One God many ways to worship.
Any religious fanatics that **** innocents wears the sign of the beast,
there is one clear description:
"They will commit atrocities in my name".
All creeds have been guilty of this;
but the devil's greatest trick is dividing us.
Don't defend the indefensible.
Do not judge.
The persons committing these atrocities
are judging and condemning and killing.
You wont see me trying to discredit all that God has made.
It is all creation.
And the one who wants to taint it will deceive us
and as long as we have persons who have evil in their hearts,
who have the cold hearted nerve to commit these  atrocious acts
there will be an exploitation of others.
I pray for all. Everyone of God's creation to be saved.
May the Lord have mercy!

The story of my life.
HE tells me I'm so smart, beautiful. Will make "some man very happy someday."
"Why not you?", I would think to myself.
We would have the most intense, heart-revealing conversations about life & friendship & loyalty & happiness... but it was just to prepare HIM for someone else (who didn't quite fit "our" description, but mostly...)
Years would pass, even a decade...a phone call, text, email from HIM to let me know the relationship has failed & 'how have I been doing?'
"I'm fine", I'd reply. "Nothing's really changed for me. Still single. Still hate my job. Still living at home." (Mentally grasping at straws for something more interesting or exciting to share, but coming up with nothing)
The conversation theoretically should have been short (because I'm boring) but "we" would talk for hours, about everything. Reminiscing about the past, what could've been.. revealing HIS secret thoughts or feelings that HE once had, "but was too afraid to tell me."
I'd be inwardly proud, validated by the confession & then later, when the conversation was long over: angry, depressed, disappointed, self-loathing. "Why did HE always do this to me? What was wrong with me, that he didn't choose me instead? What good does this information do me now? It's too late."
I'd lie to myself that I'm glad HE didn't pick me, because I wouldn't want to be the one going through the heartache of failure. I'd tell myself I'm happier being single. Cry myself to sleep & then mentally block out that the conversation ever happened with HIM to avoid the pain.

HE should've loved me first, but HE didn't.

Most of what I write, no one will ever read.
That's because most of what I write
Is complete and total *******.

I often find myself lost in my own words.
I have to describe everything just right.
The night must be something-
It's gotta be shadowy or lonely or starry,
It can't just be night.

But why not? Why as poets do we let ourselves do this?
We're supposed to be different.
We're supposed to challenge the world we're faced with
From day one. We're supposed to break all the rules.
That's why they made the rules in the first place.

So let go of your descriptions. The night is the night,
Whatever that happens to mean to the reader,
Let it mean just that. My writing is *******
And so is yours. Let the night be the night
And you'll find yourself much better off.
Unless a word is absolutely necessary
And a simpler one will not suffice
Don't use it. Your writing will sour with too much description.

From here on out its Season 2.
None of us really knew what we were doing, how about you?
Under rocks, in fields, along the NID ditch.

Something's gotta give; strung out and hung up to dry, we try and we try.
Rub aloe on my cheeks and I'll try not to cry. Throw me into space and I'll try not to die.

"Gut-wrenching"
- metaphor.
[H(u)man(s)]
- the apex predator.
A very powerful description of the raw truth.

"I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last: and I tell you, it will be more tolerable for ***** and Gomorrah in the day of judgment, than for that city."

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FIN

Yes I go, yes go to seek a Great Apocalypse

One that will unravel the complex elaboration of difference

To articulate a perpetual aesthetic with violated codes

Of the experience of illusions of temporal stimulus

That are beyond all compass and soothe a fragmentation

Oh Great Apocalypse of beauty whose deception finds strategies

For youthful prodigality and binds me to your inarticulation

An embodiment of beleaguered and charmed fictions

Whose artifice is the governance of generous impulses

As such sway about me with a harmony of moral disquiet

Inadequate in description of the qualities of their oppression

Yet oh great apocalypse there is a plausible generosity

In these pale assumptions of impatience which carry

The obligations of a universally shared human existence

Compelling a projection of charged issues on competing claims

For the enigmatic logic of life

Yes Great Apocalypse now I understand all thought

From Everywhere and for Always

I can’t what anymore?
I must conform to that, now?

Weren’t you supposed to help;
Not actively slow and hobble?

Not in the job description:m;
Makes my job more difficult.

I’m a Higher-Ed foot soldier,
Not a draconian decree minion.

Google U. or HSU?
College or corporation?

Take me back to the days of
Mimeographs and over-heads.

Work for free?
Not me.

Darling for you I'd pour the Milky Way
from the sky onto the page,
because only with every star
could I even begin to shed enough light
on the description of the Galaxy
in your eyes.

To be carried away
On a magic carpet of words
Words weaved together
So intricately
In the most beautiful design

That is what makes a writer
An inspirational creator
For everyone can write
By stringing words together
But how they are strung
Is the magic of eloquence

To wonder at a phrase
Or an alluring description
Sparking within
An awe and desire
To search oneself
For the imagination to create

Because there infinite ways
To write something new
And create something beautiful
And if others have done it
Maybe so can I

‘I don’t trust you anymore,’ I said.
It was playful, as it resulted from a humorous exchange of kisses
in which I was seduced and then kissed in such a way that provoked a cringe.
I was feigning frustration as I giggled, as I had been fooled once again.

Though, when I said that, he let out a little whimper.
The implication of what I just uttered, had it been sincere, was momentous.
At the same moment, we both knew.
‘Oh baby that’s not what I meant, I trust you with my everything, just not kisses right now.’ (laughing)
He then kissed me deeply, and things went quiet again.
Running through my mind, constantly –
‘I trust you with kisses too.’

Trust is a fickle thing.
Twigs fallen from trees look quite elegant until you snap them in half and try to put them together again.
A spine can recover from being broken, but not without suffering.
I suppose I don’t really understand at this point –
I have never had half of a broken twig in my hand,
and I have never had the feeling of spinelessness that must come with losing who held me up.
I have never had those kind of tears in my eyes.
I hope I never do.

Most sticks get stepped on in the end,
and that is why I am afraid.
I cherish so greatly our moments intertwined,
laying in my bed,
laying on the couch,
sitting in a classroom.
My body is still my body, and your body yours,
but sharing mine with you and having yours shared with me
is when my body feels comfortable on this earth.

I got in my bed tonight, and I took off my bra.
It was done up in a way I would not have done it up.
I keep it tight, tight enough to leave imprints in my skin.
‘The tightest setting,’ I always tell him.
Tonight I didn’t remind him, and I discovered it to be on the loosest setting.
Intentional or unintentional,
I felt love when I took it off.

1. His hands travelled over my back, reaching for the edges of my bra that he had undone.
       I was comfortable without knowledge of my clothing’s organization.
2. He was fumbling in the dark, and his fingers landed on the clasps keeping my bra loose.
       I’m not sure if he’s tired of seeing marks on my skin
       or if he just unconsciously assumed it shouldn’t be too tight.
       Or maybe it signified nothing at all,
       and I just am always finding new ways to love him.
3. Tonight I feel him all over me.
       Hands on my skin, words in my head.
       The lullabies that the movement of his body sings and the beauty that grows with every word he speaks
       are overwhelming the whispers of sadness and anxiety within me.
       His love drowns the negativity out of my soul tonight.

I’m not sure of anything.
Whatever trust is, I don’t think I could define.
I only know we have it.

This is a new story,
Like Romeo & Juliet.
or maybe it was a different one...
I dunno
I seem to forget.

Oh wait i know!
its more like Adam & Eve,
the Garden of Eden
Oh yes!
That's a better comparison i believe.

Lets get into it....
Its hard to put in words..
Like explaining an addiction,
or trying to sing in a room full of birds.

I'll start with a description
of a girl that  overdosed on
no prescription.

Brown eyes,
Soft lips,
perfect height,
that hair,
mmm... those hips.

So tempting,
But she is not my Eve.
I'd say she is my apple,
A taste you would not believe.

I knew ahead of time,
what I was getting into.
But I can say I didn't care.
Especially after what I'd been through.
But that's a different story.

I'm in love with this girl,
and its safe to say its real.
Unlike last time,
she loves me too..
This I truly feel.

But to get into the title,
there's just one barrier...
There are these few beautiful people..
One of which Carried her.
They wouldn't approve,
but I continue to push.
against a wall that won't move.

I wanted a piece of that Forbidden Fruit,
despite the warnings to stay away.
But I'm in love what do you expect me to do?
I guess we'll charge it to a part of the game.

Ever wonder what a real man is like? Let me tell you.

A real man cares about what goes on in your head.
All the others just care about getting you to bed.
A real man gives you a special place in his heart.
Them other guys just want you to spread your legs apart.

A true man wants to ease all of your pain.
A "player" wants you for his own gain.
A real man isn't scared for you to see his tears.
Them other boys will never tell you their fears.

(Insert rant) A sign that you've found a real man is when you are both able to share your all of your worries, anxieties, and personal cares with each other; and can do so in faith that he's not only listening, but caring.

A real man is there through thick and thin.
Other guys just want your skin.
You can look a real man deep into his eyes,
And know that he's not hiding any lies.

**To all the men who read this poem, look at yourself and see if you fit this description. Do you think that your lady would say you follow these guidelines? If you're single, are you a man that ladies find trustworthy? I hope you are, and if you're not that you change that. We men need to represent.

My eyes saw her today
A poem written by nature's own hand
Painted with detailed description of the meaning of beauty
Beautiful like art
She knows not the limits of the power of her smile
So captivating it makes the sky happy, the earth warm, the roses blush, and the stars beam with jealousy
And her sent lingers in the air as I breathe her in...

I’m a heart breaker.
It should be my Instagram and Twitter bio
Or my facebook description.
This should be my catch phrase.

While I’m savoring the taste of pain
And the salty taste of tears in my mouth
I wail my pain away
But it only keeps on coming back

It so overwhelming
It so numbing at the same time
I feel nothing...
And everything.

I love you, I know that much
I love you with my shattered heart
I love you with my swollen red eyes
I love you with my runny nose

I love you enough to love myself

Eventually, the tears will stop, not today or tomorrow but someday
Eventually, you’ll find someone else to love and so will I.
Eventually your heart will heal and so will mine.
It’s okay to cry myself to life.

Eventually, you’ll understand that I broke our heart to save us.

Might the years have betrayed me?
Not that I didn't know her but her
lights knew not the catches of my eye--

mighty concrete behemoths of mid
nineteen hundred something
littered my view in quaint newness while

myriads of roaring metal beasts
not without their own masters
lunged forward in a sea of people...

Mockup shops and street food scents
nudged my wallet into sharing a
little folded bill of blue, all while

market clamour played
next to the banter
lining the streets.

Alas!

More than a humble string of words
nailed on a poem the night hence are needed to
line her canopy of neon lights a

masterful description capable of
nesting all that was there in a neat
lingering thought!

Mr Darwin, please explain

Reading TS Eliot is to be drawn into timeless space where images of past and future combine in a continuous stream of thinking …. perhaps the immortality of ideas. The genetic material of life, DNA, is immortal, an unbroken thread linking life’s origins 4 billion years ago to the present ….. and future.

Sequence upon sequence of symbolic letters encoding countless forms of bodies, built to the same principles inherent in the genetic code, yet morphing in endless variety according to the tenets of natural selection ….. Darwin’s idea that transformed our thinking from a moment of purposeful creation to how life changes through time.

Cosmologists suggest we live in one of many possible universes perhaps in parallel time allowing parallel lives, one not knowing of the other’s existence because of the limitations of our three dimensional view of the world and its existence in the cosmos. We see in three dimensions and no more, but we are aware of more because mathematics tells us so.

Mr Darwin, please explain explores the seamless continuity of Darwinian thinking with the timelessness of Eliot’s poetry…..

I In my beginning is my end …. V In my end is my beginning.
(East Coker, Four Quartets, TS Eliot)


Mr Darwin, please explain

I

What is this selection of love so natural
To drive men insane and women to purgatory
Can Mr Darwin explain?
Some ask the question
But I doubt not, that his meaning is clear
Why love one to one remains so dear,
Though Karl denied it, Lenin too
And Uncle Joe dismissed it
As a plot to subvert what was good for the proletariat.
But in that recent time when ******’s darkness shadowed The Earth
Love glowed in the gloom of the despair of nations’ Terezíns
Which to-day helps to repair our broken dreams
Of why we love one to one.

Keats loved one ***** Brawne
And Coleridge his Asra
But what is ecstasy’s advantage?
When comes the pain of separation
Mr Darwin, please explain.
Is it lust, is it reproduction?
But then when love is thwarted
We cannot function,
Where is the advantage
Mr D --- what is the aim, can you explain?
How the coiled spiral passing from time to time
Its immortal message which condemns each generation
To the pain of separation
When the reaper calls, or the rival sunders
The coils of love’s message we’ve inherited
Since the beginning of time
Why? What is the advantage?
Mr D, please tell me your answer.

The whales they sing one to one
Like Eliot’s mermaids singing
Not to Prufrock but perhaps to you and me
The message of communication.
Is this love as one to one
Each supports another wounded
By the enormity of the harpoon?
The dictator’s message in another form
Devoid of love, sundered, never whole
Coming from that Terezín we never solve.
Dysfunctional Mr D, where’s the advantage
For such conflicting feelings to evolve?

David Applin
March 2012

II

Genes are the immortal ones
The links between past and future
But ever present
Unintentionally directing the future and fate of humankind.

Silent, unobserved yet Gods of their domain
Which is us and life past and future
Coiled threads of eternity that determine our happenings
Including our loving one to one.

Yet ….

In their entirety and interaction
Do they, in their interaction
Determine our loving one to one?
The bond that binds each to each
Perpetual celebration.

Or ….

Is their selfish blindness which some accord to be
Inconsequential
Like boats tossed helplessly on storm driven seas
Subject to the whims of wind and rain
No more than replicators housed in vehicles
Subject only to the chances of a changing world.


III

Bodies are vehicles, genes the replicators
Bodies and genes indivisible
At least in the present
But separated as bodies die after
Genes have passed to their immortal future.
Perhaps this is what is meant when they say
That the gene is selfish.

Accommodated in the selfless body at a particular time
But then discarded as genes pass its immortality
From past to future
Changes slow, quick depending on stasis or acceleration
According to Darwinian tenets that enfold the changes
In genes and therefore bodies
Through all time.


IV

Cycle upon cycle of genes and bodies
One perpetual, the other discarded each generation
By the unseen hand of an uncaring Nature.

Our nature, all nature, the beauty of sunsets
Driven by the mechanical clocks of cosmic cycles.

Yet Relative to other Dimensions where
What we see, we do not see
Because of the profound limitations
Of three dimensions.
We see only dimly what might be past
And what could be future
As we struggle in the presence of tautological explanation.

Body and gene, gene and body the temporary and perpetual
Bound in the dance of a living presence
The one ensuring the other’s future
For all time.
Circle upon circle, tautological argument
Explaining everything and nothing but all powerful
In its reductionism of humankind
And life kind as whales support the one
Wounded by the enormity of the harpoon
Loosed by the bodies of genes
Storm tossed and directionless
When thinking that others’ bodies
Can be discarded without thought or thinking
Perpetual damnation.

Tautomeric interaction.
We say the same thing in different ways,
Recycled ideas that parody the twenty different plots of novels
That return to the same point,
Come back to the common question

Why do we love one to one?

People ask…. ‘Can Mr Darwin explain?’

Perhaps not through bodies and genes
But instead, understanding the epistasis of genes and where we live.
We live in this world because of our past
As genes dance to the chance of environmental shifts
The whims of wind and rain, sea and wave
That blow and toss the genes
In their bodies, in random patterns,
Some sinking, others floating
Not always by chance
But because they float and fight
Yielding to the pressures of an uncaring nature.
Like soft down yielding to the thud of falling bodies
Softening their impact.

So to yield as well as fight
Is part of the selection of one by another
In the perpetual
Celebration of loving one to one.

We yield to the blandishments of the soft embrace
We fight to attain it

And once attained, what we do is all we do
To keep a hold on what we love
Only to lose it to the grim reaper of all our dreams
In this present world,
But to regain it in worlds to come
The link between past and future
For immortal genes
Of transitory bodies which is how
We think and see our presence
In time without end.



V

General relativity and quantum mechanics
The combination of infinity and the very small
Do not replace the Newtonian meaning of the day to day.
Just, that Newton is displaced to another time and place
Where description is precise but with uncertainty according to
Heisenberg.

To be certain is to fix ideas in time
Like natural selection in the Darwinian mind
To be propitiated without exception, else suffer extinction of self
And of all that matters to self and others
Sacrificed on the alter to propitiate the Gods of our certainty.

That is not to say that an idea cannot be fixed in time
That its central tenet is not true for eternity.
But truth is relative and uncertain
To be strengthened or cast aside
By better truths or developments of the same.

Our understanding expands with time
But often returns to something that was said before
And said again as if it were newly minted
In the mind of its creator
To become dogma
And as all dogmas
The truth unchanged in people’s minds.
Yet the central tenet survives, as survival is the result of natural selection
But with added components as
Understanding expands as to what is meant by surviving and survival.
To inherit the coils of love’s message is to survive.


VI

Can Mr Darwin explain?
Perhaps is not a whole question
In the same sense that answers depend on
The question asked and who is asking.

The truths that questions seek to answer
The truths of love, beauty and heating systems
Arise from answers to questions in different languages,
And languages translate imperfectly from one to one
As genes imperfectly translate proteins and therefore love in the
Darwinian world of our dreams.

Truth comes in different forms
And Darwinian truth is true to the questions it addresses.
But these are not the only questions of why we are,
Who we are, what we are
Who, what, why are we?

Questions past and future asked in the present
For all eternity.


Christmas (25th-28th) 2012
David Applin

Copyright David Applin 2015

I have noticed a handful of things about Hello Poetry, however similar or dissimilar. I'd like to share my observations in poetic form.

I once was in love, but I didn't work out .
Please understand that my love
was unique and you wouldn't understand, but please understand
what you wouldn't understand.

My love is like (insert ridiculous description, regarding a storm, blood, or an event)
and my heart beats like a caged
monkey, pounding with **** covered knuckles.

Did I mention how intelligent I believe I am?
I shall now act confident so I can
compensate for this crippling insecurity. (Insert Will Hunting rant).

Metaphor. Metaphor.
******* metaphor.
Bloated poem
trying too hard.

Men are ****! I will now rant
about how sexist they are
while being sexist and narrowminded.

Liberals! Conservative!
Hilary! Trump!
Liar! **** hair!

***. ***. ***. ***.
***. ***. ***.

Something, something divisive.
Something, something,
******* philosophy.

Hey! Over here!
Look at this haiku about nature!

Hey! Over here!
Read my 67th love poem!

Ugh. You lot are dreadful.

Rain beats against the glass
It's been hours since I've seen you last
You left and you had slammed the door
I cried my tears until there were no more
We've fought  for an entire weak
Screamed until it hurt to speak
And now I'm leaning against the wall
My tears flood my face, I could fall
I hate that you haven't called at all
It's me locked away in a bathroom stall
Just to hide my radiating pain
That has left this black stain
I wish you'd just come home
So I didn't have to feel so alone
In a way I feel rejected by you
Like I'm infected and you're the flu
But there's no prescription for how I feel
And my emotional description doesn't seem real
But if I just lock the cell inside of me
Maybe all these years of pain you'll never see

It is time to change the way things are, scratch that smell from our noses, like **** in a bottle chucked out the window while going 90,

The free fall fogs up the glasses on a blushed face, 40oz till we down the sound of crying,

Lie across the ocean
Lie across the land
Send truth over and watch it slip through the cracks,

Breached news of frustration calls "Canada is coming, what the **** is America doing,"
We do our best to travel against all odds, piloting a spoon made of silver into a greedy pocket originally meant to feed those eating mud pie, baking in an ever dying sun as fish float up to the surface,

Choking down the salt water to avoid drill, give them a gun instead, it will protect our false memories and concocted purpose,

This was paid for by ink soaked bones working in minimum oxygen to the brain, featured on rolls of film stripping off clothes covered in lust,

Taking hold of a crowd with merely this voice, conducting an audience with bed knobs and broomsticks, rhythmically grinding the **** awry, taste this sun from the lips of a fairy, mystical or not we were there to receive,

Open our hearts via chaos trained messages, massaging back pains to the point of tears, electromagnetism therapy causing the lights around the dance floor to flicker, moving at incomprehensible speeds relating colors between points B to Z,

On numbered grids the scale is curved to fit the description of another one biting the dust,
And as we finally rest on cold stones the Panic sets in.