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Terry O'Leary Jan 2019
.             <Well, ShallowMan’s ne’er at a loss>
              <for voicing shallow thoughts that gloss.>
              <With trenchant wit he reaps the dross>
              <when seeking sense in applesauce.>

              <But to his aid flies FactoidMan>
              <who always has a Fact at hand;>
              <with him, who needs a whether-man>
              <to answer “if?” or “but?” or “and?”?>

“Oh ShallowMan, let me explain
the Facts of life to you, so plain,
yet flush with truthful thoughts arcane.
When understood, you won’t maintain
that callowness you think urbane.”

                              “Oh FactoidMan, give benedictions,
                              save me from all contradictions
                              with your knowledge, no restrictions
                              finding Facts, avoiding fictions.”

“Well, when in doubt, you always may
request my help to find your way
through shades of black and white and gray,
and from the Facts you’ll never stray.
Yes, ShallowMan, I’ll make your day.”

                              “Since yesteryear I’ve wondered why
                              I’m served a piece of humble pie
                              whene’er attempting to descry
                              just what’s a Fact, and what’s a lie,
                              and which be Facts one can’t deny.
                              With candor, can you edify
                              me with some recondite reply?”

“Well, as you know, my Facts are Facts
which naught nor nothing counteracts
and things that do, mere artifacts
in dim myopic cataracts.”

“A lie’s a thing which disagrees
with Facts I utter, if you please,
and hides the forest from the trees
ignoring all my verities.”

“And this reminds me of my youth,
with axioms defined as truth
which I selected as a sleuth
(abetted by a sweet vermouth);
I being now so long of tooth,
to contradict me’s hardly couth.”

                              “That certainly helps me clarify
                              whom I can trust: yeah, you’re the guy!  
                              Now, furthermore I’ve wondered why
                              the moon can’t fall and clouds can fly.  
                              What’s called that law those facts defy?
                              And mightn’t I just give a try
                              to make a guess to verify?”

“If you link your facts to law
(ah, please excuse a gruff guffaw)
you’ll certainly flaunt a flimsy flaw
that strains belief and breaks the straw
of what you’ve heard and thought you saw.
(I‘ll leave you with some bones to gnaw
that leave you holding me in awe
when once you’ve grasped and gasped ‘aha’).
So tell me now your ideas, raw,
but keep it short, your blah, blah, blah.”

                              “Umm, could it be just gravity
                              (well, something like a theory
                              that some call Relativity)
                              which pulls the apple from the tree
                              and puts a strain upon my knee;
                              or is that fact absurdity?”

“Ahem, a theory’s just a theory,
not a Fact, it’s all so eerie,
something which should make you leery
as explained until I’m weary.”

                              “If Relativity’s a theory,
                              and a theory’s not a Fact,
                              is it a fiction I can query
                              when I’m falling, ere I’m whacked?”

“Though theories might be based on Fact,
a theory is, in fact, not backed
by any cause, effect or act
which might be salvaged when attacked.
For you, this Fact may seem abstract,
plumb depths where shallow thoughts distract.”

“Yes, what goes up must soon come down
is quite a Fact of world renown.
But theory’s just a heathen gown
to deck the naked King in town,
and when he falls, he breaks his crown
which leaves him wearing but a frown.”

“It surely should be obvious,
the property of Heaviness
(like Godliness and Heaven-ness)
defines the cosmic edifice,
refuting Newton’s flakiness
and Einstein’s spooky emphasis  
on space-time’s 4-D flimsiness.
Yes, Facts like these are copious
(I count them with my abacus);
to argue would be blasphemous
displaying mental barrenness
about the push and pulling stress
when bouncing ***** rebound, unless
one views elastic laziness
as evil Satan’s stubbornness.”

                              “Well now I think I understand,
                              that gravity seems somewhat grand,
                              but’s just, in fact, a rubber band
                              that stretches through our earth-bound-land
                              constricting us when we expand.”

“Yes, ShallowMan, you finally got it,
just as I’ve long preached and taught it.
I’m so happy that you’ve bought it.
(Not a question nor an audit -
you’re so shallow, who’d have thought it?)”

              <Once ShallowMan dipped into science>
              <seeking FactoidMan’s alliance>
              <gaining, hence, a strong reliance>
              <on the Facts and their appliance,>
              <justifying strong compliance,>
              <turning down those in defiance.>

                              “Hey, FactoidMan, another topic
                              leaves me reeling, gyroscopic,
                              dealing with the microscopic
                              in a world kaleidoscopic.”

                              “Within the realm of vacuum loops
                              Dark Energy in quantum soups
                              of anti-matter sometimes swoops
                              across inflation’s Big Bang stoops
                              where space-time ends and matter droops.
                              Do you believe, or just the dupes?

“It’s nothing but a passing phase,
(a theory that in fact betrays
obscure occult communiqués
that fevered fantasy conveys)
of those who thump creation days.
Just check! The vacuum state portrays
perfection in your shallow ways
reflected in that vacant gaze
you cast upon the dossiers
of all my Facts that so amaze.”

                              “And what about the quantum theory?
                              Particles not hard but smeary,
                              just like waves? It’s kinda eerie!
                              Facts could not be quite so bleary
                              leaving Bohr, well, sad and teary.
                              FactoidMan, just tell me, dearie,
                              what the Facts are, bright or dreary.”

                              “And then again what are those holes
                              (as black as ravens bathed in coals)
                              wherein the past and future strolls
                              exploiting fields that Higgs controls
                              beneath the shady shallow shoals
                              between magnetic monopoles.”

“The science lab’s a ‘fact’ory
concocting stuff that cannot be
(like unknown realms and notably
those tiny things NoMan can see
with naked eye on bended knee
neath microscopic scrutiny)
and claim they’ve found reality;
they call their god a ‘Theo’ry
(a fig-ment of the Yum-Yum tree)
that leads them to hyperbole
about the singularity
that’s dipped in dazed duplicity
denying all eternity.”

“Here’s my advice that seems to work:
ignore the ones with ‘facts’ that lurk
behind their ‘proofs’ (which always irk),
and being challenged have the quirk
of stepping back within the murk
(indulged, I chuckle, smile or smirk).”

              <Now ShallowMan is quite content>
              <receiving FactoidMan’s consent>
              <to quibble and express dissent>
              <as long as keeping covenant>
              <with fingers crossed and belfry bent>
              <when viewing Facts in sealed cement:>

                               “The Facts you give me circumvent
                               those ‘truths’ your chuckles supplement;
                               although they might disorient
                               they can’t be wrong, I won’t dissent,
                               just using ones which you invent.“
“(No need of source in that event).”

                               “Your wise advice is simply sound
                               in cases where a game is bound
                               to parcel points out round by round
                               or else on verbal battleground
                              where know-it-alls are duly crowned.”

              <Though ShallowMan is kinda slow>
              <he still takes time to learn and throw>
              <his facts and theories to and fro,>
              <amazing facts which seem to show>
              <that theories sometimes come and go,>
              <returning strengthened with the glow>
              <of new found facts (for which to crow)>
              <that fill the gaps of long ago.>

                               “Oh FactoidMan, just tip your cap!
                               I’ve found a piece to fill the gap
                               that simplifies a mouse’s trap:
                               if triggerless, it still will clap
                               to give the mouse a mighty zap
                               that makes its tiny back bone snap.”

                               “With mousetrap type simplexity,
                               reducible complexity
                               helps arguments’ duplexity
                               with twists of crude convexity.”

“Ha-ha! That serves to prove my case:
for each gap filled, two in its place,
each growing at the doubled pace;
for unfilled gaps, I’m saying grace
(they help, indeed, for saving face)
Trying to get out of neutral....
don't know whether I'm in first or reverse...
Senor Negativo Sep 2012
You travel between disparate realms
desperate knights, with splintered shield
and cracked helm, black rose on their white backs.

Such void, from which universes are created,
where normality is clay, and plasticity.
Granting merit to my thefts
Your ink spills in torrents,
rapidly alternating colors.
But my black and white photos
they are beautiful too!

I never have known boredom
as a man in my own home,
such is my inability to understand
how you flit and zip,
I only have two hands and two lips,
to try and transform a gift,
from the norm, while a storm sleeps
beneath every syllable.

Countless bodies, devoid of mind
until swooping in they come,
it is not enough that I possess true feelings.

It must be the purity within my tainted stanzas
that counteracts the inadequacy of the volume.
Or some subliminal, or sublingual amplifying agent
or reality distortion involved,
which brings shapeshifting angels
gliding by, leaving tokens of bone carvings,
and charcoal drawings of what I choose to hide,
but simply cannot.
Terry O'Leary Aug 2016
Galactic curls in spirals swirl, entwining twisted mystery,
where time unrolls in blackened holes, no longer bright and blistery,
but writ like runes on starry dunes enclosed in cosmic history

Galactic dust, from novas' gusts, congesting empty spaces
once fatefully flung beyond the tongue of burnt out astral traces,
may recompress and coalesce in distant times and places

Galactic dwarves, like ancient wharves with silent planets mooring  
yet still in spin though long done in, hide flares no longer soaring -
magnetic webs of eons ebb, in thermal fusion roaring

Galactic tides warp space divides, call forth sublime creation
while bending clocks in rippled shocks, unfolding time dilation
that seems to crown the flowing gown of pulsars' pulsed gyration

Galactic stew, a seething brew, midst background noise and chatter
like Chaos reigns, the sole remains of missing antimatter,
with just a trace to form a space-time, curved or somewhat flatter

Galactic glue holds something new: dark energy and matter
that interacts and counteracts the ancient Big Bang splatter:
a cosmic soup of strings and loops, a universal batter

Galactic life's replete and rife 'neath lactic milky wafer,
though solar gales leave unseen trails of cosmic rays, the strafer;
but nonetheless, one must confess, it seems there's nowhere safer
I've studied the chess table and its consequent game. I know every inch of every square and what each can provide without doubt. I have seen the creatures of this world conflicting in their natural habitat, like an audience to a drama, watching them devour each other until the math proves the premise on a single side. I've moved according to their stride, like a dancer's partner, gliding across this checkered ballroom floor until the truth sets in stone. It's simple dialectics, a move is made and then, from the other, another follows. White conflicts with Black and Black counteracts, a perfect unity of opposites. Never jumping ahead of themselves, one piece at a time, it's a rising exposition from White's first movement forward, a heat creeping in increments on the desert surface. They're each a step ahead at every moment, each a worthy opponent for the other. The cold, morning mirage becomes blistering afternoon and only once does the volcano erupt from boiling sand, truly agape in a fiery victory. Do you hear that power in the distance?

A horn bellows and I move in the wake of the Divine Voice. I am but a cleric for his queen, yet the king requests my service in these grave times. This foreboding feeling leaves me truly afraid for my life, however, like a snowy dove's feather, I am called to the wind with my brethren towards the direction of the evil swamps. God has blessed our devout; the witchcraft of the Black Kingdom will surely fall to His mystic weaponry.

A farmer's strong-hand makes no strongman in the abysmal depths of this marsh. Tilling the land for fallen comrades, the breath of the Black Eye leaves me entrenched in a dripping terror, coating my lungs in a bitter molasses. I contain my sultry pearl of abandonment in the Clam of Defeat, knowing the king's life to be the insurmountable jewel I must truly protect. The following torture would be an endless excruciation heard from every corner of the world.

From afar this looking tower I notice an encounter of mild defeat. A white knight on horseback casts his sword into the chest of a young peon boy standing guard for the King as he leaves the gates of the Black majesty. The boy cries out and the embers from the magical weapon envelope him in ash. The king needn't make haste, after all, the armored fool is frozen in awe, staring at the remains of his powerful encounter with the child. The half daemon looks to and fro as he skims across the moated bridge. He grabs for the golden kryss at his waste and slowly stabs between the break in white armor, freezing it solid. The blood runs quick on the fallen honor.

She's traveled far from her black caging, ripping down from the sky like a dragon. The wind blows a bastion out of the sand in my protection, but she ignites it with her icy breath, stagnating all those inside, moving ever closer to my advantage. My last warring cleric triangulates a teleportation to the town square, fighting a harrowing defeat that lends her to me. His bravery leaves her chained in physical combat with a half deity, however, she smirks as if the war is already won. I tighten my gauntlets for battle as the flying arrow passes my helmet. Oh my great men of war, your weight is on the wrong side of the world. Now it spins out of control. Eclipsed in madness, I send the eruption beneath her, encircling her in rising doom. She cannot escape her molten grave, neither does the arrow shaft merely graze my heart. Everything is hazy. Everything is dark. It is late in the hour, hearing the Devil's whisper say:

“Checkmate.”
Morgan Spiers Sep 2018
your gratuity
is not sincere
if it is balanced as a pendulum.
the anticipation of return
counteracts
the authenticity
of generosity.

it is acceptance that brings humility-
acceptance that a gift
is not equal
to inherent necessity for reward.
you cannot define "gracious"
while using the words
"owed"
or
"deserved."

allow every inch of your heart
to be a gift.
to be opened
received
and valued
for it is not in balance
that we show love-
but in the counterbalanced abnormality
of sharing.
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2019
I’ve watched the western coast decline in pounding surf and howling gale
I’ve noticed how the rising tides encroach, to day by day impale,
The crumbling cliffs, the drifting sand, the ever creeping surging sea,
The violence of increasing storms…. and how it all impacts on me.

The polar ice in melting sheets cascades into high warming seas
Islands in Pacific sun now inundate with cruel ease.
Swathes of forest in Brazil encroached by axe and palm oil gain
Climatic balance counteracts to guarantee tomorrows pain.

The ocean strewn with plastic waste, choked in tides of human ****
Churning chimneys bellow forth across the blue globe, poisoning it.
Coal’s contaminants are burning holes across the crystal sky
And leaking nuclear waste contributes now… to killing you and I.

Wealth and politicians howl abuse at they who caution loud
Climate change, they disavow, is but a ploy to woo the crowd,
“**** the future for the now” is the mantra held by they
Who wield the club to rule the roost and pocket spoils themselves….today!

Overwealmed by monstrous change, management relinquish charge,
Service and supply collapse with climatic refugee collage.
Hurricane and wildfire spread in league with rising seas
Of course the leaders wring their hands and call on God to please, .....appease?

A vision of this shrunken earth with coastlines vastly higher now
With cities drowned, Atlantis like, where millions, dispossessed, do prowl,
Where law and order, gone, is now replaced by desperate **** and take,
Where the rich and famous bastion arms behind their futile walls of  hate.

Ask not for whom the bell tolls...It tolls for thee
M.
30 July 2019
New Zealand
President Obama’s Climate Action Plan

“We, the people, still believe that our obligations as Americans are not just to ourselves, but to all posterity . We will respond to the threat of climate change, knowing that the failure to do so would betray our children and future generations. Some may still deny the overwhelming judgment of science, but none can avoid the devastating impact of raging fires and crippling drought and more powerful storms. The path towards sustainable energy sources will be long and sometimes difficult. But America cannot resist this transition, we must lead it. We cannot cede to other nations the technology that will power new jobs and new industries, we must claim its promise. That’s how we will maintain our economic vitality and our national treasure - - our forests and waterways, our croplands and snow-capped peaks. That is how we will preserve our planet, commanded to our care by God. That’s what will lend meaning to the creed our fathers once declared.”—
President Obama, Second Inaugural Address, January 2013

*With an apology to Chris Hedges for a little duplicity here.*
MBJ Pancras Dec 2011
I was a mason and am meant for daily wages,
With me are helpers, young, old, men and women,
And we are the builders, but we do not own the building.
Yet, we own the building till the last patch of the masonry.
We sleep in the storey; dry our clothes, cook our food;
We scatter our belongings and we rule the building a while.
People think we’re just masons, but we’re the kings of the construction.

They say it’s their home or shop to make money for their ‘statuses,
But who is the owner of the property,
And no one on earth is the owner of anything.

On morning we brush our teeth; clean our bowels;
We clean our body; we fill our bowels;
And we take our tools to break and cement the walls.
The sun sets that we shall crawl to our beds,
And our body twisted to stretch out from pain.

Every day we the kings till the last patch of our work,
And no one questions our stay under the roof.
We shall permit even the ‘owner’ of the roof.

We become ‘untouchable’ after our last stroke.
We make them ‘comfortable’ for their stay with our sweat,
And they threw coins at our sweat.

Yet we have not lost our kingship, for we shall regain it
When we’re called for another construction.
We’re happy with our kingship ‘cause we are kings of many homes,
But they ‘own’ a bit of the land.

None on earth is the owner of the land,
For HE Who hath created it is its Owner,
And we’re HIS tenants staying a while,
And we play gimmicks to mimic the outrageous traitor,
And the traitor is the law-breaker, who counteracts the Creator,
But in vain he brandishes his sword against the Mighty.
Looking at a mason at work this verse appeared to me.
Cate Dec 2014
Maybe
If I buy new sheets
I'll have an easier time forgetting you
And your shifting eyes
All morning sun and maroon.

I had better get a new color too

Just not blue...
That was the one before you
With the thin hair and half lies
And winter city lights.

And before that I like to remember nothing besides the yellow daisies on a peachy sunrise of my youth,
But the silky stitches will forever hold
Their petals;  
White centered with a splintering,
Tainted innocence;
A pasty white puddle of
Bodies too young-
Caught in the riptide of our
Childhood storms
And a desire for adulthood
Or something seemingly more....
Stable.

Details will only cause us to once again derail
so I must insist you don't question this.

I've been going out of my way so long
Trying to wrap up my Saran facade.
Now every interaction
Feels wrong
And rubs me raw.
My plastic skin is wearing thin
And I might melt against the heat
Of the confrontational defeat
That I suppose ...

We all just get used to.

I keep tripping over perceptions
Strewn across a convex looking-glass
Of stereotypes and slurs that shaped my past;
And I suppose
Made a lasting impression
Rooted deep enough
to now be the
Instigator of my regression
And unrelated, runaway thoughts

That seem to always get deeper

On accident.


Everything will become a hazy memory
And glob into two word phrases
Of the forced politeness
That accompanies the acknowledgement
Of a past regret-
Still freshly gawky
As a transitional stranger;


I am inquiring
In an attempt to find an explanation  for this untold something
That remains unseen
Until we're too disheveled
To distinguish it from a
A misplaced dream or idea.


Relativity counteracts the sheen
And perspective is everything,
But I feel myself slipping away
Into a despondent complacency.

I left all my linens in places
I no longer cared to be.

Yeah,
Maybe new sheets are what I need.

C.e.M 12.23.14
I am starting to think it's only somewhat productive when I turn my rambling into poetry. You guessed it guys- stream of consciousness again and my first draft. Critiques are welcomed and encouraged! Written from the perspective of people in my past and the respective sheets I remember sharing with them/ politicalish rant, all combined together into the symbology of wanting a change- starting with my sheets. I have no idea of that's clear in contex clues. Ok ya the end.
Cate
Yasin Jan 2018
The true virtue's chaos.
Chaos is a fascinating state,
Even better, as a state, chaos is everything.
A glimpse of hope that human solves the chaos,
but then it's gone...

You can't control and it feels exhausting.
Feeling of losing control, humanity tries to solve chaos,
Create an order.
Obviously not possible, it leaves a negative feeling.
Inner squeezing as if you got pulled by a strange hand into a
dark abyss.
It shackles ,your spirit, squashes everything out of your
pinches your bones till you hate it but then.

The only notion, admit. The only alternative, love the chaos.
Humanity tries to make and keep everything in boundaries.
These are fruits. These are vegetables.
Gas ***** up in the sky are stars.
They are students and the audult people
on the right side are teacher.
In the the end they are citizen,
human, animal, creature,
energy maybe an assemblage of molecules, atoms.
But when a new thing comes that does not fit in,
A new boundary will be created and more and more...
Humanity can't control that anymore, too many.
An apple is a fruit, honey is an artisan good, not for me...

The counteracts against chaos creates even greater chaos!
I love, but sometimes my darling makes people drive made,
Humanity is not ready to face the chaos in another way.
Chaos creates disorientation and orientation.
My inner me donned to a shackle, slowly squeezed, and
sag confusingly in nothing but everything.
A vessel made out of clay with a rough surface and a crumbling facade.
A powerful stream of happiness embraces every servant of chaos.
Going my own selfish way,
based on the ignorance
of my false understanding,
leads directly to my downfall.

For chronic indecision
counteracts God's divine help,
as I traverse the narrow path -
Walking boldly and tall.

My Salvation is not achieved
by what I do or go through -
For I'm mindful of His Guidance
to accomplish a role that is small.

I desire to live a life of Faith
that is visible for any to see;
as I'm strolling in this spiritual journey,
I look to join others on this global ball.





Author Note:

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2009, All rights reserved.
Viseract Aug 2016
I know you, you know me
We are one and the same
So how do you fight yourself
When it's a never-ending game?

Everything I do,
He counteracts as I expect
And every dark, insidious move he makes
Is a struggle to reject

When I was always told
That I'm not good enough
As a young kid I handled it well
I just shrugged it off

So when did opinions start mattering?
When did I become so influenced?
Was it opportunity, coincidence
Or some other, unknown incident?

How I've battled for so long
I guess remains an enigma
Even to the one in concern
Raises a puzzling air, a stigma

Myself, my misery, a mystery
Decipher it if you can
For the nine years I've tried so hard
Yet I still don't *understand
I want to know how I did it, how words never affected me like this... if someone, somewhere, has been in a situation like mine... this is an SOS. I need help!
I.
I look both ways when crossing the street
even if the light is green and it's 3 am.
I sleep with a light on and my door locked,
though I know the danger of locking the door
counteracts the safety of the light.
I don't drink, even in trusted company
and I definitely don't let it bother me that I'm missing out.
I've learned from other's mistakes.
II.
I cry when scolded by authority figures,
but not when I've been betrayed.
I never go to sleep on time
especially when I really should.
I say everything on impulse
and shut down when faced with anything I don't like.
I don't learn from my own mistakes.
andrew juma Feb 2016
The world is full of clatter and chatter
An inspiration killer
To those trying to make it better

Rackets instigated by the media
Minds are floating oxygenless
mid air
how I dream of a noiseless world!

The internet's gutter
Suffocates innovation and originality
Surfers floating in a sea of pseudointellectualism
Infecting each other

Man's worst fear has come true
confusion
Media addiction and inability to listen
Listen to one's own thoughts

Phones buzzing with tweets
Celebrity and cat videos
4000 texts a month for a teenage girl
Leaves her no time for self reflection

The world's charter and clatter
Counteracts education
Logic extrapolation
Projects loss of identity
and susceptibility
To mob psychology

Lets take a vacation
Away from the clatter
Embrace silence
Meditate or say a prayer
And seek inspiration
Outside voice v/s the self
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
dear ms. or ~mr.,

     i am writing for the idea of a forethought,
or however plausible is the allocation
    of prenuptial candescence...
             of what is deemed hushed
should a freak accident de-affirming the lives
of a british cohort of would-be Oasis stardoms
be mentioned via viola beach...
  that's that vague introduction i think all 21st
literature should engage with...
             i have recently published a book of
that has all the certificates necessary to be found
agreeable for the palette of seriousness...
in that a professional minded to give it a due review,
which i congratulate myself on as having
less that 1K number of views, but at least one
serious comment... signature provided.
                if people such as me had the incompetence
of a Herr Mannelig, i'd too be gathering my rosebuds
as i may to the tune of a chanted: carpe diem...
            i conceive that my "letter" is a tad-bit unorthodox,
and suggesting we might convene over coffee and
biscuits... but such is my lot...
               the Baltic affair answers with a diet of
sushi herring... piquant in their acidity,
   and far removed from moss-green horseradish of
wasabi...
                    given i've been writing on the British isles,
i find my "audience" an adieu commemorating these
isles... for i am continentally bound for say at least a hello...
     you see, i have recently published a book of
poetry with my own expense, in the literary world
i guess that might either mean the suggested norm,
  or a vanity that might overcome king Solomon too...
but you will find me in a stratification of bewilderment
i the way i'll formulate the following question:
would you consider publishing more of my work,
or indeed invest in forwarding the already printed artifacts
to a more "respectable" care for an audience affection
given the modern concern for numbering as many
as pope Urban 2nd might have done when giving a sermon
on crusading?
                        once more: i apologise for my informal
gravitas: i could only think of writing a letter
as if i might chance a truancy toward a respectable life
and not a chance meeting in a cafe without anyone
purposively voiding the pride of Diogenes of Sinope...
or he who flung himself into smouldering Etna...
               i suppose i am writing as a case for curiosity...
    i do understand you publication might have
received an epitaph and must have ended its coercion
for an equivalent of a public office,
        but with due respect, i am sending you a copy
of my bookmarked works... merely a p.s. to what actually
exists in digitally invigorating chasm of effort...
        as a simple gratitude and consolation of having
been able to see the 20th century revised with pressed-down
timber and ink, to what is the ultra-conscious
and the hungering-for-haste bypass....
             of course if the appropriate formality is required
i can present it... but unlike a curriculum vitae
my biopic is an informality auto-suggestive of my art,
and if formality is necessary, i will elevate this type
of peacocking in to a formal: yes sir, no madam,
my address is as follows...
                   if there need be a prelude to a summary
whereby i write a yours and state what formality
there's still to be had, whether yours honourably,
or with kindest regards, or with a yours
that counteracts the dear as might a Scouser address
a femme with pet, let alone a differentiation
of ms. and mrs. acronyms...
        it is beyond my consolidation into what is
nonetheless, a medium of acquisition.
                     as is the already understood:
sprechen schön luciferian? oder güt Polnisch?
yoyo or carcass of parabola... eins: umlaut
über ist omega zu...
        i digress, and without due consequence...
    or to provide the sigma:
        i am wondering if this might interest you,
should a rekindling of an avidness to publish be bound to
such tongued leveraging a blank space...
           i can understand that such writing can only
sprout or be agreeable within a niche market...
                  but as a mere suggestion
and as a lack of a gamble i am wondering whether you'd
consider the possibility to further my endeavour...
   and unlike a beggar, i am not imploring
                a chance to further it regardless of
success at it being furthered... for i am blindfolded
and galvanised by the concept expressed by Zatoichi;
i cannot add any more persuasions that might make
my arguments any more convincing than they already
are, most convincing as best: to be discarded.
            but with due concern for the state of things,
i send you a copy of my published work to express
what's but a snippet of the magnum opus...
          if but to revel in the snapshot of what could be
a career move worthy of an autobiography...
             given my complete ineptitude in the publishing
economy, and self-publicising ergonomics...
    but as ever: for want of experience, there's an equal
want for ineptitude.

                                  of what can be kindly regarded,
                        upon a maiden voyage of exchanges
                 to the letter and the date, as a worthy introduction
                          with the sole hope of a dialogue;
    and so with due sincerity i leave my name
                       to be a testimony toward future testaments
         of awaiting an equilibrium of assets;
                                            Matthew Conrad.
Ashley Kinnick Feb 2014
Gravity counteracts me in a way I can't explain —
It's like driving through a haze
Or trying to catch rain
Shayuna Williams May 2016
How heavy are these words unspoken:
It's almost as if I disregarded
All the weight of the world
Already on my hollowed shoulders

I've found my new hold of home
And despite a pulsing contentment that makes more than sense,
I'm still catching my muffled thoughts
Request your attention;
It's that kind of imagining
That feeds off tunnel vision
And brief but meaningful exchanges

It's that kind of
"Where have you been all my life
and why can't you be a part of it now?"
That performs like automatic transmission
And interprets a second of a glance
As a spark of a chance.

The damage is done, I suppose
Nothing could really burn worse
Than what the flames have already touched

You have your ice princess
With her glistening curls
And bright, beautiful eyes
To cool you down when
Your temper begins to scorch

...

And it isn't me.

How heavy are these words unspoken:
It's almost as if I had disregarded
Any pinch of this mysterious mess that is romance
Counteracts
My sturdy, broad, broad shoulders
karen dannette Oct 2014
Painful memories always remind-
They cower over your head, patiently waiting..
In a moment of surprise, you don't expect them.
Its when you aren't prepared, that's when they attack.
Taunting you and tempting you, they want you to be crushed.
You keep wondering why you were so naive-
Again and again.....
Listless burning counteracts all those tear filled memories
As you drift off to your next living nightmare,
The memories darken like a street lamp
Flickering in the pitch black night.
thoughts, opinions, anything helps to continue my creative process..
M Nov 2014
mom
I am trying my best
as are you
and even though I say I am trying my best
and still fail- does not mean I am a hypocrite
it just means I failed. So please,
cut me some slack
let's stop tearing each others' throats out
a moral lapse or two is not reason to turn on each other
the world is hard for both of us
and you are not superior because what you say and what you do is in alignment
if what you say is 'I am a murderer' and what you do is ******, then
'at least she's honest' is not the right response- they deserve
no credit for the truthfulness of the fact,
but only credit for what they have done- the good or the evil
though I say I have goals and I do not reach them,
at least I have goals, and at least I am mostly good,
the difference between who I say I am and who I am
is not so big of a fault that it counteracts everything good about me
for the good stands alone- the goals may not match, but
they drive me towards being more good
and does that not make them good in themselves?
I am trying my best
please, please, please
just let me,
because you do the same thing-
and setting low goals for yourself does not mean that you are better
because your goals are equal to your achievements
if anything, you are striving less than I
and you are in no position to judge.
That first step is the hardest,
it's the abstract that counteracts
reality,
your ideas of real are really not mine,
mine are the flip chart
the start of the rainbow
the unicorn and her dancing show
the things we feel
what can you disprove?

remove me from the equation
and what have you got?
straight lines
shipping lanes
trains of thought that
take you to stations
that are already there,

Scot free?
yes
I got off
quite easily,
never got trapped or
stuck in the mud and
it's all good

Tomorrow is where I
thought it would be,
yesterday
behind me
and
today,
here to see
how your reality
really doesn't
affect me
kaycog Sep 2019
I smell perfume in the air
on your breath
in your hair
I will myself
to embody
mind and soul
fervor--full
heavy lashes
flutter faulty flicks
hang my out heart
just for kicks
your disposition
counteracts
a weak proposition
I am the mist
the morning dew
arrive like clockwork
the mourning due
Pamiam Sep 2015
This feeling inside is like no other. The hatred I have counteracts the love you're trying to give me. I can't fathom the pain you're going through but I can imagine a life where nothing can bother you. I wish I had that power and wonder whether or not I can be happy again. I can't be happy now. Or myself because of my own unhappiness. I'm shutting down and I counting down the days until I break. Only a few more steps then I'm broken

— The End —