do half-expect the world to cave into some psychedelic stop-motion I can't escape from, capable of only gazing in fear and realizing that I'm trapped inside the matrix.
Love, too, has assisted in bringing me a sense of release.. but it has also conversely caused lows to become lower as I now have more to lose (in a romantic context). My head buzzes with strange information and gazes at others content with a twinge of jealousy at times. There is a way out of this; I've seen it done before. But what alchemical combination can save a battered soul who can't be sure what the ultimate cause of the suffering is? It feels like a great part of it is my fault.. but the problem is how does one go about ceasing a toxic cycle in its tracks? Someone declaring, 'simply do this!' has only ever made it worse. But could that be a form of resistance on my part? Some lack of faith in myself or in the universe? How does one go about simply 'doing this'?
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 12:31 AM UTC
It's Novocaine, in a way
Slathered over my brain
In a chemical cocktail
That's supposed to keep my mind
From the endless cycle of self imposed
Punishment.
There's no On or Off
And therein's the problem
Capping off something
With no particular filter.
To clarify, I'm a bit all or nothing,
And the promise of peace they gave me
Also implied artistry of my thoughts;
The conversely sharp and wonderful inner workings
That once gushed forward effortlessly
Are locked up inside in the plugged up
Pool of sludge.
What a paintbrush they have these days,
Drenching things in black and white;
I see the logic in settling, to gripping these little oval promises
Of a better life for sanity.
This cold clarity enables me to remember
What once was with a measured calculation
Of the good weighed against the bad.
Grey is a foreign object after my descent into the Matrix
Red pill, Blue pill,
I finally understand Cipher.
Somethings are better left unknown
Sometimes ignorance IS bliss.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC
Sword brashly drawn from scabbard
Gilded blade with a lucent polish lathered
Burnished to reflect the availing light on each side gathered
Conversely deflecting the pious streams pharisaically blathered
Weapon-grade mind steeled to cut through the broad discourse
Sharp point piercing each tangled, silken strand; puncturing each uncorroborated source
Serrated edges slashing through the syntactical pulp so coarse
Double-edged blade mincing then scoring lexicon that generational divide did divorce
Vaunted crest advertising noble intentions
Brittle helmet to repel callous, vain repetitions
Dense breast plate to ensnare all heartless pretensions
Luminescent shield to deflect all trite inventions
Aug 6, 2011
Aug 6, 2011 at 2:42 PM UTC
Geese are
Not gifted
Spellers.
They write
Poems
In their eggs.
The letters
Cannot
Be separated
From their yokes.
In the court
Of the Blue King
Atrocious spelling
Is called “Goose-spelling.”
Turn of phrases
That cannot
Be separated
From its image.
Conversely Wicked spelling
Is known as Dragon-spelling.
Where quatrains
May spontaneously combust
Burning the finger
Of luckless scribes.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
I can understand that one is knowledgeable,
While understanding that this is not correlative or indicative of intelligence.
Likewise, I can understand one is both, or can be both,
And respect that in specific.
Yet; I can likewise understand,
That while the aforementioned individual(s)
Merits respect in that or those specific aspect(s) and/or attribute(s),
That that individual lacks patience & compassion.
And so that individual is ultimately unworthy/undeserving
Of any greater respect than in understanding them.
Otherwise, I hamper myself & only hinder others
In both intelligence & understanding.
Conversely, I can appreciate that one may understand what they're talking about
Even if I don't fully understand the experience as described.
Whether this is an aspect of one's own ignorance, as in a lack of understanding or confusion,
Or to/by the nature of how/what information is conveyed.
I can appreciate that communication can sometimes be difficult.
I can respect that individual still;
But only if they're earnestly, honestly trying & attempting to.
Only if they're honest & forthright in it & even about it.
Otherwise, they hamper only themselves & hinder others
In both knowledge & intelligence.
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 12:50 PM UTC
he left me.
he hurt me.
he lied to me.
he made it hard for me to trust.
but,
i trust you.
i trust that
you won't leave me,
you will be kind to me,
you will be honest,
you are the best thing for me.
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 9:06 PM UTC
Yes,
this is another poem
about ****
Sorry,
I know you’re
exhausted from
hearing them.
Sorry,
I know it makes you uncomfortable.
****
There I
go apologizing again.
Ok. Reframe.
Start over. Own it.
This is a poem
about **** and you better
******* listen.
Ok too harsh,
too harsh.
They’re not gonna listen now.
Again.
Ok, uhh...
personal story.
One time my
best friend and I
were ***** by the same
person.
Ok wait, no...
too personal.
They’ll just pity me,
instead of seeing the
larger issue.
Ok, I think I finally got it.
To give you an idea
of the numbers,
all of my friends and I
have been victims
of ****** assault.
Great, perfect,
not too personal,
we can talk about it in the abstract
like nothing terrible
happened to me,
specifically.
That’s it. That’s it.
That’s how we can talk about.
Depersonalized,
Submerging our feelings
with facts.
Statistics are our best friend.
So here it goes:
Did you know false reports of ****** assault are
rare, ranging from 2 to 10%
of all reported ****** assaults.
That the percentage
I just quoted was
from a study that
collected data over 10 years
from reports on a college campus,
after determining in a meta-analysis of 20
other studies on false reporting that the
FBI data used was "unreliable."
Conversely, about 63% of
****** assaults go unreported.
Wouldn't it make sense
to air on the side of
believing women
then? As opposed to
casually
insinuating they could
have ulterior motives
reporting ****** assault,
political or otherwise.
That isn't an argument.
That is fear talking.
That is guilt talking.
That isn’t us having a conversation –
that’s just you blabbering illogically,
crippled by the fear you’ll be next.
You are wrong.
You are wrong!
Your arguments are baseless.
You are completely ignoring the facts.
There is no evidence.
You need to stop talking,
and politely listen.
Because you have a lot to learn.
And while we are not obligated,
many of us are willing to teach you:
The only ulterior motive women
have 'outing' people,
for a CRIME
they committed,
the only benefit,
is to make sure the person responsible
doesn't **** someone else.
And you not believing us,
you chastising us,
you rolling your eyes,
you silencing us,
lets that person walk free.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 12:47 AM UTC
A timely observation; complacently inscribed,
finding truth in aberration and restitution in denial.
So long conversely spoken, unmentioned but believed:
to live without intention and die conventionally.
With wide consideration, the bearer must unload
a prideful commendation: what glory in control!
Internally awoken, vehemently believed:
to live without conventions and die intentionally
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
after i cried while fist close
head over heels, saw a number
Upside down, thought it was nine
midwife arise and beaten me conversely
symbolizing-here i am, newly birth
i'm ready to face the world
whom shall i fear, i'm yours
to you world...i'LL be back
how i'm longing to become musician
so 60th noting would be six
just like with five for fighting
when they sang their song superman
~~~it's not easy to be me!~~~
...when i was young way back
on comfort room, i asked myself
words, where did you come from?
wish i may, wish i might
if you would count on me
accurately more than one two three
these four-liner stanzas must exact
i don't know where this poem
could belong, will it shall? or
simply collect and love by more?
as haiku or an epic enthusiasm
from my heart to your mind...
long or short speech can should,
oasis were found, moods are solemn!
inside on this story-telling hymn.
( January 6,th 2016 )
@7:16 a.m.
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 6:17 PM UTC
Silent from his perspective,
but she, raging within,
gave him a glance furtive,
and in return he gave a grin.
Here there was a connection.
One felt never before.
No need for deception.
She saw his very core.
And conversely, he saw her.
Inside her heart, a guest.
Or maybe an intruder?
Time will tell best.
Unless...
Well, maybe this is different.
Staying with him won't cost her rent,
and when to him her heart is lent,
a safer place it couldn't be sent.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 10:37 PM UTC