"expounded" poems
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say?
‘A posteriori’ leads the way
For the extra and the ordinary
Axiomatic sway,
In the gravity of corollary,
‘A priori’ interplay
Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation,
As the innocence of dissonance delay.
Practicing semantic contemplation,
In willfully prevenient interpolation,
Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray,
Forecasts in vague extrapolation
Contrasts the millennial contagion
Already underway,
Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves,
To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves,
A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves,
Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves,
Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves,
A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves.
The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates,
An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states,
Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates.
Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates,
Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates,
Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates.
An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion,
Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion,
The personable recluse fighting an illusion
Breaking down the nuances of every institution.
Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity
Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility,
An opinionated adversary,
to the realist without evidence,
Theorizing in futility,
Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community.
Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified,
Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified,
Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide,
Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide,
Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified.
Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity,
As consequential regiments are expounded universally,
To unstratify the residents indiscriminately
And identify quantum elements spiritualistically,
Changing collective behavior individually,
Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Ikkyu dropped
his Grand Master’s teacup -
the cup broke into pieces
And Ikkyu’s jaws dropped
*Would the Grand Master now break
a thing or two of Ikkyu’s body parts?*
“O Master,” says Ikkyu
when the Grand Master arrives
*“I am contemplating Death;
please enlighten me on Death”*
“All things pass, O Ikkyu,”
answers the Grand Master
*“Death is inevitable
And only the foolish mourn
or are swayed by emotion –
the wise know
Death is in the nature of all things”*
“Indeed, O Wise Master,” replies Ikkyu
*“It is no wonder then that your teacup
passed away today, as you can see here -
and you, O Grand Master,
have most wisely expounded on this grave matter”*
The Grand Master loses his Grand look
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
the teacher
expounded on the value of the tree
*“Isaac Newtown
discovered the law of gravity
under an apple tree;
the Buddha gained nirvana
seated under the Bodhi tree
Children -
what can we extrapolate from this?”*
“It’s obvious, teacher,” said a smarty-pants kid
*“class is useless -
for if they’d been seated in a class like us
they’d have remained ignorant”*
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 7:12 AM UTC
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
Water's running down my face, no, tears, their salt is melting into my very bones as I stare at the phone and listen to it, ring, ring, ring...
My caterpillar has finally turned into the beautiful butterfly I believed I dreamed of, only to find myself rejecting him now at every turn. His Grace has grown up, and realized his riddles and rudeness are not the love I deserve, not the one I want, not anymore.
Wonderland has changed, too. It has expounded upon itself, growing larger with newer faces, faces I'm growing to love and cherish more than old.
In the whispering hours of Wonderland, a New Frabjous Face takes my hand and tell me to run with him, and I do. We run and dance and even when the rain is pouring he is still holding my hands and my face and telling me to run and breathe and live so beautifully.
My caterpillar never held my hand in the rain, he always disappeared into the clouds with his booming voice, judging and screaming about his own struggles while I was drowning in mine. Wonderland tends to flood.
Forecast for now though is sunlight with a slight overcast of whimsy.
After the New Frabjous Face, I feel more comfortable in the rain. Maybe it is apart of me, especially since I always beg to go dancing in the rain. Maybe I knew all along the rain was the key to Wonderland.
Caterpillar would be glad to hear I've been forgetting my magical little pills, no safety is swirling through my veins. He always judged me for using them, though he insisted it was my choice. My choice that he disapproved of.
New Frabjous Face and other new friends are new to me, but they makes me feel alive again, like maybe Wonderland can be a happy place again, like maybe the Jabberwocky can learn its place once more.
Ring, ring, ring...
And as the night goes on, I turn away the phone and let it ring, for it doesn't own my heart anymore.
I do.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC
*Since we last met
We have learned a lot
We are educated now
We are knowledgeable more
We have developed virtues
we have morals & ethics
We are immersed in work culture
Now we meet again
We have sailed a part of life
expounded on the boats of those
virtues, ethics and morals
And see, there is this breeze
There is something in the air
We understand that
Is it the same wave of LOVE...
That struck us when we were teen-lovers?
And in its eventide
Tumbles our boat
And Washed away we see...
our virtues, morals & ethics
In the ebb & tide of LOE
All that knowledge we banked on
That paid us our living debt to
Earn an livelihood
And security for us to live
for our future savings
All we saw swept away
In the ebb & tide of LOVE
This is the LOVE
I am talking about
This is the LOVE
The same LOVE
We went in search for
Sailing on the same boat
With equipments of knowledge
Virtues, ethics and morals
And now When we've found LOVE
It has asked us for the sacrifice
Everything that we've acquired till now
Knowledge, virtues, ethics and morals
So be it
SO BE IT!
We held each other's hand,
And
The hand of LOVE
And let go...
Everything we owed
To the ocean of LOVE*
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
*Sonnet is love
sonnet is rhyme'
metaphorical pattern dove
so much sublime....
Popular with poets new
the Elizabethans too
their mistresses so few
used it to woo.....
John Donne, his life
catching the spirit of the Jacobean age
his need to express his love for his wife,
Anne, backstage......
Expression of religious passion
and simply reflections of death
The Victorians fashion
and so many more breath.....
Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
the Rossettis, so blue
and George Meredith were around
were so new.....
American poets noted
Longfellow, expounded
E. A. Robinson, devoted
Elinor Wylie, and Edna St. Vincent Millay, astounded....
Sonnets make us sing
makes us laugh
cry with saving grace brings
universal themes of love mon behalf.....
Keep writing those sonnets
all you wonderful and many more
poets, keep wearing your bonnets
that we all adore...*
Debbie
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 1:26 PM UTC
Allure
Beauty from the sultriest with even steady glow exquisite soft lines is perfected in the creature
Dreams are resonant the eyes smolder all tender entry viewed from lips of lushness
Crowned with hair beyond mortal texture it perfectly accentuates loving doll quality’s full mixture
The promise held forth borders crossed unable to envision your dumb all filled with doubt as she pouts
The soul engages as the eyes flame and burn with passion the heart beats with hard thumps
Heavenly body formed from flesh in its force you reel emotional exhilaration extends to enthrallment
Hands touch the visible world seems altered the blood seems to halt its flowing the mind *******
Reconsider the alignment of the stars surly you have passed them in the silver moons glowing stream
The exotic has burst forth on a common stage all has juxtaposed the delirium takes free course
The dance now begun the coupled whirl started here ends among the marveling distant clouds
Enchantment has found its boundless geography it not on any maps it’s truly the heart at it’s source
Governed never the reins to this wild and free spirit has never been made that would be injustice
Has loveliness limits are the galaxies measurable how can they when their ever growing and bestowing
Featureless flawless curvy arts greatest inspiration told through a form that’s made to love and hold
If genius is ever is to be expounded bring the beloved of all men set her in the midst her essence flowing
The world speaks of desirability its fount its ever coursing real ideal is found in timeless womanhood
Jan 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012 at 8:47 PM UTC
The moonlight sways and swine
It whispers on the illumination of the stars
A mirage of the skies evens the pace
The stroll in the silence of the woods
A haste, the heat, a taste of the kiss
Amiss in the mist of the dense pastures
The evoke of passion, a poison
What a mission? Dissolution
A destitute encaged in iron bars
Redeemed to breath again
Expounded in light, bounded insight
A knight of a night....What a might?
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
When she spoke of birds and bees,
She wasn't speaking about ***
Enumerating about leaf and trees,
Twinkle over a topic quite perplex.
When she spoke of rain checks,
She wasn't speaking about shopping,
Instead fretting over the birds in the nests,
Trees that perish by wood chopping.
When she spoke of a branch,
She wasn't speaking of business,
She spoke of destructive avalanche,
That pressure trees to diminish.
When she spoke of wood,
She wasn't speaking of phallus,
Or a portrayal of manhood,
She expounded on nature's palace.
When she spoke of nature,
Her passion burned hotter than a bushfire,
For she witnessed creatures endangered,
And the animals that suffered in our crossfire....
....Our crossfire between money and satisfaction...
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 2:52 AM UTC
I sat beneath the willow tree, forlorn at life's love lost
A hooded man came up to me, with smile like winter's frost
Why child do you cry so much, he began his inquisition
His demeanor was unsettling and gave me deep suspicion
Emily, oh Emily, has left me high and dry
I expounded sadly, as tears formed in my eye
He laid a skeletal hand upon my sobbing shoulder
He looked at me with awful glee, and I lost my composure
What horrid wicked cruel thing do you have to say?
Oh, poor dear boy, a piece of advice to help you through today
You think of love,
You think it's sweet,
A wondrous thing,
Makes you complete,
You have romance,
But dear boy I entreat,
Consider this...
You dear sweet boy...
Earthly insect child...
You are all,
Raw meat
Feb 21, 2020
Feb 21, 2020 at 10:46 AM UTC
I once wrote myself a poet.
I once claimed musing my medium
and creation complementary.
I failed in contemplation
and mistook my muse for a replenishing source of inspiration.
My fictitious claims clogged my metacarpels
with mismatched scraps of metaphysics
and mistakes written out and expounded without fault,
yet still incorrect in regards to truth.
I once wrote myself a poet.
Claiming creation was my destruction,
I failed to reminisce with blank pages
and remember our origin,
the original flawed poem posed in prose.
Words met the page before they came to mind,
ink like water,
my vessel was cracked
and I was spilt
before I recognized the filled binders stained,
before I recognized the broken seal leaking.
Emptying my head faster than I could move the pen,
I wrote myself a poet,
the lines were cramped with
messages left between,
I CLAIMED myself a poet,
and all creations were an extension of me.
My destruction was complete.
Flowing like fact,
I was held up by the people
I couldn't help to think of
with the break of every turning page.
Inspiration but desperation to
refill a tank of exhaustion
and minor miscalculation
when hesitation
became the transportation
for that dropping ink.
I once wrote myself a poet.
I once claimed myself a god,
destroying me to find a being
born from the pen
and suckling from a disembodied self
found at the fork of was
and have been,
some body got lost in translation,
the rest
was misplaced during the transition from wrote
to was, and back
to the road I traveled.
I wrote myself a poet,
became one
only to lose myself
to the title.
I rode my self,
a poet to an altar,
though during my final sacrifice
I faltered.
I wrote myself a poet.
I claimed myself creator.
I lost myself to show it,
skirting the opportunity
to prove myself orator,
and now I'm back to
reading between those lines
in hopes of finding
my self.
A poet.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:57 AM UTC
So, a big fat poet
who is a friend
of mine,
and who likes
to wax poetically,
came to me
in a dream,
and he said,
"Enough of this simplistic stuff...
give me some complexity...
something modern...
something more like mine"
so I went upstairs
and wrote a poem
about coffee
where I artistically expounded
in great detail and exageration
about the matter of making
coffee,
and when I was done
I thought,
"Eh...it's like my old style...
no wonder I changed"
so, enough
of the Great Bards
who talked
in the accent
of a Grand Thespian
with his voice
like William Shatner,
it's back
to being simple
like me.
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 7:45 PM UTC
…rain, rain, red rain, scarlet rain, ochre rain, incarnadine rain, rain driving in torrents unseen in millennia, pounding the desiccated earth in a frenzy of hydration...
I... I never dared hope to see this. In the last days... let me see now... this is so difficult that even my recollection grows dim...
In the Last Days, Council met and planned. We exhorted the brightest, challenged the greatest minds. We sifted through aeons of knowledge and philosophy, searching for the key to our salvation. Plans were made and discarded. Theories expounded... and proved false. In time, we came to the inescapable conclusion.
Our seed had grown thin. Hundreds of generations of advancement, fine-tuning, and engineering had taken its toll on our people. We had become threadbare; the canvas of our soul stretched beyond the limit of its frame. We had become a doomed race.
(...rain from pole to pole, reaving nature through force of Will, rain into rivulets, rivers cascading into falls, scouring terrified hillsides, on an unstoppable charge to the lowlands...)
The inevitable demonstrated beyond doubt, some lost all reason. Others chose their own end; marching calmly, in ones and twos, or in families, into the hopeless portals of Ra’k Tanar. A few of us chose to carry on, in the hope that something might be salvaged.
(...rain like the fury of a spent people, a whirlwind railing against futility, rain coursing and surging, hungrily rediscovering its soil, its flood-plains, its oceans, rain urging defiance, blood-red rain on blood-red clay, a million screams and a million years out of time...)
And in a way, we forged a kind of victory. Ruined as we were, we were not without Craft. Our best we gathered to the Hall of Treasures, under the icon you have only just uncovered. We laboured hard, so that even with our passing, the land would not forever wither. The seeds of your future were planted long in our past. You are coming into your inheritance: now, under the deluge...
(...rain like a thunderstrike echoing through the centuries, life-giving rain, angry rain, rain like the tumult and violence of all the wronged and lost, breathing, raging life into possibility all around, and with one last, weary, sigh, I leap into the heavens, rise up, become one with the sky, one with the rain, and fall in a billion crimson teardrops
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
I sought her words, but in vain.
Me seek'est her haplessly.
I hath been mute all these years.
No sign of love, yet it did languish,
Assail'd at a time to capture mine
As the soul who wail'd a thousand tears.
My words she ne'er tried heark'ning.
Resonance made still and lame.
Tatter'd notions, worded be
Abhorring yearnings of friendship's bond.
The last letter, 'tis where it'll end;
Years of joy, though for her means nothing.
'Tis now the soul's been cheated -
Loving her who loves not me.
'Though silence dost cleanse the tears,
Time will never ease anxiety
Expounded by a heart forsaken'd
Of its innermost rimes and meaning.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
Smudged sky
(too many children and too many fingerprints)
And a dark
and light
presence
Black as night
Lighter than air
Circling
Drifting
Spiraling
Swaying
I want to be you!
Lift my hopes with your wings
Carry my heart as you soar
I want to be you.
Circling
Drifting
Spiraling
Swaying
Black lightning on a lugubrious template
Please,
Oh, please!
Let me be you!
Limits expounded only by winds
Walls are- quite simply,
Meaningless
And I am all-powerful.
These racked limbs will cause no woe
When I am sailing peacefully above
These sunken forearms
Replaced with strong wings
These twisted ankles
Spreading into scaled talons
This otiose body
Looking on with vacant eyes
As I crest over mountains
And swoop into valleys,
These gleaming white squares never suited me
This curved beak will serve me better
And this silly yellow skin
Never offered me protection
From wind, nor rain
But these sleek dark feathers
Make me fast as a jet.
Once I was sad and grey and hollow,
But I will be strong and fearless and whole.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
Branded with a label
Stranded in a cradle
Am I Cain or am I Abel
Lay your bluff on the table
Clean blank slate
So pure and fresh
New name plate
New bag of flesh
Soaking up each and every sound like a sponge
Poking around on the ground until the first lunge
Provoking all the named big people's fears
Evoking emotions expounded over the years
Choking up all your elders with so many tears
Joking evenly with all the adults now your peers
I remember when you were nameless
unimaginable wide open fate
In your own world you were blameless
No need for a happy plate
Naked and free you can be shameless
Unaware of your birth date
Boundaries were open and frameless
For time you couldn't wait
Now join the adults and the aimless
Racing down life"s interstate
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 1:58 AM UTC
When she spoke
I watched her eyes
Her lips expounded love
But her eyes revealed disappointment
I resented her more
With every kind remark
Softly spoken
Behind a deceiving smile
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 2:07 AM UTC
Life's Dramaties, traumatizing moments,
Rally together with the inertia of time,
Just as the soul is expounded to its limits,
On the verge of reversing in,
Or gently tugged away/ violently combustion,
The maturity of a timeline,
as if entangled with the world around,
none are spared from eternal embrace,
cosmic or otherwise,
drawn into a twisting, churning,
vortex,
Tunnel...
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
Here's the thing.
I know we fought
I know that you don't feel good about what happened
And so do I.
I'm sorry for not saying this infront of your face
I can't
I'm tired of getting my sentences pushed out of the way
So I decided not to talk.
If you read this, you probably think I'm asleep
But I'm not.
How could I sleep when my heart is heavy
And my brain produces thoughts
Like a pendulum that never stops
I'm sorry.
I don't know how to expound on apologies
Maybe apologies aren't meant to be expounded.
This is not a poem.
This is a letter.
This is something that I can never finish.
Because this letter will go on as long as we're together.
So here's to 6 months.
Here's to fights and arguments,
To tears and happiness,
To hugs and kisses.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
Toil is wrought
Before us
What we begot
Efforts expounded
Creativity founded
But all will be for naught
Ctrl+S
A universal champion
The preserver of the undone
Tomorrow we'll find
The appropriate time
To see that the battle is won
Jan 2, 2023
Jan 2, 2023 at 10:50 PM UTC
"Resistance to tyranny is something that is as programmed into man as strongly as his propensity for oppression. Innately all of us know that we have certain rights that can only be removed by acquiescence or brute force. For centuries philosophers have expounded the “natural rights” of man and their application within societies. Even those in prison know that they have certain rights and will begin to resist when their imprisonment becomes tyrannical. When a man becomes enslaved, he knows innately that he has the right to be free but that has been taken from him. When our natural rights are eroded to the point of tyranny, resistance will invariably begin. Resistance ,and revolution also, are commonly misunderstood by many people. Most think of an armed struggle that involves bombs, bullets and war, but it is in fact far from that. Resistance , as is freedom, is a thought, an idea without necessarily having a something to quantify it. Just because neither have a corporeal existence doesn’t mean that they are not there. When freedom is gone ,everyone knows it and when resistance begins it is just as obvious. Resistance is a funny and fickle thing because it does things that are counter intuitive. The more you oppress, the more that people resist . The higher the stakes and the more the atrocities, the higher the level of resistance"
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
took his bike to the end of the street and disappeared.
he was laughing.
maybe today, just find a way
to bell the bones of magnificent fun.
she thought he was funny. he
took to the day like a wild oat.
took a bullet to the chest, still had long to go.
that old bless of a naked always-stretching lung
[can we account for nuance?]
took. took. took.
holocene compounded, brain aneurism expounded.
he knew the city suffered, city slumbered, never, not ever.
your number? he asked her.
or about some kind of snake wrapped around the heart.
war chest, drum the chest, bone or breast.
twas rhythm, not explosion.
rhythm/blast.
city/socks/electronics.
the humdrum conundrum of *** thumbs and time.
we are surrounded yet alone.
****** yet liquid.
remember the lung?
city/shoes/blood.
he thought she was funny.
stoop, stop to think about a text…
send.
Feb 25, 2020
Feb 25, 2020 at 7:07 PM UTC
(actually, now at present time juiced
well nigh high noon same day)
On this January nineteenth
tooth thousand and nineteen
dogged by an earlier notion
searching soul to glean,
(while at Collegeville Diner)
above place previously wrought
poem hammered from this peon
expounded possibly seen,
asper belated birthday
outing now I mean
to expound upon nagging , yet keen
existential question, sans what purpose
validates yours truly within skien
of terrestrial webbed wide world,
no...no...no not
simply pocketing green
backs (banknotes, legal,
tender, money, et cetera), but now bean
older, and displeasing lee not so lean
when just a slip (pre) youth decades ago
yea, that would be
when I hapt tubby a teen
with nary a concern,
nope not even to preen
myself much to the dismay
of my late mother, nay
no idea why lackadaisical, illogical,
and antithetical bee hay
vee yore prevailed, but more to the point
rarely when young and naive did stray
thoughts besiege my mind,
that LX vintage sketchy,
shady, and seedy gray
area bothered concerning,
hounding, pestering and fill lay
mignon noggin ready toboggan
any price you say
for this staged coached blarney
finding this mortal questioning... ray
zing meaning, purpose,
and underlying importance, gestalt, design...
of life more so today
meaning since recent past
also taking stock of
accomplishments from way
back, and feeling stymied okay
at a loss to delineate
any rhyme or reason
to shout hip...hip hooray
quite the contrary, which following
admission might appear cray zee,
but aye decry barely
living capped off with oy vey!
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 11:55 AM UTC
shooting ducks at a fairground attraction
cracking nuts at a Christmas reunion
I am losing it, all is confusion as the morning light shines in my eyes
It's a colourful paint can.
Under ten million or more twinkling thinking of stars being born
being torn
being worn like a sleeve on my heart
keeping lovers apart
at some point somewhere deep inside where the itch of a memory resides and a wider horizon give a different opinion to the one you expounded
you had to scratch it
so it bleeds and
it's horse ****
you
should have left it for the roses
now your nose is in it
the stars twinkle thinking we're dull and I feel the pull of them
the night is so full of them
in all of the wishing in the well where the wishes of happiness dwell
there are more wishes
more than a million or more.
I watch them winking at me as they wander the celestial sea
each coming to its conclusion
One day
unencumbered by self doubt or confusion
I shall twinkle too.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC