"discoursed" poems
in remote valleys and hills
and in the forests
where we scavenged
we knew not what we looked for
and what we wanted;
we talked long in open grounds
and discoursed under the trees
and in the night skies
and wondered what the breeze
and the winds spoke of
and what was written on the lakes;
and then we said:
*'we have found nothing in these;
let us try
civilization;'*
and so we wander in cities now
and we look for entertainment
and we consume and fight
with boredom
with fat and restaurants
and centers to make us well-presented
and we say
in the height of our city wisdom:
*'Let us have our revenge on the
country and the remote valleys
and hills and the deep forests
Let us lay them bare
and eat them from this distance
while we are safe in our cities’*
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 1:26 AM UTC
in remote valleys and hills
and in the forests
where we scavenged
we knew not what we looked for
and what we wanted;
we talked long in open grounds
and discoursed under the trees
and in the night skies
and wondered what the breeze
and the winds spoke of
and what was written on the lakes;
and then we said:
'we have found nothing in these;
let us try
civilization;'
and so we wander in cities now
and we look for entertainment
and we consume and fight
with boredom
with fat and restaurants
and centers to make us well-presented
and we say
in the height of our city wisdom:
'Let us have our revenge on the
country and the remote valleys
and hills and the deep forests
Let us lay them bare
and eat them from this distance
while we are safe in our cities’
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 6:59 PM UTC
The miscreant carried a bushel of poisoned apples
And gave the out to anyone who thought themselves a good judge of character
He exasperates the attentive ones who suffer from a hand to mouth problem
He discoursed immensely on the subject of turmeric and thickened plots
The deathbed confessor's ghost implored the miscreant to cease his doings
And focus on a productive form and function
Preposterous as it sounds, this paranormal plea was second to none
For as soon as the spirit appeared the miscreant was filled with fear and immediately knocked off all his wayward ways
The miscreant became the lapdog for an elderly man who dispensed to him far out wisdom
Using his silver tongue
He told him of his days as an escaped chain gang convict
Running across the country
Pilfering pies from unsuspecting windowsills
"It was wrong!" the old man said while hitting the miscreant with a newspaper for 1911
"Now, fetch me some lunch"
"Bring me one of those apples, and one for yourself"
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
Show me the forbidden petals of your dark side, where enlightenment pulsates with her superior intellectual reliance upon rationalism.
What are the parameters of absolutism and relativism in this age, where I have discoursed with austere figures of the debased brotherhood?
Can you wrap your fingers around the girth of societal modernity, and stroke the length of paradoxical sophistication where philosophical death displays her unfathomable depths?
I have found resolution to this mathematical perplexity amidst our blatantly secret desert storm, where the cosmological clock ceases to denote her tick beyond the circumference of our interior sociology.
Looking back to the future – what do you think of your first love?
As we gather in the sacred circle around ancient and dreamy wishes, the spectres of dark forests are worthy of homage on this calendar season of historical significance.
Limp, is the phallus of political rectitude.
There is something beautifully menacing about the sound of bass drums, especially whenever there is a cultural context.
Do you know why? Because, they are connected to the melody and harmony, where the fullness of ontology is climactic in its lofty debasement.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
The immaculate Dalai of Lama
was revered as a modern Gautama.
While he discoursed, with mirth
upon karmic rebirth
he reminded us all of his mama.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 8:28 PM UTC
~~~
"all poetry is confessional, whether written in the first person or not. If nothing else, it is a homing device to our souls, telling any who read where we stand, what we see from our perspective and our poet's eye. When enough of us speak of what we perceive,
perhaps someday we'll understand that the tree, the snake, and the rope are indeed an elephant."
Joel Frye
perhaps
the essential modifier of our lives,
or as one of the greatest philosopher reprised,
Professor Alfred E. Doolittle,
"Oh, you can walk the straight and narrow;
But with a little bit of luck,
(perhaps)
you'll run amuck!"^
this thence,
one more mine true
confession,
so many discoursed, cursed
have seen the
roped wrapped tree
firmly snaking around its cored trunk,
issuing forced strangling sounds,
the musical product of its own
umbilical chord
still and yet,
the jungled elephants,
from my visionary,
remain ghostly hidden,
stolid solid doesn't not comport with the
hallucinogenic jive of running
amuck!
limitations shun my expectations,
abilities misrule hide my
hoped-for-destination of hopes,
my elephants,
still and yet,
elude the grasp of exhausted roving eyes
undeterred and reaffirmed,
until and then,
when the elephants come to me
on bended knee,
can understanding be
perhaps
pronounced,
as being blessed with best satisfaction,
with the finest of
illuminating,
most-happy-fella,
well known,
elephantine-humantine-pink
combine
phrases
A Happy Ending
After All
^My Fair Lady - With A Little Bit O' Luck Lyrics
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 5:20 PM UTC
Last night
my eyes
discoursed in Reality
welcomed Insanity
Love
said to me
“I see you.
trivial indifferences.
running rampant.
close hearted.
frozen.”
Frightened eyes rose
but not to Love
and Love
said to me
“There is nothing
that I am not.
Now
be silent”
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
for Pablo Neruda
In your poems
the sun sang
yellow invitations,
eagles swam
in lilac ink,
butterflies discoursed
on desire,
the moon
whispered white
mysteries.
Your syllables said:
these are my arms, Lady,
lose that silky frock
and come into them.
My love feeds
on your love,
Love.
My lips
are for you.
You are mine;
I am yours.
We stand here,
the briefest moment;
let us stand together,
naked in eternity.
Dare to embrace this,
you murmured,
for it is all
the world can offer.
Eyelids fluttered out
ardent yeses;
sighs replied;
fingers danced;
many dresses
glided to the floor
with tiny gasps
of imagined pleasure.
Flesh and spirit
conjoined.
What woman,
could resist
the implacable sweetness
of your songs?
What woman,
having a heart
to hear,
would want to try?
- mce
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
Dust of dawn, red of sun
Hell bent on losses winning
On chances.
I am the discoursed wind flowimg
Like waters edge
Over lost eyes and questions
Remain,
Silence happens
And laced within the legend
Of never was.
Why didnt I?
Haunted happens too.
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 2:59 AM UTC
PART I
Mythical creatures
White-tufted
Branch-antlered or unicorn-horned
Drove back the guilt-fortress
A clearing of Open
Forbade my translucent
Excuse
Where we might have
Pointed
And Counter-Pointed
Government sycophants
Or social-discoursed
Impending collapse
Instead I pointed out this silhouette
Finger-tracing curves
And feathered jags of edge
Reading glasses emphasized my Now
With Immediacy
And somewhere at the root
Tightly packed cells of potential
Honesty
Sealed by long-intended Inertia
Stirred
Vibrated
Demanded
You, with a watchful patience
Circus-intrigued
PART II
At close, the clock struck
A gong of True
You returned
To
Your Wife
I venture
Back on the path
Of routine
Groping a functional Reset
Possessed of magic/potential
Or a vintage matchstick
For the dread-moment
When the fuse of Annihilate
Presents like a slate
Wiped clean
I carry only a solace
Potentiated by the grace
Of your listen
The healing salve
Coating the grit
Of my Askew
Leading
With time
To opalescence
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC
I saw a man earlier,
His sun seems to be brighter.
I saw a man earlier,
His sun seems to be bitter.
As I walk past these corridors
I saw one man without any remorse.
As I walk my way home,
I saw one king giving up his throne.
I talked to the splendor of miss half moon,
She told me that everything is completely out of tune.
I conversed with the exuberance of younger new moon,
She said that this will all end soon.
The old, mighty, former king discoursed something.
It is simply about nothing, but it tackles almost everything.
I found myself in front of a thing they call mirror.
Thinking on how to escape this inevitable terror.
In a pew, I sat down and thought of my crown.
Alas! I cant flaw my frown, with few tears I saw myself drown.
Aspirations became bubbles, popped and filled with troubles.
Fantasy became fantasy along with my former reality.
I saw a man so priestly, sent by the divine entity.
"I can sense a bit of despair, my son." said the man.
"It is something irreparable." there i cried, then i ran.
The former king wandered, his thoughts ridiculously shuffled.
He was out of his mind when he found his self on a cliff.
His mind can't just overcome his lost and his acquired grief.
He renounced everything, including his belief,
Then there he jumped, half-witty, half crazy, off the infamous cliff.
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 1:35 AM UTC
In silt from melted
Ice age laid
Young molluscs
And single cells
Wait until
Today
Sudden bubbles
Surface on
Discoursed
River
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 3:57 AM UTC