"encrypting" poems
**** you and your little intelligentsia
group therapy sessions
basing its roots in caveman cartesian
theoretic - i know you know that
the blank canvas are the ********
and that artists work on that -
because normally grey citizens are no
blank canvas but a subordination -
but still, **** you, why not concentrate
on the blank economics of a beggar
to exercise your little intelligentsia
get-together sessions?
there are less social securities in that
department of inquiry -
mental health and art... what's that?
you jealous of the caverns of the mind
crafting an escape pod to your
****** exercise of mechanisation -
**** on me, crosswords! su doku!
all matters of encryption!
endear your lack of creativity with
the synonymousness act of creativity
decoding encryption,
because you obviously can't encrypt
on a complete lack of encoding parameters (blanks).
you can't encrypt originality unless
you start with encrypting nothingness
with stars... and how often does that happen?
perhaps once... i care to make you
feel something akin to bombastic,
a football stadium size of appreciation lost -
skull kickabout with commentary:
to create the post-relativity warp
of quantity-quality, akin to space-time,
for indeed the answer to science's
space-time hyphenated couplet
is quantity-quality - and that's hardly a measurable
consideration, since there are too many particulars
involved, i.e. too many individuals, choices
and disparaging wills - too many particulars
in the hyphenated couplet quantity-quality,
since science is offering universal breadcrumbs
with its space-time rationalisation
for each and every for a share in populating
an insignificance, whether on a personal
scale or an impersonal / collective scale -
and both are indeed expressed,
the famous parasitical comparison found
in too many numbered essays by individuals -
but still humanism has a quantity-quality parabola,
while science has its space-time parabola,
and indeed both in dip, provide waves,
for example the former with Plato and Neoplatonism,
and for example the latter with
the revisionists of Einstein - the revisionist excavators
arguing precision to 100% proof of measurement
in exponential scaling of the mind theorising
a bus trip to Saturn like a bus-trip parallel-akin
to a 1 mile trip on the same vehicle in the earthly atmosphere.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
Like a deeply buried and well hidden time capsule...
My mind preserves our memories
Each kiss is protected with the same
Delicacy and gentleness as the moment given.
The softness and tenderness of every touch
Remains un-withered and in it's purest condition.
My heart safeguards our Love
The innocence sealed in, it remains untouched
And untainted in this stronghold.
Shielded from days light, it goes uncorrupted
By the realities of this cold world.
My eyes give sanctuary to the secrets of our blended souls
Locking away passion and understanding
That was beyond the human realm.
Encrypting our story so that it is exclusively
For only us to know and tell.
My body is here, just as you left me
Keeping watch over these treasures
Concealing them from all who might discern
I am here, longing for you
And awaiting your return
©Tina Thompson 2012
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 10:14 PM UTC
The automaton
Encrypting a nation
Heaven
Hell
Gods
And devils
A bio-mechanical equation
Living in circuits
Under pavement
Enslavement
In eternity
We
Are the angels
The demons
The adamant
The legion
Cursing from bended knee
In the triviality
Of truth
Are we
Not to be
Anything
But seen
Between the seams
Of perceived reality
Feeding
Off children's dreams
Breeding the themes
Into memes
And scattering
the practicality
Amongst
The capacitors
Magnifying
our hurt
Synthesizing
The whispers
Into blurts
For the world to hear
Not my words
My word
Wordless in itself
Silent as the film
Serenading
The filth
With the music of my youth
Leaking doubt
from the roof
Rerouting the abuse
Rescinding the ruse
And rebooting
With the other
7 billion fools
Aloof
As toothless mutes
Sparking mutiny
Amongst troops
Pursued by armadas
Of savage sonatas
Of cleaners
Meaning to
demean us
In the cleavers
That be-heave us
Or our humanity
Self created
In the slated
Boxes to think in
To tinker
Is sin
Repeat
and again
Condemn
The denser
To death
In breathless
Conviction
To the addiction
Onset
In step
To rest
My head
On the *******
Of your disbelief
I'm still asleep
Counting the sheep
Counting the creeps
My sub routines
Obsolete
In a sea of snakes
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
*pyramid, is that short of pencil-sharpener, an unmovable object, a Nevada experiment... (prolonged pause, also intended for a humidity of the questioning affect). quiet frankly you're making us look quiet silly give the mammalian status of sapiens; fuck's sake, Pythagoras spent a whole eternity contemplating a hypotenuse looking at the chiselled mountains of Giza - reputation wise you give monkeys a bad slogan - i.e. we evolved, evolved to build a temple of perpetual death: each slab housed the body of a labourer, and inside we just found a lot of poisonous powder ruminating to find the only basis for encrypting the whole affair, metaphysical borders, metaphysical by which i mean, due to Egyptology we have the museum-state that's Egypt, and the real life assertions without mint-condition comic book cults of mausoleum-states, known as Libya, Sudan and Israel; on that basis, a chicken and egg question, within etymological parameters, what came first, museum or mausoleum? see, history can be a Tchaikovsky affair, given etymology a dense shortening - a solid, rather than a **** when it comes to nationhood and patriotism and adherence to.*
a U.F.O. could have landed and we'd still
be printing dollars bills and admiring
that **** montem*, seriously, bring out
a pencil sharpener, we need to revise Mont Blanc,
more like Mont Bonkers - a white kite hey hey **
**** retardo* and a *** and
a singalong that Napoleon never spotted:
the Ramones with pet cemetary - that's how it's
in Englanf (no speel or spelling mistake,
impromptu arcadia, banishing the surds stemming
from Hay, or a needle in the stack),
a tombstone for each house what would have been,
the riddle of life with the priority of death
having seconds - the nørden of Newcastle will know,
that the soofern fairies are all Arab or Tsar pawnbrokers
or transvestites (as they respected Kenneth Rexroth,
but Proust incubated in only two volumes
just ain't for me).
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:46 AM UTC
I am not a writer, I am just trying not to fall in love.
So I write the words that will bleed out your name and hope it would be enough to silence the echo of your voice inside the cracks of my chest.
I am not a writer, but I want to remember.
So I write about the day I met you, forever encrypting the numbers in my mind. Repeated in whispers inside my head.
I am not a writer, but I want to understand.
So I write about your expressions, how rarely they come and go. I write about your ghosts, hoping she would haunt you no more.
I am not a writer, but you make me want to be.
So I write about you, and it is the saddest story you will (n)ever read.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 11:10 AM UTC
Making kisses like
faint dog barks outside
my house at night,
I can feel their might
in my gums,
Maybe I’ll stick a pouch
in between my cheek and lip
and instead of tobacco
it’ll be filled with words
and it’ll be filled with you,
Brown leather grasshoppers
jump in your irises
and chirp when you nibble my ear,
A purple lipstick necklace
fell onto your collar bones
from my tongue,
Little white petals jump
from your fingertips
into my mouth (very quietly)
when you place your thumb
on my lower lip,
And you brush pollen
off my skin with your
dark dark hair
which gets caught
between my lips,
Between my lips
are your lips
and your tongue
young tongue
time bomb in my mouth
deep dark and heavy
black and melting
itself onto my stomach
Egyptian inscription
encrypting on old skin,
I say old because
no cap covered my
invisible freckles,
sun scars,
if you stare hard enough at nothing,
nothing becomes stars,
if you have everything,
blow it away like dandelion seeds;
soft caresses,
back onto someone else's pale cheek
draw a map of a forest
on your back while I
hold a pen in my mouth
and deep throat more ink,
You be paper for me
and let me think while we lie
and still we lie
and we lie very still.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
I've wanted to tell you for the past couple months I've been watching from afar
and your case my dear is quiet unsettling,
you see the simplicity of it is quiet unnerving.
You sit and you pry
You dine and you lie
to make it past another day.
Lead astray
by a fallacy preconceived in the womb
an encrypting tomb.
I've watched from afar as its slowly been sealing.
The means by which you're "dealing"
with the entropy of a reawakened life.
It's a combination of love and hate,
one of which no drug dare sedate.
Though some will tease
with attempts to please,
the hole that's there will never again be fulfilled
as the bearer will forever be left to rebuild
And I'll watch from afar as your life lies in ruins.
Only to see it begin
again and again, and again and again.
The monotony
of ******
of melancholy
of treachery
of the solitary
confines that have bound you here,
that hold you dear,
and whisper in your ear at night.
"It'll be alright."
These were the last words that I remember.
Before the stutter.
Before the games of a wretches confines
it's benign.
It's benign, and I will not here further dispute
this fact as I watch from afar, mute.
When will it feel like this never began?
Tell me, Oh tell me, my dear sweet Anne.
May 10, 2010
May 10, 2010 at 8:23 AM UTC
Sick of waiting for a truth I’ll have to find.
Eating from the inside.
Only your heartbeat calls back to me.
Rustling through the wind
Chanting to the beat of the drum
Calling me
Entrancing me
Entrapping my entirety.
So sick of all the wasted days
Ive used in angst to hear your name
A look at life through a simple lense
Something to which I do not contend
A simple agreement, accepted by fate
A burrowing shadow,
Encrypting my soul
Elating control
Until I’m no more.
At a loss of words
But submerged in pools of throughts
Spewing words up stream
All astray,
so complex yet so far away
Yet connected through time
In such a simple way
My life is but a silly rhyme
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
Underlining the main point.
Striking words to a page.
It's troublesome when,
One has no rage.
The trouble with poetry is,
One with stanzas united.
Going in rhythm,
With the sound of a heart beat.
Beating down the rhythm,
Of a Skull's drum.
The trouble with poetry is,
One life corrupt,
In a demise.
When the sword strikes stone,
Igniting a fire.
One heart, One soul,
Encrypting each poem.
It's troublesome,
When one has no soul.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Winding fingers,
Weave the thread,
That wrap me so comfortably in my fears,
Embracing.
Mould my mind,
Shamelessly encrypting my thoughts, Through and through.
Grown to shapen my impersonality,
Both for my lack there of,
And my tenancy for the impersonal.
Yet how,
Should be such a bond to my pains,
An Introspective perfection,
Or am I?
Or is that just my guise,
Impersonality guide my imperfection,
Interspective shapes my imperception.
Impossibilities in my inevitabilities.
I am.
Imperfection.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 1:24 AM UTC
I have a question burning:
. . . . What's the point of living?
My heart is pounding
I'm heavy breathing
My blood is boiling
My face is melting
My hair is pulling
My skin is itching
My nails are hurting
My eyes are clouding
My mouth is drying
My mind is waning
My voice is wailing
My hands are cracking
My stomach is churning
My strength is failing
My care is mortifying
My existence is joking
My work is freezing
My delusions are multiplying
My thoughts are racing
My life is dying
My hopes are groaning
My dreams are poaching
My will power is cooking
My mind's eye is glossing
My mood's-a-changing
No cylinders are firing
My desire is diving
The cycle is beginning
My peace is nuking
Beauty is crumbling
Life's code is encrypting
. . . . No key for decrypting
The way out is blinding
And I'm feeling
. . . . The top of the ceiling
. . . . No more flooring
. . . . Left falling, none for catching
I'm wasting
I'm choking
I'm running
The demons are searching
Me they're consuming
Me they're chewing
Me they're spitting
Me they're crushing
. . . . Causing
. . . . A raining
. . . . Hellfire reckoning
They want me deadening
Me they're taunting
Poking me, torturing
My debt not paying
. . . . It's me they're charging
No recourse, left standing
Consciousness is maddening
My enemies looming
. . . . Gleaning my soul, they're feeding
They're biting
I'm left crying
Hope is fleeting
Friends are fleeing
. . . . This nutcase entertaining
I'm stopping
Left looking
No one is caring
. . . . To grace my being
They see me fading
Cast into the void, they're jeering
Strangers are laughing
There's more I could be saying
But I'm still left wondering:
. . . . What's the point of living?
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 4:53 AM UTC
~Godless Souls~
The World is full of Sou-less Godless lives
Seeking happiness in Money, Woman, Drugs or ***
Filling a void that is infill-able without Christ
The Internet a Micro Metropolis full of billions of ideals people and technologies
and information at our fingertips
We live in a society that is strapped and imprisoned with a cell phone, computer or game system...
Controlling our brain waves and encrypting viruses that are slowly killing us making us mindless drones
We as humans don't talk to each other face to face no more...as if that face to face interaction has died or is out of style
The Internet cyber profiling everyone the social media giants care to keep u trapped in a cybernetic cell and that is all Adults young or old Woman and Child
Enslaving the society living in a Robotic Society
Just remember the Serpent was the Master Inventor of the World Wide Web
So it can slowly feed of your desires
And systematically implementing neuronal pathways that make you use electronics constantly impulsively
Keeping you immersed in the cybernetic world seeking approval from your peers just for you to find out that all they care about is the likes the shares and the comments all the bull **** the social media feeds you telling you is important when is really insignificant.
We live in a cybernetic society everyone stuck watching a lifeless device robbing all your joy and time. No more reality just the reality that sits behind a mirrored screen no more true Artists no more books to capture your imagination no more paintings or epic poetry no more nothing just people worried about the next Internet trend the next new cellphone the new gaming system the new smart TV the new gadgets to occupy your mind and soul with endless bull **** and take your time minute by minute. **** occupy your mind reading an interesting book or creating a new poem or painting or do a blog online use technology for your advantage to let the masses know the truth expose it to them so we don't live in a blind society full of deceit and worthlessness. God bless you Thank you for reading. Jesus is Lord Forever!!!
Aug 12, 2019
Aug 12, 2019 at 11:45 AM UTC
it's a faint scent that always
carries me back.
i see only a glowing blue,
a blue spark given to me by you
subtly catching tired eyes,
gently whispered lullabies,
singing, twisting, encrypting
everything i say.
nevermind, that my dear
it's really hard to stay clear.
i'm floating in and out of memories.
dreams stolen by lonely company.
it's okay though,
perhaps they need them more than i do.
it's fall again.
eyes in full swing business
orange, fiery chaos.
breathe deep. cool and fresh,
October air.
how can i tell you,
when my chest is a dusty,
ill ridden fissure.
hollow, empty
echos.
echos.
walls painted with unbelievable
smiles
depression compression within these dark places.
is it too late to call your name?
im back now.
tattered and worn
open book, tired of language
Sleepy eyes, close themselves.
Should I compromise?
Maybe just let it happen..
meek, but never weak.
goodnight, good night.
music interjects.
a perfect time to start over
cool and fresh.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 9:16 PM UTC
I spoke, as the words left my lips I choked.
I was drowning in my own tears
trying to keep myself afloat by telling myself to swim
but it somehow wasn't enough.
Engulfed in the flames
I had lit myself on fire just to keep this passion burning
but the flicker in the night and the sparkle in my eye
has burned out once again-
so I realize loneliness is my only friend.
I spoke, choking on the words my lips built for me
that my mind didn't have the strength to formulate
all I kept saying was no, and I couldn't breathe anymore.
My palms became like a statue-
a monument of the tragedy I had faced.
Built of stone like my current demeanor.
I spoke for the first time since you took away my voice.
Messages on Facebook encrypting sinister undertone
crawled their way into my skin and latched onto my cerebrum
and all I saw was gray, there was no black and white anymore-
the cortex turned into a vortex and my mind spun facts into theories
truth into fiction and I began to wonder if anyone would listen.
But my mother held a stone face-
though my hands were stone cold and my face sheet white
she held me like I was the only piece of artwork that ever mattered.
So I spoke, let the tears drip from my face
like I was washing away my mistakes
and everything I never had the guts to say.
The words slipped from my lips like black ice on a winter day-
the kind you stay home from school for
it was the kind of cold you never left your house for.
As I told my mother how the man who stole my voice
stole my innocence as well, she wept.
The days all started to blend together again
and once the secret I had been hiding was finally free
I wasn't sure I was worth keeping anymore.
My mother's face turned cold-
and it hasn't felt the heat since..
Soon enough we both clung to the fire in our hearts-
too passionate to let it burn out or fade away.
Though I've still been swimming in the deep end
I don't feel as if I'm drowning much anymore.
These days have become watercolors
and these nights alone have become acrylics
so I guess, I am a masterpiece
even if inside there's some tragedy.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
in storms windows need protection
glass darkness with an inadequate
deflection of weather. everything blurs
in a foggy mirror & the steam only gradually
dissipates. a sheen clean from
distractions. seeking answers
spoken in a different tongue.
the vanity displays a book of words
unfamiliar. Asian scripts.
Hieroglyphics of faded pictures.
a dog eared page with a code
a logarithm missing
essential sections
when the sun beats down
& glare changes focus
eyes turn deadly
they misread the script
a waterfall of assumptions
flows from globes as if earth dehydrated
to crack skin
seeping truth through
when it needs encrypting
the hacker battle
mistakes an error message
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 5:11 AM UTC
They said there was light at the end of the tunnel
their light was a different kind than mine.
The light was encrypting my brain and
smothering me with confusion.
It veraciously paved the way into my heart,
to tease me with happiness.
until i realized
that i was my own light
burrowing deep within the abyss of myself
and shining through the edges of my self-destruction
<3
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC
My thoughts.
So dark
They can’t be sought.
Little whispers
Cloud my head.
Triggers straight to my head.
Encrypting
Their teachings
Into my mind.
And I,
Now fallen,
Subjected to lies.
Feb 28, 2024
Feb 28, 2024 at 5:32 PM UTC
one word...
no crossword clue,
nothing cryptic,
or encrypting...
one word...
and it works both ways...
i.e. how diacritics works
to measure syllables...
or... in the least...
measure them out...
Hy'perion
version (a)....
verion (b)?
Hýperion...
**** it,
we can have punctuation marks
reigning from above:
intra-verbum
rather than the casually,
almost forgotter,
inter-verbum...
so...
next time i misuse a semi-colon...
tell me...
it's called a cascade point...
exclusive to the English
language...
first comes the hinde syllable...
and then? the subsequent
syllables, notably two...
but perhaps more,
although i haven't observed
a +2 examples...
but we'll start here...
and where we start?
the hinge syllable...
in this case -
Hý
or Hy'...
the door is hinged...
the door-knob is tugged (-per-)
and then...
the door is opened (-ion)...
simple!
just because some people are semi-literate,
doesn't mean we can't be
hyper-literate.
p.s.
mind you... ha ha... funny thing
about English, as a language...
how did the hidden
affix -igh become involved in
the synonym "distinctions" debate?
now you can say it...
smart ************
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 11:07 AM UTC