"ethos" poems
There are fireworks
Everywhere.
Small & big reminders
Of everywhere we’ve been.
Above the rooftops, above our
Top lips, in tremendous fashion.
Spread far, your soul & mine.
I couldn’t imagine life
Without you.
Something out of the blue,
Loud & breathtaking.
How we’ve inspired each other
In quick rocket bursts.
If nothing else we’ve learned
That in a matter of minutes
It can all come to an end.
The way you kiss me &
The ethos of traveling souls
Finding a color to forever live in.
I’ve found a place, there are
Fireworks everywhere.
If nothing else, we’ve learned
That in a matter of minutes
it can all come to an end.
& when it does, I’ll race you
To the top & kiss you and
Every memory I have of you.
The cosmos of left over
Gunpowder & shredded paper
All combustible in our celebration.
With eyes closed,
& the sizzling palpitation of my heart.
Possibly the biggest reminder.
Whenever I see fireworks,
I think of you
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 11:11 AM UTC
I have this sobriquet,
some say,
of being a naughty poet.
But why should what’s there, underneath us,
be figuratively beneath us, and shouldn’t it
more frequently come between us?
That’s my ethos
about the penoth
and the clitoroth
and the propagation of the spethoth.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 7:37 AM UTC
Prescient, her essence
Casts a demure persuasion,
Endowed with verve and vision;
Concept to consummation,
The serenely possessed,
Creator, originator,
Allusion to the eternal azure,
Logos of abstraction,
Word and image collision.
Tonal palette of faith infused reason
Beauty and sublimity,
Serve to season
Verse, canvas and film,
Mediating aesthetic, seminal senses blossom,
Lyrical each permutation,
Seeds of vibrant chroma diffusing the mystical.
Visage and hair, her figure haunted
With perfection - a work of Art
Nurtured and lived invocation,
The canon of taste;
Crystal for the *****
Devotional fragrance ,
Holistic ethos, melodic invention,
Animated, pure -
The embodiment of redemption.
Transcending form, parenthetically
(Merely) the decorative,
Allure, artistry and symmetry
Superlative complexity,
Her erudition satiates, supplanting
Winds of constructive banality.
Purveyor of an uncommon savor,
She collaborates in the peculiar
Pursuit and reward,
Encounter with depth, explored,
Human and divine, prosaic meets sublime
Igniting within an Eros
Passion for truth, being and Telos.
Visionary of grace and peace
Transforming our earthbound dissonance;
Our caprice,
Hope and abundance, the myth of scarcity,
She narrates the Good.
Pen, lens, color and stage
Vulnerable, unrepressed, effusive
Romantic articulation,
The reservoir deep,
Innately primed conduit of Love.
Beyond plebeian, cosmetic, the trite
Woman of substance, pulchritude
And delight.
Effervescent - her smile exquisite,
Eclipsing suffering,
Wordless expression, understood language.
I am transported, my imagination replete,
Sonya Rose -
Art personified; unabridged, complete.
©2008 & 2013 W.S . Warner
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
The pierced ego sees
through an opaque lens;
a vestige of hope,
humor and
intellectual solidarity.
Effigies of forgotten ethos,
the culmination of a
fated dream;
unrequited ardor, abandons
identity to an irreducible
fervor,
subtext of tension,
enduring ****** privation;
etude of a paramour
ending torture,
tasting mystical polarity.
The wounded heart
once intruded,
bleeds effusive;
the ornament of humility.
Flattened collateral
damage,
primal search,
proves illusive;
portals of hurt, slivers
of pride,
assembled fragments of
thereness
absorb the loss
of my English muse.
Poetry and devotion
punctuated murmurs
of piety,
depth perception
virtue unfound;
expectation - access
to suffering;
disinterested love
present,
desultory carnage
of rescission,
absurdity personified;
euphemism
of adieu,
the sound of no sound.
The discarded image
finds no favor,
the salt lost it's savor
unquenched thirst;
desire of
diminished purview,
the saporus stream
deferred;
vision eclipsed;
saturated self
hidden in the text.
Poverty asks the
question,
absence summons
ethereal substance
merged into
the immanent frame;
integrating,
in solitude signifying,
mediating - logos
contested
the humiliation of
the word.
Lyrical enigma,
where did I go?
provisional
personality
scorned,
renouncing nostrums
of the prosaic,
surrenders to the
the realm interior
sovereignty
assumed in
provenience,
native
horizon of the next.
©2008 & 2011 W.S. Warner
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 6:11 PM UTC
The way we cry, and
if our cryings be heard,
the way they are attended to
will set the walk. The way we
are treated as toddlers, the way
punishment may be meted out,
will further the course. Kind-
nesses, magnanimity of spirit,
love--all will determine not only
the paths we are led down, but
also the paths we shall set for
ourselves and travel ourselves--
pathos, bathos, ethos--until
death deals an end to our
earthly peregrinations. These
spoors--the lives, the lanes,
the passages we shall be
traveling--will tell us, and
others, about who we are,
and were, and if we were
befriended ever by others,
and by ourselves.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 2:50 PM UTC
All our lives are we cultivated—
Cultivated by birth,
Cultivated by parents, friends, teachers—
By ethos—
which in turn cultivates the identities which we don—
In search of a self.
Cultivated by Earth—Irrigated by Love.
All so, to be purchased by Death—
A ripened Consumer.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 7:08 AM UTC
I see you from behind my close'd eyes.
O maelstrom tamed, you swirl in colors grand.
From up above gaze down the stars of man,
Those wise deciders, forgers of the skies,
Mechanics of desire need not rise.
Thine ethos shines a light across the land.
Your voice grants sight to eyes of sordid sand.
thine ballads tempt the burning Sun to rise.
You shake my soul as gales doth shake the trees.
O, quake my bones and shed thine holy rays.
To drown in gazes thine would be to breathe;
The waves flood hues in spotless worlds of gray.
up high you hold me, falling to my knees.
O bloom for me, as flowers bloom for May.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 11:00 AM UTC
The distance ever so touchable
Yet you're still far afield
The glimmering glitter in your blissful
Translucent almond irises
Waiting to deviate from them
Yet they have imprinted themselves
Now affiliated with my heart
Seeing your lips brimming brightly
Rejuvenating your flawless visage
Embodying my love
Not even half your beauty
Inwardly made you mine
Realistically destined for another
Drastic jaundiced waves
Crashing the shores of heartbreak
Sentiments
Thus the eminent work of
Patience
Silence
Benevolence
Enshrouds my blooming admiration
For you
Unfastening my feigned ethos
For you
I comprehend the significance of dignity and family
But my love
Ceaseless and eternal
But my love
Yours only
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 1:30 AM UTC
i given nothing
i abandoned
i adopted
i dropout
i garage
i Apple
i NeXT
i Pixar
i Apple
i pilfered i
i invented i
i produced i
i market i
i retail i
i am i
i am
i
i tech beauty
i consumer fetish
i whom you love
i sleekest widgets
i Toy Story
i Macintosh
i macbook
i Lisa
iTunes
iPod
iPhone
iPad
i more
i rebel
i genius
i visionary
i entrepreneur
i world changer
i exceptionalism
i capital market hero
i bigger then business
i cool capitalism
i myth
i "the man"
i worker
i employer
i boss
i thief
i savior
i billionaire
i venerated
i vanity
i Buddhist
i prophet
i redeemed
i 1 in 300 million
i America
i sing the pathos
i am the creed
i define the ethos
i Steve Jobs
i amassed riches
i accolade crowned
i ingratiate world
i virtue
i success
i creativity
i favored
i Midas
i bedeviled
i tested
i afflicted
i retire
i human
i mortal
i succumb
i eulogized
i leave legacy of i
i am an MBA case study
i employed workers
i peddled intrepid product cycles
i subject of amusing anecdotes
i am heroic corporate folklore
i grew pods full of music
i incite kids to thumb phones
i captivate consumer imagination
i built rock solid balance sheet
i erected toxic Chinese factories
i enriched investors
i am the cool corporate brand
i inspired a million unused i apps
i hipster capitalism
i imposed my will
i insisted
i am that i am
i cannot take it with me
i leave blue jeans
i leave NB sneakers
i leave black collarless shirt
i will be asked what
i did with the time
i was given?
i did the best i could
i played the hand dealt
i parlayed it into a royal flush
i filled it up with i
i ask why
i am no more?
i leave the world
i am no more
Godspeed Beloved
Steven Paul "Steve" Jobs
(February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011)
jbm
Oakland
10/6/11
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
You are witnessing a prodigious talent and promise, and to a lesser extent but still to the degree whereby it should keep you awake at night writhing in cold sweats, your life, slip agonisingly through your open and clammy palms. Promise means so little if not actualised. You have been granted chance after warning after fortuitous escape yet have blithely spurned every omen and will one day fall, swiftly and perhaps terminally. You are almost certainly depressed. You say you love your girlfriend, and you mean it wholeheartedly when you do, but you worry that the relationship perpetuates as without her there would be no reason to rise with the sun. Even if the relationship is unstable, and at times verging on the unhealthy, you believe you love her but are too great a coward to consider decisive action if that belief is to reside or subside. Your friends range from kind and honest yet deeply flawed to somehow toeing an inextricably thin line between dependability and duplicitousness. Conversations with a certain few of your friends necessitate decrying every undercooked ethos you've every conned yourself into believing you hold (you could well be the most hypocritical liberal to walk the earth, for you are innately and irrepressibly selfish) yet you still nod placidly as your conscience squirms. Grotesquely, like a beaten spouse, you crave the gaze of those who have treated you with the most insulting derision, but are too proud (of what?) and, a running theme, too cowardly, to stoop to a simple detante. You must change, for it pains you on a most base level to have to accept the feeble, whimpering, simpering spectre you have become. You must be bold, brave, unashamed in your convictions, anything but pursed and silent lips. You have a voice, and you must now speak loud enough for them to hear, for that which has become blunted must be whetted, sharpened, readied for battle to be unsheathed at an utterance. Heed the signs and change, for our sake. You, a milksop who attentively notes the sophistry of courage, you can still be brave, and you must be.
For one day you will be swelled with a courage and fortitude to fill your sails taut, enough to leave this place, forget these people and bear you away.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Conquering the world with fear & terror,
Were their techniques & tactics any good?
If they were genuinely powerful indeed,
Would they not show their might in persuasion?
Instilling a fear of death they would not have put efforts,
Did they not know that death is a bitter but compulsory truth of life?
And today the world is largely unaffected by violence,
Efforts are on to defeat death by peaceful means that involve Ethos & Pathos.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
The wisest of men adhere to but one policy:
That a word once spoken, is a word that shall long be echoed.
And that,silence, if made one's only legacy,
Would imbibe in them, more than just the ineffable ethos.
-The Silent Poet
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
we're all armed
with an appliance
of emancipation
we can nurture non-violent
defiance in a
non-compliant ethos of
antiauthoritarian self-reliance
we have the ability to eliminate the
vestiges of imperialism and
dominant dogmas that choke
and impede our creativity and shackle
our imagination to impotent ideologies
fragmented unrealities augmented
by fractures in our psyche
tendrils of theology that prey
upon our fear and exacerbate
conditioned responses that are
at once
unnatural and irrational
and lead
inexorably
to infantile expressions of
regression and fantasies of an
aggression rooted in the
suppression of dissent and
the oppression of dissidents
deities
as impotent
as our terror
of the unknown
by the promise of security and prosperity
a cabal of brutish thugs have erected an
imaginary hierarchy and demanded our
subservient obedience and reverence for
this malfeasant apparatus that leeches
our paychecks and robs all of our dignity
while somehow retaining the illusion of liberty
a delusion that festers like an open wound
a tumorous ulcer oozing foul fluid into our minds
blotting out our capacity for cultivating a
future divorced from misanthropy
so pour kerosene on this fluttering
flame of revolt before it sputters out
if we'd quit looking back and forth at
one another rotting in the gutters
checking to see if we have more to
our name than our sisters and our brothers
we might just muster the courage to overthrow
the vapid and misguided fictions that
divide and segregate us into pawns
trapped in this unending rat race
they've deemed the American Dream
harness the revolutionary tenacity
dormant in humanity's most important *****
infinite potential latent in every molecule
each neuron dancing across synaptic
gaps and fanning the embers of an engine
that gives motion to this evolutionary frame
the human brain is omnipotent
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
temples of time
coloring my hands
my apparatus for creation
of things seen in the mind's eye
catch what falls from the sky inside
juxtapose yourself for once
make yourself symmetrical
we are a continuity of memories
we are a one of many chains of events
my protons
my codons
copies
self similar
life creating life
an ever sprouting flower
and waiting on the next turn
is one more glimpse
at the great mystery
think large
you are spiraling towards
an event horizon
every end result of every action
will be held on the surface of a point of no return
what do you do?
with your
drop of a
drop of a
drop of a
drop of a
drop of a
drop of
time in an ocean?
well for starters learn to swim
then remember you're water
go towards the shadow of true beauty
an arrow of eros to guide your shine
light in the sky
catching an eye
eros in the wind
ethos in the mind
body aligned
i'm not confined
except the lack of ethos in my mind
and the lack of eros in my heart
and the lack of courage in my will
find it in everything around you.
As the mediums
between ideas and sensations
we have a responsibility
for that which the gods can only be objects of.
And we carry it like wishes on the wind
towards the point of no return
never forgotten,
never gone to begin with.
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
MEMO
FROM: Mr Phil Indifrence, Strategy Chess Insurgency Corps.
Space Headquarters, Castleview Avenue, Dunstable XY10
TO: Ms Petal Dontrun, Crimson Chess Federation.
De la Wigan Headquarters, Wigan, United Kingdom, SM00
Dear Ms Dontrun,
Please accept my greetings. I write to clarify my stance on our
outstanding matters and hopefully to deter further speculation,
gossips, rumours, distortions, misinformation and sensationalism by the media.
As you are aware I contacted you on the day as arranged only to
be confronted with a response that was astoundingly unethical, un-
professional, rude, inconsiderate and totally uncalled-for. It was
so below expected standard that it raised doubt about your suit-
ability to be seen as a matured adult much less an intelligent being.
Still in the reverberations of this seismic occurrence I called again in
the hope it was a momentary loss of composure and yet again I was
subjected to a deluxe version of the first onslaught. To say I was
flabbergasted is putting things mildly, most especially as it was
totally unwarranted and underserved. It was obvious you lacked
any sense of decorum and had become an affront to common human decency and an embarrassment to your status.
In all fairness you did call some weeks later, but it had become
apparent that the ethos, protocol and cordiality that my Organi-
sation works within may not be relevant to your Organisation,
hence my unavailability to your contact.
I write to primarily reiterate that my position on this matter and
the present status quo is not based on some immature Ego play,
stubbornness, power-play or pride, rather it's in all truthfulness it's a belief in upholding standards in ethical considerations. I do not believe that bad manners, ill-considered behaviour, ill-judgement and a lack of sensitivity and good grace are matured and progressive trends to interact cooperatively within.
In conclusion, this is my stance on this matter and I hope it helps
your understanding. I believe a formal Apology from you and your
Organisation is appropriate in this regard and will instigate a
return to cordiality between our Organisation.
If you however feel this is unnecessary I will respect your decision
and the situation will remain unresolved.
I thank you for your attention.
Regards,
Phil Indifrence. C.E.O.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
Incontinence of Pseudo-emotion has engulfed us from the 3rd grade.
It festered dormant for a little under a decade before it’s vessel popped.
A pore filled with ***** media which dehumanizes and objectives human beings
While making a spectacle and esteem of being promiscuous.
All that Dirt
Lathered in an oil of misdirection. A misunderstanding of affection, empathy and apathy.
Those who contrive the most emotion are perceived as actually possessing the most emotion.
Nothing can be farther from the truth.
This is the death of morality. A birth of Nihilism.
The miasma of the rotting corpse of ethos and emotional connection.
Is one that sits in the stomach and contracts illness not curable due to our understanding.
We have been taught that promiscuity will bring us happiness, and yet it is the most depressing.
Without understanding of that we are incurable from this ugly affliction.
Momentary bursts of relief chafe the most sensitive areas of our skin. Without treatment.
We will be encased in our handmade carapace which will indefinitely block us from emotion.
Luckily someone invented lotion, soft tissues, and silicone.
Mar 11, 2019
Mar 11, 2019 at 11:29 PM UTC
*“O thou invisible spirit of wine,
if thou hast no name to be known by,
let us call thee devil!”-William Shakespeare*
It's cold outside and colder in here
Under the surprising privacy
of a blaring crowd
I gleefully lose myself
Put on my pseudo-smile
and talk to my pseudo-friends.
Maybe even forget it.
Forget that I feel like a set of floating eyes
Forget that we're all mounds of flesh and hair
Forget
Forget you all
My eyes are brick walls and fence posts
And I am opening the gate to all in sight
I watch my ethos come crashing down
with every increasingly true glance
of yet another Siren.
Only under the blare and blur
of that frozen house
Could I have ever mistaken formality
(or the lack of)
for some sort of kindness or legitimacy.
I've nothing to say to you
but my mouth keeps moving
I've no joy to give to you
but my face keeps smiling
Curse the fate of the hidden one
destined to reveal himself
under most forgettable circumstances
I didn't remember much,
but let us be honest:
when the sun rises
(as it also does)
and your burning eyes long
for lost innocence and vitality
The air will pulse and the room will echo
but I will be gone:
and I'm taking your memory of me
as a parting gift.
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 3:32 PM UTC
Our Farmer is different
He wants to change how things have been done
To make our world kinder to the slaved millkers
Some say radical,even risky
Our Farmer wants change
He wants to be kinder to the cow
Just milk once a day
Let cow and calf stay together
Our Farmer is being kinder to his herd
Giving kudos
To his products
Come full circle make cheese again
Our Farmer can see the future
No milk for the processors
Just milk for calf little extra for cheese
Organic is the ethos
Our Farmer is making change
Making a Kinder world
We're produce is Kind
Animal welfare is high
Our farmer is being the kindness he wants to see in the world
KINDNESS Rules
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 2:42 AM UTC
Seasoned Love's silent discourse,
Dusk of the long distance,
Beneath the mantle of lament
The peak bloom, gnawing decay,
Obscure
The weight of favor;
Annealing fire, moulded by
Winds of duration
Unfastening the raw surf of sorrow.
Incipient caprice, theft of occlusion
Colored by common defiance,
Vile tremors of privation-
Native enclave,
The province of
Vacant, age-eaten elucidation.
The tangled weave, pathos and ethos
Vested
Interior acquisition,
Furrowed paths of countenance
Evincive and drawn,
Affinity found, inhabiting the palisades
Of Immersion.
A furtive glance harbors
The trained gaze whose
Immanent flame-
Emergent
Serous source,
Imbued piercing latency;
A taste of
The fountainhead.
Unprobed theater of the absolute.
Thin supple pith
Identity sealed in skin
Perambulator of meaning and
Lineaments of cure.
Bearing the image of ubiquity
Perceives in the other,
Immortality.
Sacramental Eros,
Subsumes the
Capacity to treasure.
©2013 W.S. Warner
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
Is this not prayer?
is this tool not the tool I hoped for? The pen
filled by the ever-flowing flowery ink
that re-news old knowns
left to ripen under bald and hoary heads
in stoney hearts softened by seventy years worth
of salty tears
and sad songs
"great was the number of them,
wombed ones all, who sang of the victory to be"
Miriam and Hannah, Deborah and Jael, who
retold those tales by the rivers of Babylon?
And who fueled the furnace seven times hotter,
to signal the unbelivable fourth.
being likend unto the son of god, though the
analogy seems
lacking evidence that the likeness can be reproved.
Look again.
This magi-tech converged from all the poetic,
pathetic
ethos of logo marks making proper
ification of a rythm's
un legit singin' in public,
on the corner, wit' Willie and the po'boys
beat me daddy six t' the bar---
Oh
--- those ethnic poundings on my skull,
--- send those feelings, urging, grow grow grow
--- 'til the roofs cain't hold hope in
then
hear come them ol' time thought cops,
wee gray dominees preparing dominoes for
one reason,
dominos are never stood to stand, but to fall
touching one, touching one, touching one
whisper, rest
the waiting is over, this is the time
to start all over.
Nov 24, 2019
Nov 24, 2019 at 11:37 AM UTC
I’d like to love again
Days gone by in a
Conceptual state of mind
Realism my best friend
And worst enemy
I’d like to love again
Evenings pass by in a
Manic state of mind
Memories a close treasure
And haunting burden
I’d like to love again
Years pass by in a
Callous state of mind
Ethos my arduous procurement
And grossly arduous to sustain
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
The soul reaps it's way,
Through turmoil and pain.
Branding it's essence ,
By the scars of life.
While the spirit runs free,
Naked in the land of oblivion.
Pure and serene;
Embraced in ethereal wisdom.
The embodiment of immortality,
Twinkles like wind chimes ;
Born from eternal sleep,
To the dawn of a new age.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
A conflict crippling beyond my will,
My mind, my own capacity,
Abating to the point of dread
A broken soul, now broken inanity
The words I can't resist to restate
Again and again and about
Can I have the will to keep it--
The meaning, now to saturate
I sit in my muddled state of disarray
Contemplating the worst--
Or perhaps,
Just honesty
I love my scattered, esoteric mind
I love to squirm as I think at night
Alone, I know, not just in presence
But in ethos, judgement, sense--all the rest,
Still who can help but want another
A mind to love for lonely days
Any mind vaguely the same, just wise
Who could think in ways of deep insight
Can both be given?
In my life of ungraciousness
My world of willful sorrow
My feeble ways of petty days
A weight held fast in the heart
That's what my conflict is made of.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
Who art thou but True
Sustenance n Ethos Infinitus
Who’d be less than a Fiery Sun
Radiance thou art One
Of Light of Love
Love Radiant in the Night
Of Great Blackness Her Love nor wanes
Or have need of waxing
For I long there be colors that my Mind shall Shine
No no why doubt because She washes imaginings
With every depth of Rushing Springs of Loving Colors
And every Breath Will for Another
For I was wayward
Penances of Hope a salvation upon the Mind
When Love seemed the un-Godly distance
Un-Earthed entombed
For Word, for Gesture Her Great Heartness
Will not know other
The Beingness of Love of Heart
In thy Here Now Home
Of Eternal Mother
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 9:32 PM UTC