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Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
lawyers don't use dictionaries... they use thesauruses... why would a lawyer use a dictionary in the first place? to get a concrete meaning? i hate how novelists are still prone to use that infernal tool... if a dictionary is a compedium, having precipitated from philosophy, and how the encyclopedia is a precursor of the scientific method... then the thesaurus is nothing but the end result of jurisprudence... that branch of philosophy that doesn't really have morality as the central piece of its care for a compass... the thesaurus exists for the sole purpose of man exercising "law", or as the poetics of Moses said: you will "know" the "difference" between good and evil... clearly the conjunction and means we wouldn't know, hence the existential either / or... but more precisely: between neither good or evil... of law and the thesaurus and the juggling circus act of synonyms and sharpening flint stones... and looking for words, and shallow ground and a bias for a fully established mono-personnae vocab with a dictionary.... or at least that's how i like to think of it: that the basis for humanity expressing a moral obligation of law is settled by creating a counter-intuitive fluidity of language... the holy bible of the strand of philosophy that deals with moral will, i.e., jurisprudence, is set in the thesaurus... there's no point referring to the dictionary and law books... i'd discard the dictionary completely... after all, dictionaries will never teach you anything rhetorical... you begin learning law by learning to avoid the dictionary, and equpping yourself with the thesaurus, no wonder i once called it thesaurus rex, the idea that humanity has any foggiest about expressing law, rather than finding a law, like that of gravity, is precisely why the scaffolds took to the stage, and the guillotine in the french revolution...  but i am capable believing man can bake a decent loaf of bread... not so naive in a belief that all law and justice stems, as it does indeed stem, from a book, like the thesaurus.

i have a very due exposure of what a 21st century
poem currently looks like: i write horror,
  but i wait for the music to become translated...
   aren't we the ones to write
the most kept, most worthwhile
secrets the next man might
wish, or care to encounter...
i write under the one pretense
that modern people don't
dive into amnesia of forgetting
classical music, as i know
they will, when they only listen
to classical music in cinema...
a *vide cor meum
from hannibal
(cassidy),
or from seven...
bach, g string & violin concerto no. 1...
at least applying classical music
to the genre of horror in the cinema
can lace us to universal memories...
tender hands, oh such tender porcelain hands...
bitten by the frost...
bitten by all except my teeth and lips
to dare perform the custom of lip unto knuckle,
like a knight,
         bound to receive the slap across the cheek...
so much less with ego-ego bonding...
as much as Hegel might presume...
that my love to no gravity of womb be secured
the imagination lost with the reactive
tendency for *****-count...
            and how horror really is the basis
for ensuring movies are filled with music...
if so much of life is equipped with having lost it...
unless we're sprechen deutsche Dante..
              or what's left to claim there was a spark
of believing the nearest of touches with
Michelangelo depiction of the gemini architects...
juliusz słowacki: the clad angel,
szatanioł -
   who's books i never read, and instead read
Kraszewski, or so the world is understood to be left
in the mechanism of constant continuum...
but this is only an imitation poem...
   how cruel, how unkind, the world surrouding us,
that our friends become our enemies,
and that after, so few and ever fewer to be accounted
for are asked to be friends, or can be...
how i will never life in Venice,
or Tuscany,
  and how i can be laid naked and senile,
not having a venture into these pockets of paradise
as a tourist,
   how can such places remain intact as fictional
oasis, enclosed in history books, and there
be read about, among egos and bookwoorms,
and have one soul, eager to think about them,
not having trodden a single banknote of pavement
in them, to not have bought a cup of coffee in them...
it's a sadness realised, and never forgotten,
but at least never beaming to have been
undone from such an arithmetic, as to have done so...
with only two words as remedy:
Kant & Königsberg - it almost begs to revise
the concept of nationalism, starting with the stated
example, as the face to resemble local avenues
lost, or foremostly undiscovered.
localism, first, then we can gain the gateway toward
nationalism, and the drift, the tide;
only when things are assured to have taken to
local "journalism" can we explore a world,
and thereby a happening / being in it...
what Kant lived, heidegger excelled in describing,
just the local, the mundane,
the: if you don't have what you like...
be content with what you do have, and be content
with it, as if it were something you would like to have.
so much concerning the study of being is formulated
upon the basis of not having;
  to me being is not having...
not possessing; so much of being is about
   not having, not possessing...
why pirates always overshadow the adventure of
clinging to the seas...
why pirates are the worth romantics easily translated
onto the silver-screen, and why admiral become
shoved and scarecrow stuffed into libraries with
dust and bookworms that wish:
that a moth might wake up, when a book it opened.
that it becomes self-evident that it's better
to possess and have, and not-be, than it is to be...
in that layering that's known to be man,
we're last in attempting a human feat...
to ascribe ourselves being human,
is to describe ourselves having roles...
   for by not ascribing ourselves the role of man,
we act with impetus to congest the world
with have, for there is no possession
in the ethereal, or with god alone... and that means:
yhwh will hardly translate into the n.e.w.s. or
the crucifix vector with the satanic lie from mt. sinai,
as the chinese are ready to prove
not being convinced, or converted...
only by acting with impetus to congest the world
with "having" it, claiming ownership of it,
can we act by deviating from claiming the sole role
of being men, and therefore like an oak
reduced to tooth-picks, call claim to
the industrialisation of meats, pork, beef, paultry,
and lay our foundations for the seemingly
countless examples of occupying space...
and the professions that come with it...
   until an enzyme akin to space-time emerges,
and as technology catches up to our comforts,
and says: we have to insert a revision,
a limit, a robotic schedule for the jobs that
are, well... pointless...
   then we worry... what with taxi drivers and uber apps,
and bus drivers and robot steered cars and the Docklands
light railway...
               and why lawyers will always be there,
a bit like us, dictionary prone, and them,
stretching the contempt for humanity having
a content for prescribing law as if contending for having
invented gravity, and using nothing,
but a thesaurus...
they should have just said it! *****!
there is no basis for jurisprudence working from
the 0 of a dictionary, a 0 meaning: plateau...
sea-level... jurisprudence does not even
acknowledge the existence of a dictionary...
when poetry, philosophy and all the other arts
use the dictionary as a reference point...
jurisprudence, or the practice of law
only uses the thesaurus... as do some writers,
who try to look smart for about a second
when they're looking through their recyclable *******
of a novel that takes 3 years to write:
milk bottle, tin can, milk bottle, amazon wrapping,
newspaper... law: same ****, different cover.
Poetoftheway Aug 2018
,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)




<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares
an unexpected poem, unplanned, needing work
aug 4-5
Lucky Santos Jan 2014
Crush:
An intense but usually short-lived infatuation.
Fantasizing about the relationship that could happen.

Shy:
Timid, easily frightened away.
Although the wanting to just say hey.

Wonderwall:
Someone you find yourself thinking about all the time, the person you are completely infatuated with.
But the wish for all the shyness to disappear is still here.

Nervous:
Highly excitable; unnaturally or acutely uneasy or apprehensive.
The wanting to meet but still playing defensive. Accommodated by umm, uhh, ummm.

Hello:
Used to express a greeting, answer a telephone, or attract attention.
Hi, umm. Don't blow it, don't blow it.
Hi! I think you're cute, pretty, adorable, beautiful, lovely, gorgeous. Would you like to go on a date?

Date:
A social appointment, engagement, or occasion arranged beforehand with another person.
She said yes.

Happy:
Delighted, pleased, or glad, as over a particular thing.
She is not just a thing, she is my everything. She makes me very happy.

Love:
A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
It's a four letter word that can have a million meanings and yet only one.

Marry:
To take as an intimate life partner by a formal exchange of promises in the manner of a traditional marriage ceremony.
I take you to be my wife to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us apart, and this is my solemn vow. I love you.

You:
You mean so much,
Yet I do not have a definition.
Because you always seem to surprise me.
No words in this dictionary can describe your overall beauty.
Amazingly, I'm at a lost of words.

Beautiful:*
The dictionary's crush;
A person who is reading this.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
.you should really see the two comments left, and the 700+ views to begin with.

mind you, i did write an ode to the gods
(yes, that infantile pleasure,
not associated with cosmopolitan new york
atheists)...
how the roman plagiarißm of the the greek
pantheon happened too soon,
how the semite god ate up ba'al
and beelzebub "too quickly"
   turning them into fallen angels...
      like how he infiltrated the roman empire
due to their close-up plagiarißm so early...
father Zeus, father Odin remained...
as did their phonetic encoding...
as did the glagolitic script turned cyrillic...
sorry... where was the african phonetic
encoding? beside the hieroglyphs?
  what's swahili for:
red earth, gave birth to me?
   nyekundu dunia, alitoa kuzaliwa kwa mimi!
see... that's african speech:
but what are the letters behind it?
last time i checked... there aren't any!
and i came from africa?
maybe the anglo-deutsche did...
i didn't... i source my origins
in india... after all... indo-european
is my higher category, the mongols...
i don't care if the germanic people "think"
they originated in africa, i've come from india...
people who minded phonetic encoding,
had an alphabet,
              i'm still stuck with germanic
people with african stereotypes not being
able to swim...
   heavy bones they say...
    **** that and the whole i.q. "conundrum"...
i still watch t.v.,
       after all, after prometheus
brought down the flame from olympus...
some demigod had to bring down /
steal the rod of zeus / electricity...
and turn the t.v. into the modern fireplace...
the b.b.c. had this 2nd season running,
killing eve...
             sandra oh and jodie comer...
there's this instance in season two,
when jodie comer, villanelle...
  is interrogated by aaron peel...
                and "kind" aaron is asking villanelle
all this philosophical quips...
anselm's ontological argument...
    occam's razor (i wish)...
            he has so many books on his
bookshelf...
   yeah... books you look at like comic
book strips, books you don't actually read...
books you look at...
            and what does villanelle do in the end?
she brushes aaron's nose with one of
these books "he's read"... what is it?
ha ha!   a dictionary of philosophy...
a... dictionary...
basically short-script...
                     cheat...
         you really want a dictionary
definition of philosophy? a philosophy dictionary
definition, a sound-bite?
you know... last time i checked...
i read bertnard russell,
kierkegaard, kant, heidegger...
not for a dictionary definition...
or regurgitating rubrics akin to
a university lecturer...
        i hate regurgitation...
                i read for myself,
  in the end, hoping, my narrative could
find expansive ground for work-arounds...
i don't like playing the happy
harpsicord dancing monkey...
    to give "proofs"...
              i don't like people,
akin to villanelle, when questioned
on a university entrance critique...
               like i might "know my ****",
or not "know my ****"...
                                       pretty boring...
i am starting to resound in the conviction...
there's no point in knowing other people,
there's only one person worth knowing,
yourself...
       mind you, i'm still waiting for the alternative
phonetic encoding system to come
from africa, as an alternative counter
to the egyptian hieroglyphs...
i'm not seeing it...

   tender skin: the moon does see...
     zabuni ngozi: ya mwezi haina tazama...

eh, chinese script is all syllables and no
letters...
        glagolitic - Ⰿ
        rune - ᛗ
        roman - M
        greek - μ
        hebrai - מ
        devanagari - म
        arabic - م
        hieroglyph - owl
        mandarin - 冊
        hiragana - ま(a) み(i) む(u) め(e) も(o)

didn't i mention this already,
interchangeable, between a letter and
a syllable... given the hiragana example...
depending on what vowel
you attach to the base sound (consonant),
the vowel modifies the base (consonant)...
five ******* variations of the consonant / syllable...

           ergo? no atomic reality in these languages...
syllable understanding...
the mendeleev table...
                He: helium...
             Xn: xenon...
                          Na: sodium... etc.,

            depends...
   after all... a base letter (consonant) in hiragana
looks like the following schematic:
i.e. no one really knows what M looks like,
like mmm-humming...
without an added vowel...

                                     ま(a)
                                      |
                   め(e) ----- "x" ----- む(u)      
                                   /    \
                                 /        \
                          み(i)          も(o)
                                                            
.Nietzsche was wrong about dialectics, he suggested that the non practice of dialectics, even the anti presupposes a polite society, he invoked that comparative tenet of a society in saying: a polite society does not engage in dialectics (finding the truth of opinions).

which is akin to the slander against Voltaire,
that not engaging in dialectics
one has a chance to have an opinion about almost
everything, there's no chance these days
to have a polite society as there is no chance
to establish a Utopia... the way dialectics is
avoided like some surreal horror movie
is to have many opinions, to not engage in
dialectics is to be opinionated, hence Nietzsche's
style of utilising aphorisms and as many
maxims as possible, without useful applicability;
it's like that metaphor for a venomous bite,
the carousel of the many many thoughts,
likewise, no truth are established, since many
truths are proposed - hence the paradoxical
venture into nothing, simply walking in circles
on plateau nihil, it's polite, well of course it's
politeness! politeness by having many opinions
readied for a quick change of subject or
the simple act of shame and shutting up.
all this? with regards to a woman writing about
her abortion: we, the great reverse-amphibians,
so she's writing about it... 4 weeks in she's ready
to erase the dot... they tell her to come back 12
weeks later (sadists... why not remove the dot
rather than wait for the geometry to construct itself?),
again... why not remove the dot and the abstract?
she mentions a dot... remove the ******* dot!
the tadpole outside the gooey yoke is fastened
to maturing in the fresh water stream or lake,
i can hardly be a human being inside the ******
if my **** and bladder muscles are not matured,
i'm an abstract in that sense, tadpoles ahoy!
now see how living in a "polite" society i can't
engage in dialectics but have to reverse the process
of discussion and engage in picturesque comparatives
using toads? it's called applying anaesthetics - well,
an anaesthetic, or a placebo - in polite society people
get over-excited, unconditionally so, over-stimulated,
unconditionally so, with having to muster having
many opinions, politics can become a circus de facto,
de facto as in: detached from rural England.
so if we'll never attack the status quo with dialectics,
will be constantly multi-opinionated, changing the
subject all the time, and when challenging, we'll
only feed an anaesthetic, an anaesthetic that will become
a confession booth in a catholic church:
a quasi-solipsism, the listener and the other person
talking, mono-dialectics, so well entrenched these days
that there's even a good reason for practising
psychiatry rather than a catholic confession in church,
psychiatry is, after all, a secular version of the catholic
practice - more intimidating though, since you're
facing each other, rather than sitting at parallel positions,
shrouded in secrecy of the wooden mosaic wall of
the booth... i'm just wondering if this attempt to feel
the naked soul does not intimidate the clothed body
more to later undress itself in ***.
Clarissa Wright Oct 2014
Words confuse me
What’s more correct; Presume or assume
I like to think that I’m clever
Or Witty

But I find myself looking at dictionaries
or thesauruses
More often than I like to admit

What words are interchangeable?
Trust and betrayal are interlocked in my mind
When I look at you, I wonder what I’d find
If I looked up Love in the dictionary
Surely you can’t be the closest I’ll get
To a father figure

Love and Hate
Pain and Joy
I find I can't tell the difference

Am I witty?
Am I clever?
Tell me, what’s more fitting; Uncle or Monster?
Words confuse me,
But you terrify me.
this one is kinda personal, sorry
Jeff Gaines Feb 2019
I'm so sorry for not being here much, dear Readers. I make no excuses other than I have been having surgeries, getting my books edited, formatted, copy-written and published on Amazon and dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Michael, which decimated our humble tree farm. The eyewall passed a mere 18 miles south of us and I am STILL cutting up fallen trees and either dragging their remnants up to the road to be hauled away by the county or down to the burn pile to be burned by me. As I said, I am recovering from Stent surgeries, so it is a slow pace, at best. When that is all finished, I'll need to address either burning or cutting out the stumps of all these fallen pine trees and then finally fixing our washed out driveway. (Long sigh)

  As many of you read, I published a piece titled "Message To A Friend". It is an homage to a life-long friend that had passed away. Your responses and comments absolutely warmed my heart ... THANK ALL OF YOU! It was even chosen as my very first Daily here at HePo and I was truly humbled.

  But as most know, whenever you achieve something or are given accolades, you draw the ire of people who have little or no self-esteem and have a psychological and pathological NEED to either show themselves as better than you (an attempt to jump in your spotlight by pushing you out) or to just undermine you out of jealousy by bullying and name calling. Often the line between the two is greatly blurred.

  My being given this Daily was no exception. There is a person here on HePo who can nearly ALWAYS be found leaving derogatory, self-serving, condescending comments on peoples HePo Dailies. He did it to a friend of mine, not too long ago. Not being one to take such drivel at idle, I responded and this began a volley that was not only funny but truly enlightening on the behaviors and the motives of a bully ... or a troll ... or even a hater. The difference between them all is nearly non-existent. Their lack of confidence, their self-doubt, and personal inadequacies/inabilities drive them to form an ego that on the outward eminence front, makes them appear very confident and quite often overbearing and extremely judgmental as though they were so much better than everyone else, they are then entitled to do so.

  These judgments are spewed in an effort to not only make it appear as if they are high and mighty enough to be entitled to do this but to make the person they are attacking fear them as well. In essence, they are frightened cowards that are desperately hiding this fact behind false bravado and holier-than-thou entitlement.

  I have removed this person's name here, as that is irrelevant to the thing I am trying to achieve here. I would like you to witness their initial attack, then my responses, and the volleys that follow. You will be able to witness, first hand, the way that these types of people operate. You will be able to witness them spiral downward in their actions and tactics, desperately trying to maintain control of the situation. Even to the point of becoming child-like in their name-calling and spewing "facts" that they can not POSSIBLY know a single thing about.

  They even, predictably, call foul when you do the exact same thing to them, that THEY have done to you. This juvenile response is actually funny, but in reality, all of this is actually very sad.

  They do these things in an attempt to keep the appearance of having the upper hand. But their ego blinds them so badly, they have no idea that they are exposing themselves, and their sickness, to everyone. Most, if not all, of these types, have a need to appear to the world as someone who is better than everyone else. Someone who has it "all under control" ... even you. They want you to believe that you should revere them. This person, in particular, has this part of the affliction chronically. It is a form of narcissistic megalomania.

As you stand up to them, they have "stages" that they go through while dealing with the person that has stood up to their superego. The more you stand up to them, the further downward their spiral goes. You will see them here, in order. I cut and pasted them, then removed his name. Other than that, they are unedited. It even ends (for now) with them offering a truce. (They will undoubtedly come back, as predictably, they can not help themselves.)

BUT ... the truce is yet another poorly veiled attempt to regain control and come out appearing as the dominant one. It is laughable in many ways, but again, it is also very sad. These people have many, many deep-seated issues and may have experienced traumas in their life that have molded them into this behavior.

Admittedly, I probably took this a bit too far. Mea culpa. Remember, when you are dealing with these people, they have one goal, and one goal only ... to PROVE to you and the rest of the world that they are superior and you are inferior. NOTHING else is acceptable. Some are passive-aggressive and some are straight aggro. I shouldn't have used little teasing names and put-downs, but I couldn't resist, as he was just SO textbook in his actions and it kept them coming back.

  I baited him from the very start by presenting him with perfect logic and critical thinking. I removed his predictable arguments BEFORE he could use them. This sped up the panic and the downward spiral.  I needed to keep him coming back by denying his need to dominate me because I wanted to post it all here, in order, so that you might learn about what drives these people and thus, take them with a grain of salt and brush them off more easily while feeling less hurt by their hateful, condescension.

  They really can't help it. And, as you will see ... they can not be helped either. No matter how many times that I pointed out to them how they were exposing themselves to the world, they just kept coming back for more. It really is a sad state of affairs.

  Keep in mind, as you read this very first post in the comments from them, that they are commenting on a piece that I had written, as a letter of sorts, to a lifelong friend who had just passed away. There is a link to that and the second piece they trolled in the notes. This is how they opened their assault and I set the hook:


(Name deleted)  Utter bathos from an unreconstructed Alcoholic.
No sense of personal shame.

0



2 replies

4d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   Huh?

So sorry, (Name Deleted), that this took so long to respond to ... It has taken me this long to stop laughing. As they say in NYC, "Haters gonna hate" and "If you got haters, then you are doing something right!"

You have just made both idioms ring so very true. Especially considering that:

A: We have never met.

B: You write such a childish attempt at an attack just when the piece has received a daily. (Bad timing there, pal.)

Firstly, I am not now, nor have I ever been an "Alcoholic". I'm not really sure where you got that impression. But using my references to drinking, as teens often do, was a very apparent (and desperate) grasp at trying to bring some sort of defamation to my character. This is made further pathetic by the fact that you know neither me OR my deceased friend, and therefore have no right to make such an assumption. (Another thing you've done to make yourself look pathetic is to write such a comment about a piece written about a deceased friend).

"unreconstructed"?

THAT was a two-handed grasp, so desperate it brought me hysterical laughter. Definitely my favorite part of your nonsense. Please, stop by my website, read up on me and my accomplishments and have a look at SOME of the stars that I have worked with in my nearly 40 years in the "Biz":

>>> www.jeffgaines.world <<<

As you do, ponder the fact that you DO NOT get into the position of doing these things by being an "alcoholic in need of reconstruction". In my business, the first time someone found you with ***** on your breath, you be blackballed. It is UNACCEPTABLE. Besides, being a Master Production Electrician, working around services of 1200 AMPS or more, requires complete focus, lest you **** yourself or others. But I digress ...

This way, you can attack me with something other than untruths, like me being an alcoholic or being in need of "Reconstruction". (I was hoping you would be so kind as to explain EXACTLY what you mean by that? Or was it the "wittiest" thing you could make up at the moment?)

(So ... let's see ... you could poke fun at my being a "Big Guy" perhaps? Or maybe you will disapprove of my long hair? Oh, I know, my ****** hair ... you can crack on that for certain! And let's not forget the fact that I'm 55. Maybe you could come up with some great defamation about my age! You could even use a clever (and predictable) British slur, like "Geezer"! Oh, that would hurt SO much! LOL)

I'm looking forward to more of your hating nonsense. How sad, empty, meaningless (and pathetic) you and your life must be, that you feel the need to be a hater. I'd say that I feel sorry for you, but I simply don't. People like you strengthen and encourage me because they let me know that others are jealous of my life and my abilities. I especially love it when they would expend their own precious energies to attack me or my writings when they could expend that energy to better themselves or THEIR writings! It is your choice, not mine.

I saw in your profile that you have "NO use for Tobacco or Alcoh" (Sic) ... and I would fight to the DEATH for your right to have no use for such things. By the same token, YOU have NO right to IMPOSE your beliefs (or childish judgments) on others. But please, carry on! I invite your further attempts at schoolyard bullying, posturing, judging, and holier-than-thou posing.

It will be fun!

Namaste

4d

----------------------------------------

N­ext, they try to act like they were just being satirical and that they meant no harm. They have now realized that I can, and will, stand up to them. I also startled them with such an educated and seemingly well-thought-out response that they were definitely not ready for. Like a good debater, I had also took away all of their predictable responses with logic and critical thinking. So, this is their attempt to back out of it and still feel "on top":


(Name deleted)  So you caught my 'Alcohol abuse is not a way to salute the memory of anyone' satire?.

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1 reply

3d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   No, (name deleted) ...

What I've caught is you cowardly taking down the response I made to your earlier jealousy-driven, impish attempt at slighting my piece after it had been chosen for the daily.

In it, you called me an "unreconstructed alcoholic with no sense of shame". (A person you do not know, nor have EVER met). After explaining to you that you had no right or reason to make such an accusation, you retract (read: take down) your foolish commentary (and my response) out of embarrassment, and replace it with this poorly attempted sidestep of a claim that it was some sort of "satire".

It is well known here at Hello Poetry that you like to bash on pieces picked for the daily. I have read your pathetic, childish drivel. It is because of those, that I have never gone by your page and actually read your work as I felt it unlikely you would write anything worthy of reading. Especially considering the imaginary high pedestal that you picture yourself spewing it from.

I guess I hit home with my observations about you attempting to be holier-than-thou and a bully. "Spot on" as you Brits say. Or was it the comment about your Karma? Did that ring home with you? I mean, you being a big Yoga person and all ... Karma is VERY important in your beliefs ... is it not? In your TEACHINGS ... is it not?

Did I make you suddenly stop to ponder your Karma after attacking others precious works with your unsolicited words of judgment and Holier-than-thou condescension? (Yet another teaching of the Hindu-Yoga beliefs, not being prideful, right?) Well, I should hope so. That is why I reminded you.

IMHO, being a person that claims to believe in Karma ... a person that TEACHES it ... who would reach out with harmful, spiteful, cruel and critical words ... words that are founded in nothing ... perhaps in his own opinion, at best ... is akin to a "Religious" person that carries a Bible, self-righteously belittles "sinners" as HE sees them ... and then wanders down to the ******* for some whiskey and "relief". Wouldn't you agree? Not much difference, now is there?

How funny is it that THAT person, who would break SO many teachings of his OWN beliefs ... Would also claim to not only be a practitioner but a TEACHER of these beliefs as well?

Oh ... very funny indeed.

Tell me ... Do you CHARGE your students? How do you think THEY would feel about giving you their hard-earned money if they knew that you practiced such things here on Hello Poetry? Do you think they would want to attend your classes after that?

It is people like you, that keep people like me ... laughing. Laughing with a bit of pity and, more importantly, a whole lot of wisdom. You are a very wavy pane of cheap glass ... and still, I can see right through you.

Good luck with all your endeavors... AND your Karma.


Namaskaram

3d

----------------------------------

N­ext, they take a posturing/yelling position in an attempt to frighten me (textbook) and then cry foul that I am doing the same thing to them that they have done to me. But, as I point out, I am only reiterating and asking questions. They follow up (on the offensive) by attacking my politics, my race, and even my religion. Then they finish by trying to call out their fellow yoga enthusiasts against me, by claiming that I am a hater of yoga. Again, comical. They also attempt to re-establish dominance by offering me advice (instructions?) on how to "fix" myself. Behold:



(Name deleted)  I have not ever taken ONE PENNY in payment for explaining how to commit the actions that are guaranteed to turn Knowledge into Experiential Knowingness.
You try to insult me and blacken my character with your foul insinuations!.
You must be an enemy of Yoga.
You are a sick bourgeous no-nothing intellectual white liberal born again Christian POET!!!.
Carry on exposing your obsequiousness and twee character.
DEEP NASAL BREATHING will get you out of your obvious dilemma!.

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1 reply

3d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   BINGO!

Button pressed!

Glad that I waited until after breakfast ... or I would have been laughing too hard to eat!

Well now ... that was quite the outburst, huh?

Predictable from a common bully. Now, knowing what I know about bullies, you are slipping into panic mode here. Bullies always get startled when the person whom they are picking on turns and gives them the same medicine. So, first they act like its nothing, then they lash out in fear ... as ALL bullies ARE cowards. Their bullying is a behavior pattern hiding a defense mechanism that hides their true cowardly nature.

So ... let's look back on what's transpired so far and save those just joining our little exchange the toil of reading the other posts ... shall we?

Besides, it is MUCH easier for your type to have it all spelled out one point at a time, rather than to give an actual all-in-one lecture.

1. I received a "Daily" from Hello Poetry for my piece titled "Message For A Friend". It is a heartfelt letter to a friend that had been important in my life and had .now passed away.

2. You (a person I have never met or even chatted with online) decided to leave a crass, condescending, holier-than-thou, bullying comment (as you are well known here to do to other peoples Dailies). To be clear, we are all here to post our beloved works and others are given the chance to comment or even review them as fellow writers. That being said:

Your exact comment was: " Utter bathos from an unreconstructed Alcoholic.
No sense of personal shame"

Here is the definition of Bathos according to the English Dictionary, 4th edition:

bathos (bāˈthŏsˌ, -thôsˌ)►
n. An abrupt, unintended transition in style from the exalted to the commonplace, producing a ludicrous effect.
n. An anticlimax.

3. I am going to make the assumption you were referring to the second ... "An anticlimax". If you felt that my piece was anticlimactic, that is your opinion and you are humanly entitled to it. Point taken. Its validity rests with you and your opinion. But I accept it like a man, nonetheless.

4. (And here is where you began your childish posturing and holier-than-thou condescension.) You then DECLARED me, the author, as an "Unreconstructed Alcoholic". Seeing as how you have never met me, this can ONLY be speculation or conjecture at best on your part. You CERTAINLY had NO right to DECLARE this as fact to the public at large. But bullies don't do either of those things (speculation or conjecture). Their cowardice and jealousy drive them to spew judgments and put-downs such as these in order for them to not only be the Judge but to exalt themselves somehow OVER their intended victim. It somehow makes them feel superior. Something they desperately need, especially in the public eye. It helps to hide their faults and inabilities.

5. You finished with yet more conjecture and condescension by stating that I had "No sense of personal shame". Once again, a very pretentious declaration about someone you have never met. This one, in particular, shows your true colors and position as a bully in that you wrote this after reading what ALL of the other comments said was a warm, heartfelt piece ... as I had intended, about a friend that had DIED. This, as near as I can tell, would make it appear that YOU have "No sense of personal shame". But I'll not address that. We have BETTER fish to fry.

6. After my response, where I call you out on making judgments and spewing condescension from your imaginary ivory tower, you then back peddle and try to side-step your actions by now calling them "satire". Again, typical bully behavior... They posture, get punched in the nose and decide to say "oh, hey, I was only kidding" so as to save face and keep the same face from any further shaming by their intended victim.

7. I, a person who personally has a disdain for bullies because of being bullied as a child, would not allow this attempt by you to regain control and, in your mind, come out on top by saving face. I did so by pointing out FACTS, not assumptions nor conjecture. To wit: you claim to be all Existential and a believer in the teachings of yoga, so I thought it poignant to point out how in those teachings you are not allowed to display your ego/superego, nor are supposed to impose hurtful things, verbal or otherwise, or judgments of any kind on others. These things are not conducive to good Karma.

I finished my point by comparing it to a Bible-thumping preacher who, one moment is slandering "Sinners" and the next moment enters a house of ill-repute for whiskey and "relief". I also QUESTIONED, I did NOT state, whether you charged for your teachings. I also conjectured that if you did ... then how would your patrons feel about your actions here on Hello Poetry? It was conjecture, nothing more.

8. You then respond with yet another HYSTERICAL attempt to posture me and slander me in order to draw attention away from the fact that it is YOU who have been exposed for your OWN actions ... NOT BY ME ... but by YOURSELF ... I was simply shedding light on them here in the forum where YOU shot the first volley! And you do it SEVERAL ways ... to wit:

9. You make the accusation that I " ...try to insult me and blacken my character with your foul insinuations!." (Love the period AFTER the exclamation point. Nicely done) I insinuated NOTHING. Read it all again. I stated facts. Facts garnered by YOUR comments right here on these pages. The ONLY person who insulted or attempted to "blacken someone's character" here in this forum has been YOU by calling me an "Unreconstructed alcoholic that has no personal shame and writes utter bathos".

That was not only unfounded, but it also calls for an apology as you had NO right whatsoever to publicly call me these things or "blacken my character" in such a manner. All of my responses were directly to your words. I stated facts about your actions and facts about Karma and its beliefs. The only conjecture I committed was done in the form of a question, in that I asked if you charged for your teachings. I never said that you did. Read it all again.

10. You state that I " ... must be an enemy of Yoga". More laughter-inducing reaches by a bully in panic mode by trying to make me look bad to a group of people who love yoga. I'm assuming that you think this will call them to arms against me? Again, if you read ALL I have written here ... I have said NOTHING bad about yoga at all. I also show it not only in a knowledgable light but with respect, in that, I am questioning your actions while claiming to practice it. Honestly, not even a "nice try" here (Name Deleted). Simply pathetic.

11. Next, and here is where we can see the utter desperation in your cowardly panic, you escalate your attack on me with even MORE unfounded "insinuations and attempts to blacken my character" as you call them. All in the name of taking the light of exposure off of yourself. To wit:

You state:

"You are a sick bourgeous (actually spelled "Bourgeois") no-nothing (I'm assuming you meant "Know-nothing") intellectual white liberal born again Christian POET!!!." (Again with the period AFTER the exclamation points. Well, you're nothing, if not consistent)

12. So now you first assume that I am a middle-class "no-nothing" (sic). Again, knowing NOTHING whatsoever about my financial status OR my intellectual abilities OR education. And you make these claims as though they are facts, which to any person reading this is readily and obviously untrue and/or unproven. More typical "bully" behavior.

13. You now cross yet another line of "Karma" and assault/slander my race by making it sound, in the context of your sentence that is some "lesser" thing. My race? Really (Name Deleted)? I didn't expect that, even from you. I mean, what does my race have to do with ANY of this? But that last one ... oh, that takes the cake ... it exposes your true persona. It lets the entire WORLD see, as I do, through your cloudy cheap glass and right through your empty, pathetic soul ...

14. You assume that I am a "Liberal, born again Christian" (as usual, you do this without knowing ANYTHING about my stance as a liberal OR a conservative OR what religion I practice) But that is neither here, not there because whatever you assume I am, you have spewed it out in the context that it is "lesser" than whatever it is that you consider yourself. Wow, (Name Deleted) ... just "Wow". If there was a Karmic Hell, I would think that last bit would send your pathetic soul STRAIGHT to it. Of this, I am CERTAIN. Karma/Yoga/Hinduism frowns on judging or speaking ill about other religions ... Am I correct?

The only correct parts of that ill-uttered proclamation are that I am indeed white and am indeed a poet. I am not a liberal (OR a conservative) nor am I a born-again Christian. My stance/position/beliefs are not only not for discussing here, but they are also, quite frankly none of your business. Nor do they have any bearing here whatsoever, so why attack them? A feeble attempt at misdirection while in panic mode.

It should be pointed out, that even as you have descended into all this petty name-calling and condescension about beliefs and religion, I have NEVER engaged in these practices in our volleys here. Again, showing your panic-driven behavior as an exposed, and stood-up-to, bully.

15. You finish this puerile rant with:

"Carry on exposing your obsequiousness and twee character.
DEEP NASAL BREATHING will get you out of your obvious dilemma!."

(AGAIN, you consistent devil, you ... with the period AFTER the exclamation point. Priceless for such a critic of other's writing.)

The first line is truly confusing. I am guessing you needed to toss out some "big words", but their use in this context makes little sense (to me) as they are not slanderous or even pertaining to the subject here. To wit:

From the English Dictionary, 4th edition:

ob·se·qui·ous (ŏb-sē′kwē-əs, əb-)
adj.
Full of or exhibiting servile compliance; fawning.
[Middle English, from Latin obsequiōsus, from obsequium, compliance, from obsequī, to comply: ob-, to; see ob- + sequī, to follow; see skew- in Indo-European roots.]

I am neither "serving" or exhibiting "servitude" or "fawning" in ANY of this. So, I'm VERY unclear what you meant by that.

AND, again from the English Dictionary 4th Edition:

twee (twē)
adj. Chiefly British
Overly precious or nice.
[Alteration of tweet, baby-talk alteration of sweet.]:

Again, totally confused by what you meant by this. It is almost laughable. I've definitely NOT been "Overly precious" NOR "Nice" in our volleys here. I have been concise, exacting, stern and occasionally I have even let a wee bit of my anger show through. I'm sorry about that. But bullying and people who think they are somehow better than all others just make my blood boil. I have done my best to handle this as a calm and focused adult.

As for the "DEEP NASAL BREATHING" suggestion ...

I would like to offer the EXACT same advice to you. It may help you come to grips with this rather embarrassing exposure of your true nature that you have wrought upon yourself here in this little volley. I know that it certainly helped me to stop laughing and catch my breath.

I EAGERLY await your next outburst. Please, make it a good one this time, won't you? Putting you in your place has been made so easy by your ridiculously transparent, predictable and childish actions and words, that it is quickly becoming boring.

Mujhe pooree ummeed hai ki aapako shaanti milegee.

3d


-----------------------------------------

In this following post/response, they simply call me a name. As you can see by this juvenile choice of just two words, they are not only panicking ... they are spiraling into a regressive state that they have held inside themselves all of their adult life. Inside, they are still that terrified child. That child called me this:


(Name deleted)  Electronic Arsewipe

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1 reply

2d
(Jeff Gaines)

(Jeff Gaines)   Ta Daaa!

Reduced to using schoolyard name-calling (and not very imaginative name-calling, at that. I'd rate that one at around grade 5 ... maybe 6, at best).

(( Yawn ))



--------------------------------------------


Admittedl­y ... and ashamedly, I do egg them on a bit with that response and am sinking to their level. I was bullied as a child and my defense mechanisms can be subject to regression as well.

Still, not knowing how to deal with me ... seeing that they are not being successful at either dominating me or discrediting me, they return with yet another posturing, condescending retort. Here, they actually threaten to "punch me in the nose" if I: " ... continue
hurling gratuitous insults at strangers the way you do." I don't have to point out the irony here, that THEY are the one guilty of this. And now somehow, they are SO offended that I would do the same. This, as I point out, is typical, textbook bully behavior.

The first part is random, panicked statements that really don't make sense (again) about how "easy" and "demeaning" it is to write of a "dead friend". Remember, they NEED to establish and maintain some type of dominance and control. So, they use these types of accusations and insults ... but call "no fair!' when you do it.

"Easy"?

"Demeaning"?

Hmmm, I didn't find it easy or demeaning to write that letter. I can't explain his angle. He also tries to offer me help by sending me his CD (of his music) which will supposedly save my soul and lead me to a higher plain of some sort. This offering is more of his posturing and desperate attempt at establishing dominance by both claiming that I am in need of help AND that HE can GIVE ME that help. But I'll let you, dear Reader, take it all in here
:



(Name Deleted)  It's so easy and so demeaning to praise a dead 'friend' in PUBLIC especially (for **** sake) that you haven't seen for 10 years.
Sounds like a strong case of GUILT over something there!!.
You will get that punch in the nose you are so obviously looking for(and do not deserve) if you carry on hurling gratuitous insults at strangers the way you do.
Tek several deep breaths and listen to my CD.
If you send me a Poste Restante address I will send you(free of charge)a copy.



.

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1 reply

2d
Jeff Gaines

Jeff Gaines   Oh, (Name Deleted) boy!

You are TOO fun!

And so predictable!

Again, you come, in typical wanna-be bully fashion, spewing condescending judgments and even physical threats to my person now as well? I guess it was a matter of time. Especially with me so deep in your head ... kicking your marble-sized brain around like a deflated football.

You honestly don't get how foolish this little expose of your true nature makes you look here, do you? I love it. But, I guess most bully-types are narcissistic and blindly foolish anyways.

I really do love the periods AFTER the exclamation points! And your spell checker has definitely gone fishin'. Hysterical.

Apparently, you do not read too well either. I had not seen him, true. But as I said in the piece, I spoke with him on the phone all the time; we were always close. And I'd love to know two things ... How is it demeaning to write about, or to, a dead friend? I would also like to know why ONLY you have found this "demeaning"? All the other comments were praiseful or even thankful for sharing such precious memories.

And, in case you've not heard of these terms, this piece could be called both a "Eulogy" and/or an "Homage". BOTH are typical and have been done by millions of people (friends/family/colleagues) about recently deceased friends for centuries. There are DOCUMENTED Hindu Eulogies for ENTIRE families dating back to 10000 BCE. Look them up online. Nothing new here. Nothing demeaning here. No guilt here. In fact, I praised my time with him and stated that I wish that we had more time together. But if you see that as guilt of some sort, you are, once again, foolishly mistaken.

But that isn't it at all, is it?

What you are really doing here is more of your panicking-bully behavior by once again trying to turn the light of exposure away from yourself and on to me with (more) silly, unfounded accusations and even ****** threats. Not even a good try little man. and so, so predictable! You are like a broken record!

Your ability to induce laughter is amazing. It truly makes one ponder what kind of person you really are ... and you do it publicly!

I LOVE IT!

And tell me ... WHO first hurled "gratuitous insults" at WHOM? SO hysterically funny and, again, predictable, that the bully can dish it out, but can not take it. It is ok for you to do it to me, but not visa-versa? I guess calling someone an "unreconstructed alcoholic" is ok because it comes from the imaginary ivory tower of the high and mighty, all-powerful YOU!

(Peeing me pants laughing)

Your crying about this is so sadly pathetic. It leads me to yet another teaching of Hinduism and the laws of Karma ... "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". Man, I am beginning to think it is YOU that hates Yoga and Karma and all the other beliefs you pretend to practice at your ego-driven web page. They sure do not show through here on Hello Poetry, now do they?

It is obvious that you fancy yourself as some kind of spiritual leader/Guru/Swami, when in fact, you are a common coward with a narcissistic megalomaniac complex. You NEED people to think you are a BIG man. You attempt to further this ridiculous image by speaking ill of peoples posts in order to make it seem like you are better than everyone and are somehow entitled to make these childish condescensions.

"Pathetic" does not begin to cover it ... OR you.

And YOU are going to punch ME in the nose? You may want to look at my website again and ponder my size. I promise several things should you ever attempt this, little boy ...

1. It will be the single most unpleasant experience of your pathetic life.

2. Win, lose or draw, you WILL NEVER wish to fight me again.

Tell me ... Do I seem like someone that would cower to the likes of you?

Your ego has become so blinded, I predict that it will get you in WAY over your head someday. If not with me, then some other man that will also put you in your place while you attempt to be dominant and holier-than-thou.

How funny (and pathetic) is it, that the guy who STARTED this whole volley with his own unsolicited, "unfounded gratuitous insults", now whines and cries and carries on when the same is done to him?

Awwww, poor, poor little baby. Your threats make me laugh even harder as they further expose your desperate panic-driven agenda AND persona! I am absolutely LOVING this!

As for listening to your CD?

Why on EARTH would I listen to a wee little man, that claims he is helping my life and soul when I have already seen him for the posturing, holier-than-thou, bullying, narcissistic egotist that he really is?

That ... would be an utter waste of my time.

Since you are so keen on giving advice, I'd like to offer some to you ... and then end today's volley with a question.

"It is far and away better to keep one's mouth closed and be thought of as a fool than to open it and remove all doubt."

I'm not sure exactly where this old bit of advice came from ... but if anyone should heed it, I would think it to be you. Through all of this, it has been YOU showing what and who you really are. I have only reiterated or commented on it. Unbelievably, you keep PROVING my points with EACH new response.

And now the question ...

I know in your ego-driven mind, you feel like you HAVE to have the last word to be the "winner". But, considering that you took the first shot at me, and by the rules of engagement, I am to take my turn ... do you really think I will just "give up" after one of your silly attempts at asserting your dominance?

Keep them coming wee man ... it is your undoing ... NOT mine.

2d


-----------------------------------------------

N­ow here, they claim to have deleted something, but they don't say what, exactly. Again, I am guilty here of cajoling them a bit. I do apologize. More to you, than to them. As we have come this far, have you noticed that they NEVER address what I am saying and only throw unfounded accusations and childish ridicule? They can NOT engage in your part of the conversation as, in their mind, only their part is worthy of dealing with.

Besides, it might actually let you make your point and they simply can NOT have this. They also call me a "troll". Something they have very clearly established that they are since the START of all this. But now, in one of their panicked efforts to retain dominance, they accuse me of being that. Futile misdirection for certain. But a predictable tactic, nonetheless So, here we go
:


(Name deleted)  Deleted Unread you sick TROLL.

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1 reply

23h
Jeff Gaines

Jeff Gaines   "Deleted"?

I'm very proud of you ... Did you select it all and hit backspace ... or the actual delete key? Or ... did you actually take the time to place the cursor and hit backspace through it all? It doesn't really matter; either way, I'm still very proud of you. (And you didn't misspell anything here either!) Bra-VO, (Name Deleted), Bra-VO!

Now ... what, exactly, did you delete?

Please, be more clear. (unsurprisingly) It's as though you are speaking nonsense. Nothing in this string has been deleted.

"Unread"?

Well, now ... if you are claiming to have "not read" something written about you, wee man, we BOTH know that your ego wouldn't allow that, would it? Simply impossible. JUST like you are reading this! So, for all that's holy, don't expose yourself as a liar too! Your credibility here has already thinned to near nothingness, as it is.

As for "Sick Troll" ...

*** - Kettle, moorkh chota ladka, *** - Kettle.

(For goodness sake, if you don't understand the reference, then Google: "The *** calling the Kettle Black")

Now, if you STILL don't get it ... then I'll offer up this one in its place:

What's good for the Gander is good for the Goose!

SURELY you get my meaning here, don't you (Name Deleted)- ol' boy?

Thanks, once again, for the hysterical laughter. Experiencing you being you has been a real barrel of laughs so far. And nice try at having the last word. Actually, if that's what this was, it was pretty pathetic. But at this point, I feel you may be in need of a nice "'Attaboy!"



Please see part II ~ Link in notes below.
slr Oct 2018
mov•ie
\ ˈmü-vē \

noun

1.a story represented in motion pictures/motion : noun : mo·tion : \ ˈmō-shən \ : an act, process, or instance of changing place/forward, backward, up, down, pacing, running, crawling/how we flee from our lives, our problems, our responsibilities/instead of focusing on motion we look to pictures/picture : noun : pic·ture :  \ ˈpik-chər \ : a design or representation made by various means/click, zoom, import, export/our lives are on a flash drive, on a snapchat, on an instagram, on a memory card/everywhere but on our own memories/we don’t like pictures either/they show moments never to be regained from our past/our solution?/combine them into something better/movie : verb : mov·ie :  \ ˈmü-vē \ : an escape from reality/we use movies to deflect the pain of our lives/we think that we watch because we are bored/no/we watch to escape/escape : verb :  es·cape : /əˈskāp/ : a recording of moving images that tells a story and that people watch on a screen or television.
I wrote this a while back but I fell in love with dictionary poetry after it
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
it’s not everyday you get to end a 7 year psychosis
when redecorating your room to it’s “original” crimson,
having had such a simple symptom as
brain cell membranes breaking and oozing blood out,
to be misdiagnosed as mentally insane,
and when in need of help from the haemorrhage
not driven to the hospital due to the lack of *******
of having proceeded with the deed but forgetting the onslaught of law
in favour of the hurt party... well...what can you do?
move on, as i’m trying, had it been naturally based
on genetic chronology / genealogy i would have suffered in vain...
but i’m brimming with a hate for islam, and there’s nothing
to do but calm the quasi-communist protestors
in the western lands... ******* calm down... you’ll get
your freedom of speech... once you stop trying to censor vocabulary...
there’s no point learning a language if it becomes
politicised and you tell me to block vowels or consonants
in a non-kabbalistic way (which i’ll come to):
so yeah, a 7 year psychosis over a needle in a haystack...
gives me the shivers...
the many times i thought about killing someone
and feeding the emotions with not doing the act...
so many times i was almost skeletally biased to churn the
marrow haemoglobin into tendon stressor action of taking
the knife and doing halal or kosher with someone...
many a times...as many a times i saw crucifixions in edinburgh
not knowing it was going to happen in syria,
and that night when a muslim tried to mug me
in brick lane breaking down in the street of revellers
kneeling in tears screaming a prayer with tears in my eyes
of only one word: allah.
so i started redecorating my room, crimson is back from
hospital white... my bookshelf is rearranged...
on the left on the top shelf fictional books i either read
or didn’t bother to read because of the movies...
to the right on the shelf psychiatric and philosophical books...
the next shelf is a poetry “corner,” well it elongates beyond the corner...
and it’s split by a dictionary with the right bit of the shelf filled
with english poetry and some literature that’s poetic, and french,
the dictionary is planted to segregate the poetry books,
to the left of the dictionary is a book of greek myths
(did you know all greek theology is derived from the new testament
and not from the testament of orpheus or hercules or Perseus?),
then a book on meditative kabblah... then polish books of poetry.
so i rearranged the room, but i also lodged
an essayist’s book on melancholia, a book on depression
a book on an intro. to jung and a book on
schizophrenia lodged between these massive collections:
to the left all the art books... to the right all the books concerning chemistry...
so the books in between can’t really be seen.
as of today i woke with a p.s. from dreams, or a p.s. in dreams,
i woke and imagined myself talking to my mother
about the identity of al-dajjal... the false messiah,
within the conscious realm i just said the words out of the window:
fool you fool me, when mecca / medina become west of paris / london,
i’ll accept riyadh to be east of tehran / new delhi...
then we'll marginalise plateau east with copernican east
via the stars, and wander aimlessly trying to copper-fill
the sun at sunset...
he (muhammad) said the man would be of his nation,
and he said so with a warning...
but ibn saud got away weighing in at 160kg, diabetic and a brawler
with the stomach, the decadent of all that choose either sugary decadence
or some other form of mental instability in the chosen trade of stolen organs.
me? i keep my sanity with the tetragrammaton, cipher this:
this numerology *******, and it is ******* will not do...
enter platonic forms:
y is so so much more than just 25...
what will you see through y with the number 25?
what? nothing, dry brute that i am...
Y represent 3 dimensional space...
the first h is not important given the second h... which is deja vu,
which is less than what malachi insisted with the fractioned god of
the fractioned “elijah” reincarnated...
deja vu can be explained with science as one of the brain’s tricks
to sense this familiarity of seeing an elephant and acknowledging
the five blind men touching it up for comparative jokes,
the W... well... at least it’s not M... given that the trigonometric cosine continuum
begins at 1.... god is one... ring a bell? well better that than
beginning with the trigonometric sine continuum, which begins with 0...
forget numerology... numbers and letters aren’t related...
forget the dogmatism of rabbis - it makes no sense to say a = 1, b = 2 etc.
and then take a word like ape, and say: ‘ah, a = 1, p = 16 and e = 5; by god!
that’s a kabbalistic synonymity of the word... pea!’
where’s the jolly green giant when you need him, eh?
just look at what a phonetic symbol represents...
like secondary darwinism of a primate hissing to alert the presence
of a snake... past darwinism... past drawing antelopes
in french caves... in the realm of abstract phoneticism that
gave us the cognitive genesis... and made as... dare i say... a bit myopic
in a solipsistic sense.
p.s. ah... what are the newspapers saying?
slapstick humour is one of the prime causes of dementia? huh?!
yes, prime minister... is satire comedy?
how the hell can yes, prime minister be categorised as satire
if it uses canned laughter?
see that bloke over there... doing the omnivore pelican dance?
he joked so readily and active that he created authentic laughter...
don’t know where your satire is going... but it certainly left me gagging
for a springroll.
now now... absurdist comedy is too oxbridge for me...
kings and gentlemen get educated in either st. andrew’s or edinburgh...
we laugh at ourselves.
alt. to canned laughter, given that "canned laughter"
is reserved for the authentic laughter of the crowd
at a live show? what's the antonym of canned laughter
in televised satire? picky laughter... i.e. only one person
in an schoolroom of 30 gets the joke, apart from the comedian...
that lonely everest ha ha... ooh chills, frozen prawns in gravy.
bucky Mar 2015
a person on the metro, six stops from their destination
leafing through a brochure titled How
To Get Rich Quick -
sighing in disgust,
"I was never allowed to go on the metro
when I was young," boasts the woman
sitting beside them, an accessory of
The Scene. a prop
(voice is loud and nasally, and the person - five stops - considers moving)
quick smile, polite:
which means, go away. or, at the very least, don't talk quite
so loud
okay? okay?
a softcover Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary is under the seat, discarded,
Sharpie skidding through it (four stops) at every jolt
of the train.
this is normal, all trains are jerky sometimes, and the loud woman
expresses her concerns.
an old man, older than both people,
older than anything really - coughs.
wet coughs.
the person frowns, but quietly, so
the woman and man won't notice.
(they are well-practiced in the art of subtlety)
three stops. the woman leaves
but the smell lingers
and the dictionary, having slid back
one or two rows for effect
a flock of tourists board. kids in the seats
parents hanging tiredly to safety holds
(be still be quiet keep your hands to yourself, mandy
a little boy of six clinging to the person's jacket with
sticky warm fingers)
two stops, and the boy asks why they look so sad.
what they're reading.
they have perfected the art of silence
but little boys don't understand silence.
the mother hovers in the background
sneaking ***** looks at the person,
wax smudged smile going crooked at the edges
one stop,
the boy asks where they got their hair
(my head;
he is unimpressed)
he is kicking the lonely dictionary
providing it with company,
or maybe unaware.
they leave, and the mother hisses something at them as they pass -
clutches the boy's arm.
the dictionary has been stuck on the word spectral for three days,
and the train hums to life.
avery Aug 2015
webster's dictionary defines the word human as a person. webster's dictionary also defines a person as a human being. webster's dictionary defines a word's definition with that word as another part of speech
my definition feels just as far out of reach
when you're teachin us how to think with every word you preach do not be surprised when we **** it up like leeches
why don't you teach us
some history we don't already know
the two male manicurists in the Palace of the King during the Fifth Dynasty of Egyptian pharaohs  
were in love
but I didn't learn what gay meant until my preacher spat it out
I froze
the first time I heard the word transgender
I was in sixth grade when my sister
told me she had this friend who felt like a boy
and I had to learn on my own that this body I'm in does not need to be destroyed
no one had ever taught me why my veins shook
I never read that in a textbook
despite transgender people being praised in ancient cultures throughout
the Middle East
Europe
Asia
North Africa
even though transgender people have been recorded in nearly every civilization recorded in human history
but taking History has never taught me any of my history
so it is no mystery to me why when you're asking for a definition
all I can tell you
is webster's dictionary defines the word human as a person and webster's dictionary also defines a person as a human
and I define a definition as whatever webster's tells me
and maybe that fact is the only real thing that defines me
Tim Knight Mar 2013
Last night I danced like my dad
with a girl who resembled a dictionary definition
I read not long back-
charming.

Graceful eyes that could
stop traffic with a blink,
and engaging lips that
would smile to sooth the pain of
the midday, gotta-get-back-home-now,
commuters whom step
on pedals with haste.

I lied. My dad can’t dance, so last
night I made a fool of myself
in front of a girl who resembled
a dictionary definition I read not
long back.
Twitter > @coffeeshoppoems
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
October 2013

for Maria and Logan...

you need two hands, one foot.
count my years.
each finger, worth a decade.
each toe, well, a century...

birthdays.

point of inflection,
point of opportunity,
presents itself,
to rewrite history.

a second coat of paint,
gift-wrapped in weak excuses.
how I lied, how I ain't,
grimm-fated fairy tales
somebody created.

invisible suits of gold-cloth
worn to my party of
past rewrit and
future foretold.

one single thought,
memory,
seizes my heart,
as I fall to my knees.
cracks my temperate ease,
renders open the
woof and weave
of recycled deceptions,
causing all to be revealed
and ask,

what if the poetry ceases?

you know prostrate?
you taste grief?

have you not but
one pain,
one act,
one deed,
one memorization,
act of cowardice,
act of desertion,
mistake maden, taken,
for which
forgiveness
can never
be given,
be taken,
attained?

do, does, did.

let me then
win the birthday lottery,
let floods of relief from
daily chores, not drown me,
chauffeurs to drive,
masseurs to massage,
cooks to cook,
les delicious treats,
keep theologians, logicians
on retainer, if need
explanations.

none know, can provide,
still and yet, a
priestly sacred chord,
grants relief,
absolution,
song of hallelujah
the ache of
perpetuity worry,
that ancient pain,
grows fresher daily,
the loss of one,
of my body,
my primal knot
unreasonable,
everything should be
permitted to be untied,
on my birthday, no?

this day, these days
breathe through words,
molecules of vowels,
stem cells of consonants,
the fabric, the tissues of life,
veins are a dictionary
of corpuscles,
red blood cells are
nouns of nutrients.

this day, these days,
the infection of my soul
is tempered, kept at bay,
tamped down from the
full flowering
of white blood cells
of rhyme, verse.

what if the poetry ceases?

Though the bones creak,
the body they carry. resurrect
for morning, afternoon
and evening prayers.

thrice daily poetry I recite,
roses red, violets blue,
my marrow transfused.

though my prayers refused,
the poetry act immolates
the fringes of my disease,
for which the common cure
is not currently invented....

what if the poetry ceases?

but be assured, told
scientists hard at work,
on the
forgive n' forget drug.

meantime,
take a bubble bath in
rosemary and mint
trap some words,
tap some words into
your cell phone bone,
the poetry heat that
provides aspirin relief.

through this poem,
on one day annual,
I am relieved, relived
the muse is feted, sated,

gone for few moments
concerns, worries of
exposure today,
agnostic's foxhole of hell
is dis-remembered,
the gloss returns,
the faux dispatched,

ain't birthdays grand?

what if the poetry ceases?

what rhymes with
Sorrow?
mmmmm,
could it be
Morrow?

bath drains, rosemary and mint
odors dismissed, the  Argentine disparu,
the Spanish Medievalists,
the Neo-Raphaelites,
all gone,
didn't they have birthdays too?

didn't know
the Renaissance come
and go,
and nobody
tole ya?

please recall t'is the day
after my sweet city recorded my
naissance in the
Hospital of the Flowers
on Fifth Avenue.

the 'crats put the datum
in the bureau with the
night creams and
the statistics
as follows:

on this day + a few,
six or twenty decades ago +
a few centuries,
a question was born,
and an ache that is
sometimes relieved,
by a poem song.

though do not celebrate,
t'is a day to calibrate,
review, edit, tinker,
rewrite, often a stinker.

always one thought recycles:

what if the poetry ceases?

(how will I breathe?)
Notes: my birthday was a few weeks ago. One of a number poems I've written about birthdays.  This one was modified, but only slightly for Maria and Logan.
Martin Narrod May 2015
Martin Narrod  just now
I started working on a comment in response to "Filling A Bottle With A Tundish"

Sadly I must admit, that even for an American with a college degree, who is a self-proclaimed non-Philistine that grew up in a suburb of Chicago, IL. Where I'm from I've been told is much like some parts of Sussex(I believe it's Sussex), my friend Lili Wilde described it to me on an occasion.

So I must say martin, that for having a voracious appetite for language, language of all sorts, from **** to sin, to cinephile to cynosure, pulchritude to tup, exsuphlocate to masticate, irate, irk, perfervid, wan ewes thwapping their tails, nearly stridulating like the cricket in the thistle. The advanced undulate troche of domesticated shadows, and the sesquipedelien dulciloquent surreptitious diction and other floccinaucinihilipilification and tomfoolery about.

martin, please do tell me what a 'Tundish" is? If you haven't yet, there is a phenomenally interesting reverse dictionary, entitled onelook.com/reversedictionary , and quite contrary as it may seem, and for all the Virginia & Leonard Woolf I enjoy reading, especially his somewhat innocuously underrated novella he wrote, I also read with extraordinary gratitude Ted Hughes's The Birthday Letters, Take of a Bride Groom, The Complete Works, Sylvia Plath's Unabridged Journals, Ariel, Johnny Panic, Ariel, and other poems by writer Richard Matthews. I am still unfamiliar with this word, Tundish. Online dictionaries don't give the best explanation.

As I was mentioning earlier. The OneLook Dictionary-Reverse, will let you for example, search: beach sand. And in response it will give you up to thousands and thousands of word which relate to those two words, together, seperately, and opposing each other. Such as: water, swell, wave, arenose, peat, dirt, seagull, Pacific Ocean, suntan, bikini, The Beach Boys, vitrify. It's very fun indeed. From one Martin to another, I hope you'll stay in touch. I'm excited about your work!

Best Regards

Martin

P.S. The text below is the original message I typed before learning that my presumptions of you being Anglican were correct. Have a great day!

Another Martin, YES! How exquisite, I've never met another one. I have so many questions I barely know where to start. I love marigolds, nose-bags with oats, and as I started feeling the essences if equus and what lurking prurient pedagogy for the didactic zoology that took me and the mind of me to wonder perhaps if though I am quite certain(though not 100%) that your native tongue is English, but using that ridiculous skill-set of immense benality I seem to someone have, am I wrong for asking dear Martin, are you from Scotland or Wales, or maybe even from a country where you learnt English as a native tongue but it's your secondary language?

As aforementioned, there are a plethora of questions that this runnel of sludge and dross that've now arisen in the turpidity of your antiquary of delightful speech. To whomever invited me to play along in the debauchery, and dance merrily with merriment, mine younger docile succubus's slendering beside me, puking up their tissue paper and vegetable soup, so that my pretty girls can fit into Size 2 TuTu's, and learnedly imprison themselves into the tatterdemalion of portentously lurid self-****** and abuse. , and the opprobrious trollop-gossip the gaggle of my skinny victim women eschewing food groups, in order to appeal to my conservative eyes, thrice the child's wild idling to absorb the rancor of their stoic and noisome sedentary lifestyle in the polluted sudatorium that I myself don't use, but that these nonparticular Philistines would serve as Surf & Turf with glazed Christmas Hams for the Hebrews to eat, and another sad storm surge on another deserted quay of sea sands, and our vessel and our deserters, worshipping the Virunga, sacrificing the ghost skeletons of the million year old ape. So I ask you. If even you're capable of expressing yourself under the maddening yet advesperating evening listening to Miles Kane and The Arctic Monkeys, followed by listening to Black Sabbath play Fairies Wear Boots while we drink our childhoods free of the rod and **** the war out of our teenage girlfriends. And in the morning when awoken by the sound of Sopwith Camels arriving on the early, frost-strewn milky, azure-banded stripes of moonlit ecstasy that make for this unquantifiable gesture of succinct believers driving in Summer get stopped for blowing a rice-white swiveling consortium of dishonest affair rivaling ****** addicts, with hummus, plastic bags, and forks in their sphincters, while they autoerotically asphyxiate themselves in a plastic knockoff Mickey Mouse hat, and a Pirates of the Carribbean bandana wrapped around the ***** eyed nightmare of having unsuccessfully sedated a 400-lb crabby, Lowland living-room Silverback Gorilla. More than a primate and a prostate exam. It's like posthumously straining to push tingling 119° Vaseline through the grey and white coffee stirrers which spilled all over the floor while I was saying goodbye to our daughter, while also explaining to you why it's so important to me you love me back enough so that everyone has enough of a grasping glint at understanding yourself, that in managing to reason the arithmetic of such a conundrum and confusing calamity, a phone call free of dial tone happens to be surrendered to an independent Christian organization of the state while myself and my wife's two sons, our sons, Thomas and James, have enough free time from complaining to hire an attorney to disclose the arraignment reiterated by both legal council, city council, and the Screenwriters Guild of counsellors struggling from methamphetamine addiction.

Peace Be With You.

Martin Narrod
martin.narrod@gmail.com
Response to Filling A Bottle With A Tundish by Martin
Kairee F May 2012
trust** (verb):
the action of placing faith, belief, and confidence in another;
something I don’t do anymore

truth (noun):
a statement that corresponds with what is factual or certain;
something no one tells anymore

love (noun):
very strong feelings of affection toward another;
a lie that I don’t believe in anymore –
how they get you to give them everything,
you and your life and your heart,
and you’re completely okay with doing that because you think they are doing the same;
a game; an illusion I don’t look for anymore

love (verb):
to make a commitment to someone;
to give your heart completely and unconditionally;
something I avoid admitting, because if I do,
I can no longer protect my heart from the crushing boulder
that’s taken refuge in my chest for the last year

to be myself:
to simply void myself of emotion;
to distract myself with work when I can’t numb myself anymore
Eryck Sep 2018
It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******,
of a dangling participle.

Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.

Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.

Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.

Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.
Fun with words
due to my dictionary
wandering about
there will be no words
for me to spout

the dash thing took
a hike out of here
where it ventured
to isn't too clear

should I not locate it
within the week
the outlook for writing
shall be bleak

I can't understand
why it left me
there was no logical
reason for it to flee

if anyone sees
a Collins Dictionary
wandering in a field
near your locality

let it know that its
owner wants it back
all will be forgiven if it gets
on the homeward  track

it will be full steam
ahead at this place
when my word reference
shows its face
I tend to get stares... Looks... The occasional "are you gay?" With a quizzical look of disgust.
Well, to answer your question, no, I am not gay.
In a society built around judgment and stilted above common sense,
Being gay would mean that I'd have to find women utterly disgusting, flick my wrists, speak with funny and awkward inflections, right?
Do you think I speak with funny and awkward inflections?
Good! Because I'm so not gay.
Being gay would mean that I love to shop, well I hate it!
My fashion sense does not exceed that of a box of colorful crayola crayons melting away in the blistering Las Vegas sun because you see, I don't live in San Francisco, or New York,
or anywhere "gay" people live.
I am not gay.
Being gay would mean that I am immoral but I can assure you, moralistically speaking, that morals are what keep me routinely from listening to Lady Gaga, who I've heard, despite her catholic upbringing, is a devout devil worshiper and I sure as hell don't worship Satan!
Oh no, I am not gay.
My father once told me, in his manliest tone that if I ever became sweet
or my tank profusely filled with sugar
that he'd disown me and rid me of his home.
However last time I checked,
I don't have a tank
and one lick of my tanned brown skin would reveal that I am in fact quite salty!
Salty, as defined by Urban Dictionary, means to be ******.
Bitter. Angry.
Well father, there aint nothing sweet about my wrath.
I'm infuriated.
I'm angry not because I'm not able to fulfill the holistic criterion society has built in order to be gay,
No, I am more upset that there is actually a set of rules dictating whether or not someone is gay.
Now listen to me when I tell you,
I am not gay
I am not gay because I have yet to inject myself of substances with an unsterile needle for all purposes of getting high.
No, I have yet to discover my last ****** partner was diagnosed with *** and that I may very well have the virus.
No, I have yet to interiorly decorate my bedroom with the warm crimson fluid that is my blood because some punk at school thought it was cute to label me a queer.
I have yet to be gay because being gay in today's society means I am reckless. I am promiscuous. I am a *******.
Well, guess what society,
I am not gay.
I am, in fact, a man, who is not your personal show dog for your fashion approval that you can tote around in some cute Gucci bag.
I am a man, who can still appreciate the beautiful magnificence that is a curve when he sees one no matter the person's gender.
I am a man who, despite what you may be expecting,
is a man who, no matter how hard you try to box me in a confined image,
is a man who, will fight to freely be in love with who he wants to be in love with,
who is a man who is not gay
but a man who loves men.
I am not gay.
..
Totally gay.
Nicole Dawn May 2015
I'm very sorry
I must have
Read the dictionary wrong

You see,
I was under the impression that

Forever meant
For the rest of time
Never ending
The rest of my life and beyond

Truth meant
Not lying
Meaning what you say
Being straight with me

Sorry meant
You feel bad
An apology
That you didn't mean it

So I apologize
For the miscommunication
I must have been
Reading the dictionary wrong
due to my dictionary wandering about
there will be no words for me to spout
the dash thing took a hike out of here
where it ventured to isn't too clear

should I not locate it within the week
the outlook for writing shall be bleak
I can understand why it left me
there was no logical reason for it to flee

should anyone see a Collins dictionary
wandering in a field near your locality
let it know that its owner wants it back
all will be forgiven if it gets on the track

twill be full steam ahead at this place
when my word reference shows its face
Ugo Apr 2012
Dedicated to stillborn fetuses, 99 cent Malt Liquor and Existentialism
1.
Nymphomaniac tree huggers
And overweight bisexual vegetarians
Swallowing phentermine poison to stay fit.

2.
Funky fresh *******  
throwing pigs at St. Augustine’s pear tree
and frolicking abortions over Moloch’s philoprogenitiveness,

3.
While sipping barbecue sauce dipped in Lipton tea,
dancing around adhesive bonfires
reciting memories of holocaust, the Kristallnacht nights
and beautiful words suffered by ancestors lost.

4.
Inhale chicken noodle soup, with a side of Lithium,
And prance to Literacy class to combat envisionment
With free association conceptual constructions,

5.
Computerized like Prometheus’ fire burning through SmartBoards
In classrooms where the poison of heterosexual history
Is fed to boys in skirts cursed by Adam’s apple,

6.
Baptized by social norms and locked away in hopeless closets
According to the Tautology of Leviticus…
until they cut their breath by the vein of soteriology;

7.
Misunderstanding of God’s words
Covets the innocent to early graves
In biblical paratactic irony…like God betting Satan for a Job.

8.
Rub fried chicken oil on Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ skin
and soil his white pride with ***** flavor,
for revenge  On the Properties of Things

9.
and howl out in glory of victory
over totes of  lickerish piper methysticum blunts
that beg the conundrum,
'What is the origin of this world?'
'Ether,' he replied.
But it is not ether!
Nor Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
It is Dada. Dada. Dada!
  10.
For this is a record of the life stories of the greatest minds and geniuses of your generation,
written in boys and girls
who mimicked Basquiat’s genius and tagged bathroom walls with abstract philosophies like “Love is a prime number” and “ the weight of Duncan McDougall’s soul can only be found on the 15th of October”
who drank vampirish gulps of Vicodin while consoling themselves with aphorisms such as: “don’t rue the misses, you don’t need a Mrs. when you’re elevated by chemical kisses”
11.
Who stood naked in mirrors, weeping, for they were a mystery to themselves, but a great talent and soon to be legend to some.
Who lit cannabis in loneliness and waltzed naked with their ghosts, fantasizing about ****** tomatoes and Corpus Christi Mexican Jazz.
Who composed psychedelic anthems from dreams that were lost in ghettoes where virginities were lost for loaves of bread, for the hunger of bread.
12.
Who wrote suicide notes on a toilet seat, contemplating the texture of Marshall Mathers’ favorite underwear and whether the color green was an invention of **** Germany.
Who used to love their lovers in darkness and colored the streets of Manhattan with rainbows on June 24, 2011 to mark the date lady liberty finally bought a new pair of glasses.
13.
Who lost musical talents to a Wine-house and ended up in a whine-house where lobotomy was subsequently prescribed by the milligram.
Who indulged in pharmaceutical vices and when asked why replied simply, every recursively enumerable set is Diophantine.
Who diagnosed themselves with “start ****-itis” and self medicated by eating Fifinellas at the stroke of each midnight.
Who rubbed paraprosdokians on their skin and occupied Wall Street in search of a new euphemism for being American.
Who poured Alkalizer on a dead moose and kicked it while feasting on the divine question, “why does Rice play Texas?”
14.
who got bored with conventional relationships and bought the Origin of the World on street corners from vixens nicknamed “Jezebel” and climaxed atop of them screaming  “I’m in Babylon, the great Mother of ******!”
Who attempted suicides upon suicides upon suicides, in Oakland, until they were shipped away to private catholic universities in Rhode Island, where the history of Colossus was being taught.
15.
who serenaded love interests with four letter curse words at open bars where Kubla Khan was read and Tartars kings were licked all over like holy communion *****.
Who drove home with the spirits of wine and crashed on telephone poles where their obituaries were written in their prime, leaving their mothers weeping and calling congress to reconsider Prohibition.
16.
Who mixed Redbull with Propofol and drank the juxtaposition galore only to be woken up the next morning dead in their sleep.
Who tattooed rat poison packages with goodwill messages such as “****** divided by Water =6th day of creation” or “Seroquel + Brett Favre = St. Patrick”,
who went speedballing with Basquiat during autoscopy and woke up wondering the cost of Nautilus in Albuquerque.
17.
who took 33 hallelujah 1800 tequila jello shots and daydreamed about laying on Mithras’ grave, yelling, beetlejuice, beetlejuice…beetlejuice.
who found the truths of the Bible invalid by the miscalculation of Pi in 1 Kings 7, verse 3, and mailed death on anthrax letters to Reagan in protest.
18.
who sat empty bellied at breakfast tables wondering the temperature of satellites at Lagrangian points,  only to soon catch fire in their tongues and speak Labyrinth soliloquies that ended in
19.
Zion,
Where Google knows every answer.
In Zion
Where the youth, tomorrow’s future, quote a ***** named Hova better than they can quote Jehovah.
In Zion
Where *******’s art was used as weapon during the Cold war.
20.
In Zion
Where sartorial geniuses where no pants,
In Zion
Where David Kato Kisule is the secret hero of these words, for he was taken at a time
In Zion
Where we were supposed to be our ancestor’s sci-fi.

21.
In Zion,
Where the youth bear the scarlet letter X for they are a problem to tradition and hold no definition for the future, for they have discovered
In Zion
That the origin of this world is in their living eyes, and not in the dictionary of their ancestors who lived
In Zion
when the epitome of the literature of life ended in Revelation of Amen and Shantih shantih shantih;
this is a record of the greatest minds and geniuses there ever was, written
in Zion
where the meaninglessness and nothingness of Dada reigns, and the trinity of life now lives in the Subject, subjective and subjectivity.
http://www.amazon.com/OLAF-Nothing-Above-Fiction-ebook/dp/B009XZ9OVY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid;=1353822133&sr;=8-1&keywords;=olaf+last+king+of+nothing
within the confines of defining
definitions are never lost
it's set in stone, there's no combining
it's a line that you can't cross


throw away your dictionary


it's your thoughts they are confining
like a self discovery loss
it's your mind, but they're assigning
another line that you can't cross
hello Aug 2013
I am derived from the word lonely
i am the prefix of sadness
as well as every synonym to happy
(maybe even elated at a few times)
you could never time me
on how fast i change emotions
because sometimes, it is a slow process
and others
a fast blur
wherever i derive from
i'm a walking dictionary
being every single one of those words
phrases
synonyms
antonyms
at least once in my life
i've reached numb and i am glad
that i have passed
the n words
but this does not mean
i can't go back a few pages
and re-read
Alex Hoffman Dec 2015
The only proper way to be a conversationalist is to convince yourself that you’re boring. If you can strip back the hard shell of the ego, and look down on yourself from the eyes of an apathetic God, you will likely (and hopefully) see just how boring you really are. It isn’t a sin to be boring, in fact there are many advantages to honest self-depreciation.

The main advantage, is the way you approach a conversation. “Interesting” people find it difficult to silence the affected score-keeper that dominates their internal dialogue and ruins any chance of an honest and engaged conversation. It is the voice that reminds you to show interest with your body language, and keep a dumb happy gaze laser pointed into their eyes. This dialogue is obsessed with authenticity and genuine conversation, and therefore a natural sociopath.

Luckily, you are the stunning definition of boredom, an extracted dictionary cut-out of un-interesting, and nobody could possibly give a rats-*** what you have to think—least of all the Voice that controls the inner-dialogue. That Voice has packed it up to find a more interesting vessel…maybe the person standing across from you in conversation. 


Because you are so boring, and they are the Oxford personification of intellect and fascination, you should pay careful attention to what they say—no time to worry about how they’re perceiving your reaction to whatever it is they’re saying. You are too busy to notice what sort of body language you may or may not be using to validate their half of the conversation. Instead, your time is spent carefully hanging on their every word, digesting it and projecting the whole bit into a colourful scene in your imagination. Instead, you’re too lost in the excitement of their infinitely more interesting life and impossible wealth of knowledge offered to you with each word that they speak. Instead, you are actually listening to the words that come out of their mouth and not the ones that speak to you from the inside of your own mind.

This is what it means to be in conversation. This was the point of our social nature. And in a world of needy social-media junkies grabbing at the cuffs of potential ‘followers’ and ‘likes’ and trendy passer-by’s, the last thing anyone needs is the high-pitched whine of another “interesting” millennial.

Lucky for you, you boring sack of yawning sloths, that you aren’t interesting too.
Arke Sep 2018
early, I worried our love was ludus
that you were merely playing with me
it was hard for me to believe that anyone
could love me when I did not love myself

or that I could allow someone to peer into me
and that they would hold me the way you had
with sincerity and beauty as deep as the oceans
and passion and fervor as strong as the waves

love, please know that my poetry is affirmation
a constant reminder that what we have is more
that it's persistent and real and infinite
my love refuses to diminish or disappear

if I must write a dozen poems for you
declaring my undying love for the world to see
I will continue to do so week after week
until I run out of words in the dictionary

yes, our love was ludus -- and eros, philia and agape
if I'm fortunate enough in the months to come
for the gods to smile at me and grant me bravery
I will find a way to break my chains

and if I'm lucky and you still want me in the end
if you do not tire of my over sentimentality
or the way my eyes become honey when they see you
I would get on both knees and beg you to be mine once more
Reece Apr 2013
I

The characters on the ashen keyboard were faded, now yellow smudges remain
and the words that once danced like clouds in his mind had been evacuated
Reading back on a thousand pages, the writer realised that he was wrong
while the shredder destroyed the lives of every personality he had created
(God's fading smile)
Littering the floor were the shards of paper, twisted and unnerving
Thin strips made new languages, new words, forlorn dictionary
Grasping at the shreds, our writer assembled a masterpiece
Seward on the Ouija board, advice from beyond
(Joyce laughed from) the grave

Scrawling longhand in a notebook on a jaunting bus through the city
No eye-contact, no interaction, careful contemplation
To the river he headed, concrete conscience
Writing nothing

Careless disregard for the laws of language
While they shunned his intellect
and tore pages before him
Scornful

No education, just a passion for words
Running away from his sadness
and learning that it don't stop
Ripples in the water
Single raindrop
Stop.

II

Start,
A tear fell backwards
Wrinkles in the brow begin to fade
Experiencing happiness for the first time, sweet joy
Sprinting in reverse, looking for the smile, return to a face
Think back to schoolyard glory and the books that were once relished

Admiration
They glued his life together
Praising the grinning genius before them
Careful preparation, consulting his Bible, The English Dictionary

Writing everything
To the world he was headed, mind free of guilt
Shaking the hands of a thousand folk, the happiness in a community
Caressing the keys of a pristine writing machine, black ink perfection on a white page

(Joyce sighed from the grave)
Seward on the Ouija board, applauded from beyond
Grasping at his hands, "this writer assembled a masterpiece"
Thin pages made new languages, new words, pregnant dictionary
Littering the coffee tables of many a home, words of beauty and precision
(God's enlightened gaze)
While the printer confirmed the lives of every personality he had created
Reading back on a thousand pages, the writer realised that he was correct
and the words that once drifted like clouds in his mind, now bees making honey, eternal hive
The characters on the immaculate keyboard were dazzling, free from corruption and scrutiny
Madeysin Jan 2015
Please
Rip this symphony of strategic words,
Curses that Echo and billow,
Like a cloud of smoke from your mouth,
As you inhale over and over again,
Your cigarette dictionary,
Yet am I the one who feels the burn,
Please rip them from your throat,
I can't,
I can't do this much longer,
Idk guys this one was kinda dumb and weird and not like me so idk. I've just been struggling lately. Sorry if it *****. More of thoughts than poetry
Abby Orbeta Dec 2014
First, let me begin by assuring you that the feelings indeed are mutual.
I just can’t be with you.
Here are the reasons why.

1. Your hands feel like they were molded perfectly for me. Our bodies fit so well together. Your lips taste like honey. Your skin reminds me of the scent of the sea. Your eyes, they hypnotize. When I am with you, I lose myself. I can’t have that again. I just got myself back.

2. I can listen to you speak for hours on end. Your voice, smooth like silk. You could read the dictionary for me and I’d be turned on. That scares me. I may forget the sound of my own voice and only hear yours.

3. You’re well read. You can quote Derrida at a drop of a hat. You read Foucault for fun. Yet it is the classics that make your heartbeat. I feel stupid around you for not being as smart. You never used that against me.

4. You laugh at my jokes. You’re even cornier than I am. That is never a good sign.

5. You are idealistic. You want the family with big house that smells like chocolate chip cookies as soon as you open the door, filled with noisy kids, surrounded by a white picket fence. You want the carpool to soccer practice and the after school arts and crafts and the weekend piano and cello lessons. I want it too. I just can’t. I have a tendency to run away from it.

6. You understand my tendency to run away. You love me still even if. Love is such a broad term. Love scares me. I. Love. You. Love. We. Love.

7. You remind me so much of him. The one that I lost. The one I got cold feet with. The one I regret not taking the leap for. I don’t want to regret you.

8. I am broken. I carry so much baggage with me. It doesn’t help that doctors agree that I am crazy. I need to fix myself first. I don’t want to give you less than what you deserve.

9. You are way too good for me. Your heart is so generous and loving. I can’t match that. It’s unfair for you. You already know I’m not good for you. I am dangerous for your soul.

10. I don’t want to be just another warm body in your bed for those nights when you are cold and lonely. I don’t want to be just another experience for you. A way to fill your time. I knew from the moment that you held me close that I wanted us to be permanent. I want us to work.

There’s no need for us to hurry, lover. Hold me close and let the cadence of our hearts beat as one.

Actually… please. don’t. I need room to grow. I need space to breathe. I know I contradict myself all the time and you are so patient with me but… no.
John Stevens Sep 2010
Author:  Kristen Stevens
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Words are wonderful
Current mood:  amused

So last year for Christmas I bought myself a dictionary. The Oxford American Dictionary to be exact. (psst it won out over the others because it maintains that "irregardless" is NOT a word and thus remains improper...hooray!) Anyway back to business. I was going to buy myself a thesaurus this year but didn't find one I liked. Oh, there was a pocket version that was entirely suitable but I didn't find a hardback one that really worked.

I really think people should have to read the dictionary then they might speak with more precision. One of my favorite sayings, and I am being facetious (sarcastic for those who don't know what "facetious" means), is "I think I unconsciously knew that." NO YOU DIDN'T! You can't unconsciously know anything; you can subconsciously know it. if you are unconscious you aren't thinking anything. It is your subconscious that prods you. sigh

On a semi-related topic, etymology is fascinating. I would be willing to bet most people don't know the roots of the word "unanimous". Un (one) and animus/anima (heart, soul, mind)  So it's not just about people simply agreeing about something but putting their soul into it as well. Handedness is very prejudicial. Grrr you rights!! All words dealing with being right-handed are good skilled (droit, derecho, recht, etc), but lefties all seem to derive from the Latin siniestra (sinister)  or a imply "clumsy". Just look at "ambidextrous" ~ right-handed on both sides. 'ambi'-both + 'dexter'-right (side note: no wonder Dexter is a serial killer) It's opposite word is "ambivalent" that means 'left handed on both sides'  I love learning new things.
So as a left handed-American I feel constantly belittled by the daily assault on the way I was born. I can't help it. Hahahaha. No, just kidding I'm tougher than that. I've learned to cope and no longer fear the right handed scissors.


Last interesting thing:
The French mer, Italian mar, Spanish mer, etc all derived from the Latin word mare ("sea"). Latin derived it from the Sanskrit MARU, which meant desert, sterile element where no vegetation grows. I am going to find out how lifeless desert became an ocean teeming with a plethora of life.
MARU would be also the origin of the latin morire (to die).


OK wow lot to read, congratulations if you stuck with it. reading skill has increased +5 Ah-hahahaha I couldn't resist. If your game you get it; if you don't, how sad. Oh wow look at the time why am I still awake? sighstupid insomnia
Masha Yurkevich May 2019

WORDS

so innocent and and powerless
as they stand
in a dictionary.

Just put them in the right order
and they can be sweet and happy.

Try again and they can be
mean and deadly.

So choose which way you want your words to sound...
Dreams of Sepia Jul 2015
( or also entitled : Just How Much ******* Are You Prepared to Believe)

Confidence - grandiosity
Hope - Delusion
Ambition - grandiosity + delusion
Love - Co-dependency
Unrequited Love & romantic hopes - Erotomania
Sexuality - Hypersexuality
Happiness - Manic mood
Sadness - Depression
Shock - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Emotional - Bipolar
Fear - Paranoia/psychosis
Distrust - Suspicion ( e.g paranoia)
Loneliness - Neediness
Needing connection to others - Co-dependant
Existential doubts - suicidal
Spiritual awakening - psychosis
Sarcasm - Aggression
Loner - socially-withdrawn
Messy - self-neglectful
Angry - dangerous/violent
Faith - dangerous Religisiosity
dubious combination
of some of the above : Schizophrenia

Note : All of these need drugs to 'cure' them so the drugs companies can make a fortune & pay you a premium. Where did you think the money for your salary came from?
Have you ever thought how many of us are labelled as mentally ill these days? Have you ever stopped to think about how wrong this is? How everything is being medicalized? Just ordinary human behavior, reaction & emotion being ostracized? Labelled? People being given dangerous, damaging drugs to ' cure' them of their human condition? People locked up in hospitals against their will & treated by force just for being human? There is a better way.
Lyla Oct 2014
What words to describe a person,
do you use words of love, or hate?
Words that distinguish one or standardise them?
I use these words describe you and our story.

Hum, the steady sound of your voice and being
that prevents me from being alone.

Hunger, that I crave
the only substance I need to keep me alive.

Grin, the smile thats grows
when I'm around you and disappears when we are apart.

Greeting, from saying hello
to good morning when we wake entwined.

Imprint, that stamp you leave
leaving your smell on the pillows long after you've gone.

Impetuous, those impromptu trips out
beaches, road trips, kisses, that show your love.

Frame, the moments we want to pause
treasure for ever in frames yet time ticks on.

Foul, for the bad days and moods we have
natural and made us stronger, for good and bad.

Apertural, the opening of our hearts
that lets in the light of us, love, hope of a future.

Absent, when sitting with friends or at work
I’m not there, I’m still in the morning in my head with you.

These words mean different things to people,
average words in dictionaries, but for us
these words have different meanings with more substance
a dictionary of us.
Seema Jul 2018
Different people, different ethics
Is religion, complex mathematics?
Fair, dark, almond or honey
A vice-versa change, with alot of money
Smile on faces, broken inside
Dead by feelings, happy outside
A full dictionary of words spitted
Meanings gone wrong, relations slittered
Food on table, cooked and warm
Unexpected wars, blast with bomb
Crying eyes, look for life
But hourandous beings, **** with knife
Day and night, no time to rest
Even birds have abundant their nest
Clumsy clowns, crawl in tanks
Lotted are the peoples money from banks
Clean water, is now price of gold
Almost all the shops, it's increasingly sold
Time to spare for a nice talk
But excuses come up, "busy at work"
Stress builds up, health affected
A true self is then reflected
Depression eats aways, the handful of happiness
Insanity on the verge, lost in loneliness
Praying without faith, awares your self war
Change from one religion to the other core
Brainwashed everytime you try to accomplish
But like dreams, it just demolish  
A fine night you give up your all
And jump over the bridge, one last fall
No alarms or cries of dismay
I was simply living but people mocked me as gay
Pool of blood soaked my body
I was treated like a stray dog, belonging to nobody
In peace, I am not
But enough were the battles, I fought
If only I was another human in a humans eye
My soul wouldn't be wondering in darkness and in the lighted ...sky...
At least, I am not bullied in my soul form
Feel at a little peace, a little warm
Sadness binds, the cynical trend
Very soon this gay tag, will be a common brand
The hatred may no longer flounder in the air
Feelings respected and thoughts to share
Breathing and being alive is a magical boon
Live to the fullest or it might just end soon
Death is not a secret or a lie
It is just wondering around, nearby
**** your stresses before it germinates to depression
And you start to avoid your own reflection
Suicide is not the answer to any call
Or crying behind closed doors, hitting on wall
Surround yourself with positive beings
You will sing and laugh, to what joy it brings
Never let yourself down to drown
Even if thousand eyes flash with frown
Smile away, with good words of wisdom
Somewhere far, awaits your kingdom...



©sim
Spilling thoughts and imagination. Fiction.
Sam Oliver Oct 2010
Call me a 'misogynist'
For learning your tricks,
Your 'feminism'
Doesn't stick.

I'm sure women
Feel empowered
With you sleeping around
At the twilight hours,
With 'chauvinist pigs'
In your blankets.

'Mistreated' and 'stereotyped',
What you scream
When deemed unripe.

You blame them for
Not taking of refuse
And call them
'Trash'.
All your words should amount
To ash,
But somehow womanhood
Always makes you right,
Even when,
From end to end,
You
Were the only one fooling in the night.
We’re harmonizing
in a bed without sheets,
I don’t know what I’m singing
but it doesn't seem to matter,
because we’re making up words
so that the music will write itself
and now I’m struggling with keeping a beat.

They’re always cold
and they don’t want warming
because the wind will be
even more bitter after.
They can hold their own;
I can hold my own hands.

I seem more appealing
when there are pillows in the room
and that's okay
as long as I can still touch you,
taste you,
hear you,
smell you,
see you,
you can be as irate as you will.
I need these 5 senses
to ensure that you are here,
that you are real,
that I'm not in love with
someone's shadow.
This is when the week days seem to last forever
even though it’s only been that long,
you’re already literaturely beautiful
making me seem poetically challenged
while I’m watching you draw
wishing I had the skill to just trace
the outline of your face
and your fast hands

Give me your head,
give me myself back.
Tanya Feb 2019
.

1. Душа /dusha/ - Soul, singular;

2. Души /dushi/ - Souls, plural;
                                 - a way to call people.
We are souls,
that happened to inhabit bodies.
E B Apr 2013
contenment, n.
driving down the road,
staring out the window,
listening to music you're ashamed to love

making promises to yourself
that you have no intentions
of fulfilling because it's all just as well,
varying your breathing in order to remind yourself
that you are indeed alive,
smiling at the fact that you are alive and seemingly well

missing the way things used to be
but being okay with the way things are,
speaking the names of the beautiful people in your life
and hoping they know how
beautiful they truly are.

Not to be confused with happiness.


I look this word up next.

happiness, n.
the sun peeking through the clouds,
holding hands and being kissed on the forehead,
dreams that make you wake up with a smile as big as Texas,
inside jokes,
shared looks,
best friends,
secret dreams,
favorite songs

fulfilling one of those promises
you made to yourself finally
and the results aren't quite
what you expected but good enough

fleeting,
never to be trusted,
never to be believed,
possibly nonexistent.

Never to be confused with joy.


One last word.

joy, n.
driving down the road,
watching raindrops race down the window,
stopping to play as it falls,
listening to music that makes you melt,
music you resolve to share with everyone you meet

never making promises to yourself
but learning that whatever will be, will be
(que sera sera, hakuna matata, shut the hell up and let God -- or whatever else you believe in-- work)
taking deep breaths and knowing that you are lucky to be alive,
that you were meant to be alive

knowing that things have never been better than they are
in that moment and may never be
and thus, savoring every laugh every smile every second,
calling the names of the beautiful people in your life
and reminding them that they
are beautiful wonderful loved
and that they always always have you

perfect,
long lasting,
trustworthy,
best friends forever,
shared dreams,
loud laughs,
summer nights,
quiet moments of solitude

incomparable to anything else
and therefore impossible to confuse


I put the dictionary down
and realize that I have no
definite idea of where I am.

This could possibly be the
most amusing or the most
frightening thought
I've had in a while.
Nat Lipstadt Nov 2013
Road Trip: Thinking it's about time (find yourself within II)

This particular poem was born as a one line response to a message.  But in many other forms, half written, it exists still, un, unfinished, waiting for the next burst energy, the next holiday time, to reach a new finish line.

This is a different but similar to a poem posted on June 2nd, "Poetry Round (find your self within)"

Any error of omission is unintentional, but know that this took many hours, until fatigue won. If you never told or revealed to me your location, know that you will be called out, to and unto me, in another poem, called "your banner is my flag."


Fact about me:  You design me.
-------------------------------------------------------

th­inking it's about time for a road trip.

create an excuse
(reasons, I got a plenty)
to stop by,
to show you another side of me,
for a drink, a meal,
and some kind
of exchange, of
form and fluids,
manner to be determined.

to come to Minneapolis,
watch you create a heated sensuality,
verbally, from melted snowdrifts,
a hot time to be had
by all the poets
of the mini-apple,
I want to meet
and celebrate ann victory.

travel to Thiruvananthapuram,
tour the treasures
of gold and diamonds,
from whence come
the bejeweled poems,
that have earned visits from
thousands upon thousands,
pilgrims, devotees, followers,
to partake at that, his,
special temple.

Gomer, Gomer,  & MJJ,
I am in your Florida,
no, sorry, not in Ocala,
near to your homer,
and I feel you springer
ten times in the
November sun rays,
that have me locked
in a full Nelson,
your productivity,
endless,
a sea of orange sunburnt words,

Tennessee,
The Carolinas,
Georgia,
The South,

I rise with it,
now, again,
that I will need a slow
sunny all lazy summer long to
learn y'alls ways,
see the wolves,
in your forests,
helm the riverboats,
navigate the quaint tides
of Charleston,
the special places
where they heal, le ville,
where the ashes of
burnt children,
retuned to be whole.

learn y'alls ways,
walk in your boots,
of seeing poems
using your special
southern saber words.

missed the original
Thrilla-in-Manila,
but rest easy, assured,
that hotbed of creativity,
where I check the
PH of the mc waters
to comprehend its
wisdom and now, it's sadness,
will be an illustrious destination
on my itinerant itinerary,
stopping by Makati City,
after all,
it is writ in the good book,
this island,
the PhilippineS,
is the birthplace
of the letter S,
Samples: samson, sally,
and So many others?

in Nevada City,
which is of course in
krazy California,
wager philosophy, romance,
be available for
succinctly seeing
works in progress,
from which I
will imbibe,
so **** deeply,
may have to
stay awhile for...

while I am there,
will need to do
a search and
Hug Mission,
to find a special man,
his unkempt prose,
his mortal rhymes
disguise not his holy worth,
even to the grassy
cal-stratosphere,
to the mesosphere,
will I high fly,
to find his sweetest spot,
then and thereafter
going looking
further on to
Humboldt County.

in Leeds, in West Yorkshire,
(Hamphshirians, Northamptontonians,
patience please)
built foundries and factories
over the magical forest of Loidis,
near to the river Aire,
yet still hides a
magical sorceress of words,
casting spells over
men and beast.
no one has seen full
her half-turned away face,
but when she summons,
do I have a choix
other than obey?
even if I get lost,
my sorceress,
you know,
I am on way too.

to get there,
will fly I must,
to Heathrow hell,
will do it,
just for you,
faithful friend,
a man da gotta do, what
a man gotta do...for you,
but first a stop off at the
London School of Economics,
Hampstead as well,
for a tutorial about sonnets,
or sams in wells,
even if I come
in my bare feet.

even in New York Upstate,
a man da gotta do,
what he mulls over in his heart,
be not surprised at a knock upon
your door, to make comparative notes,
about each other's tattoos.

in the South African veld,
hid in the highland grasses,
crouches the poetesses and tigresses,
waiting to ambush you
with words that must be seen
to be heard, to be well understood.
perhaps I'll come at ester time,
under blue indigo skies over,
a golden landscape,
seizing all the gems
that can be seen
only at 3:00am

leeward,
north to Canada,
must I, transgress,
country of my momma's birth,
fly from Montreal to Toronto, Calgary
then over to Vancouver.
Canada,
a dangerous place for me,
cause there are beautiful
souls up there,
and maybe even a
warrant to
repossess mine,
they want their
poets back.

double down by ferry,
me to Seattle,
to see a man about river,
in the Pacific Northwest,
where I have happily
drowned so many times,
that The Lord is complaining,
am hogging all the baptismal waters,
but when reminded that
nothing lasts forever,
here tomorrow,
gone today, walk on,
I add my tears
to that river,
before hitting the road.

on that river,
gonna drive me a kayak,
down Daytonway,
on the Yamill River,
see a gyreene marine,
watching me do a beach landing,
in Willamette Wine Park.
he will teach me to salute,
I will teach him how to
shake hands,
and learn from him,
it's ok,
to stand down.

man o' man
there are a lots of poets,
in these here parts,
this grand
Pacific North West,
looking for one in particular,
who will be quite easy to spot,
as he is my very own
soul brother.

will be easy to find,
though we have never met,
he will be on his kayak,
I on mine,
tho when he paddles,
somehow he manages
to hold
never letting go
of, his lovely bride,
his best half's hands.

this will a problem,
for I must teach him how to
shake two handed souls,
while hugging and paddling,
even bailing,
with an old dented pail
simultaneous.
but you can teach old dogs
new tricks, even the ones,
that can't spell
rhymers.

have mercie on me Ohio,
like a mother has to her daughter,
done a three year sentence in Cleveland,
but no jail can hold an NYC boy,
but if requested, yes I will return
to set fire to the *
Cuyahoga,
again! he he he...
but do not s mock me!
(now you know why the FBI loves
my poetry, my biggest institutional fan).

souls in torment,
where you be,
where you hide,
matters not where
you physical reside,
for we have found
each other
in each other words.

You, who live in
your very own
personal hell,
I think we met there,
because
yours was
mine too,
tho not found
on any map.

maybe I will meet the
Empress Josephine Maria,
rowing on the canals of
the Netherlands,
no longer will she be
alone.

but then again, some
very special things,
like
the purest of love
are on no map,
they are everywhere.

while in India,
will seek the many musings of many lips
of aged rhyme men
and complicated charmers
so I may kiss them
with spiced humors
to pour and pour,
more and more,
upon this western soul,
mysteries of the east,
to Kashmir, Bangalore,
wherever I must,
even take a praDip in the Ganges,
I will go, find you,
un-hide you,
among the
teeming millions,
millions of
jokes and rhymes,
that make the
world spin brighter.

in Germany,
all the university students
speak English,
in Wiesbaden, they know
poetic beauty is not in the format,
some in Bamberg,
with a peculiar
Missouri accent,
which is nicht gut Englisch,
so study hard the real way,
speak the language
the new yorka way,
which will require
study abroad,
which is quite funny,
now that I think about it.

but in Mo.,
the native drums roll,
long and slow,
making words
I know
better, different,
in a way never saw before,
leaves me asking for,
mo', mo', please?

to get there, to Allemagne,
land of my forefathers,
a ship I will take,
from Southampton
across the Kiel Canal,
before I depart,
will have my hair cut,
my words reworked,
by her Ladyship,
whose keen eyes and
maternal instincts,
see the joy of life in every
Livvi little thing.

Watt am I going to do if
I need to find a Tecumseh,
taker of my naked poems,
and enlarger of them,
so truth by her,
all revealed,
we are all naked
at least,
twice a day?

In Nepal I will purr at the words
gleaned from the markets and
train stations where
voyages from Lalitpur to Katmandu,
start and end,
where there is a miracle almost
sixteen years young,
where they call their schools
future stars and little angels,
so why should poetic miracles not be
as common as its subtropical clime?

though I despise the
Dallas Cowboys,
not my  America's team,
nonetheless there is a young woman,
a true rose of Texas,
who waits and writes
so lovingly of her airman,
in Afghanistan, I have placed
their names first,
in my nighttime prayers,
hoping to be there,
schedule my visit,
to witness his safe return
and their
joyous reunification.

there are no Mayans in Maine,
but poets of similar name,
kould be, mae be,
Julia's in Jersey, new,
in Auckland,
there are poets
who don't know it,
and Down Under, too,
where getting high is easy,
getting high at
and on words
well marshaled ,
but **** sure I will be
peering and prring,
all the way.

Oregon,
don't be gone,
those wide eyes shut,
when I come by,
who knows when I
will pass this way again...
on my way to Phoenix,
where sunrayes bend to the
desires of dessert breezes.

Kentucky to Korea,
one long road to travel,
but middle son,
if you can do it,
so can I, and,
I will follow.

in a beautiful city,
unsurprisingly called
Belleville,
the leader of the band,
still leads us in belle 'noise'
and when he finishes
fall leafing us in song, he still,
rises up in the mid of dark,
prayerful haikus to write.

off to Rogers, Arkansas
to meet an Italian from Mexico
who specializes in skinny poems,
something one day I will be too.

maybe I will go to
places it snows,
there are so many,
but your photo,
and tattoo trail,
clues, will follow,
no matter how hard
you make it a mystery.

you, who live in just
the world,
don't even think,
that crazy dotted lines,
unstraight,
or huge plains,
are sufficient,
to hide your
moody dust trail
from me!

somewhere in the USA,
roses grow in ground
that needs the
watering of tears,
though this place
is hard to find,
ha, turn around,
that is me,
tapping you,
on the shoulder!

will find you,
as I am searching for
a lovely pair
of stockinged ankles,
each with a heart tattoo,
but I sure could use
a clue,
before this hobbit searches
all the shire,
derby hatted,
to find your
heart real, and the real you...

my mode of time travel?
why I am just
a dude on a rocket ship.

Wisconsin,
look for my ruby message
in the snow,
in the dust,
in the sand, the skies, the sea,
but will you answer me?

Pittsburgh,
patient, you've been,
you thought I forgot
all about you,
chimera  at the intersection
of three rivers,
all you need wonder,
upon which one
will my ship arrive
and why you still disbelieve
you are not a poetess!

ME oh my,
you too, a hidey hole got,
but, we are strange, we humans,
we would gladly bleed to please,
If we could but find
a combination of
new words that
would your heart gladden,
your eyes tear,
your lips wear,
a smile of pleasure
at our offerings poetic!
but still I know not,
the where!

Lagos,
where
I shall climb the tallest skyscraper,
calling out in Yoruba,
where is my Temitope?
where is mine,
worthy of thanksgiving
so I may carry my Popoola,
my pole of her of
written wealth?


Mombasa, Singapore,
Maryland, Rhode Island, Kentucky,
Huddersfield, Connecticut Joe, Ireland,
South Dakota,

where the merry elders
well ken somethings
about a moon and tattered clouds,
something about children and dogs,
and something about letting
tomorrow's wait.

Milwaukee, Atlanta,
chuck, in *PA.,
friend to all,
to all those scattered across these
United States of America.

can we dare not mention
"The Shaq" of Malaysia,
South Sudan, Pakistan,

of course not!

Suburbia,
beautiful, black San Diego, Detroit;

The BBB's -

British Columbia, Brazil, Breendonk, and
B'kara!
the goodness of *
Boston,
flipping out in Flipadelphia,

did you think I would forget ya?

those of you hiding among 64 stars,
the groves of L.A',
on the lanes,
the special land of I-sia-Bella,
fellow citizens of Neverland,
those of you 'at home,'
in the land of nightmares,
concrete boxes,
those who post without a doubt,
and in the box,
this who think your birth year
is an identifying mark, not,
you never fooled me,
will visit each and everyone.


even and especially,
the grays of crosstown
NYC,
the red writers of my hood,
the tylers too.

I am exhausted,
forgive me well,
if thy locale,
I did not explicate,
for the hour is very late.

yet thru subtle fissures
in the clouds,
look for a tired old man
on the wings of a
chariot drawn by angels,
bringing you a dictionary
full of new words,
a present for you,
but truly,
a present to himself
for from it,
your future poems
will come.

*but the sun has come up,
so now I sleep.
1.  What makes this poem special, if anything, is the trust and confidences we share with each other, that allowed me to perhaps catch just little bit something special of each of you, where I could.

2. Can anyone explain to me why the site labels this poem explicit?

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