"externalities" poems
how do you paint water, or clouds?
I could read poetry for the brief,
of my of remaining life, however brief,
and never be satiated, of love,
and streams of water,
never stilled, always running
in patterns that exist,
but for milliseconds,
admired by clouds born in, of,
a moment of re-formation that
is perpetuity long:
unending shape shifting,
like the freedom of flowing water
currents, forming, reforming and unthinkable, nay,
inconceivable that human eyes
or their spoken words
could capture their
shiny white foamy essence
But of love,
that we can do, paint, design, recreate its
endless loops of undulations, like the radiating circularity
of a pebble dropped gently
to its burial sight in a quiet pond.
Humans know, understand and excel at clasping and grasping
at the synapsing of human cells from differing bodies:
the exogenous erogenous of human touch that like the clouds
and the water,
who
could paint that,
who capable of capturing
said sensations that wrack
and enliven the body with invisible
interior chemical reactions. I
cannot.
Thankfully better men and women have treatised their entreaties to the powers of the universe and been rewarded with the skilled delicacy of weaving human tapestries, the milliseconds of connectivity, eclectic and electrifying of different currents and differing amperage’s forming and reforming like water moving, just like the clouds changing in response to the externalities of wind and gravity and all the forces of nature that encourage us to study
and stare at these flows,
hoping to entrance them into standing still for but a moment, and instead, mesmerizing us into standing motionless for hours in awe of their freedom.
Love’s undulations too mesmerizing, and freezing us into
place, or alternatively
caucus to run endlessly arms extending,
flying though not airborne,
rocketing us upwards while feet never budging,
but finding good wards, masterful metaphors to recreate and thus to share the fabulous mystery of this thing we know as love.
2:58AM
Friday
jul 22 (jewel 22) of the 23rd year of the 21st Century.
O.L.P.
Jul 21, 2023
Jul 21, 2023 at 3:05 AM UTC
(and I cannot live
from with-out)
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a poem in appreciation to Rossella Di Paolo
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I, too:
- am an embryonic work in progress,
well into my seventh decade, with no ending in sight
I too,
live in the house of poetry, the address likely differs,
but suspect the innards of the houses differs little,
the decor, quite similar
- my house shrewdly requests a rethinking,
noting, it lives my artifice,
with in & with out
Then, we are a We:
- my cavities house her, She, Poetry is of Ruth (1) born,
- Poetry, She, reminds me, ”whither thou goest, I will go”
This duality:
- where the haunting of words providential,
emanate, both inhabiting & inhibits my breathing
She, a fearsome creature, a fearful-something,
for it tears me and shreds tears its demands be wrung
from with in to with out
She, Poetry:
- leaves me gaping, hollow, fills me with
depressurizing boreholes exposed to the elements of
externalities of an admixed atmospheres, that nature demands be refilled, fresh in, stale out,
for which the artifice trick is knowing which is which
when Poetry’s birthing:
- chest pounds, heart-rate beats heavy metal,
abdomen contracts, there then, no languid in my language,
no help untangling the alpha-bet jumbling,
product of the screams of pushing,
squeezing it forth*
*you’re hoping to quick-catch newly formed combinations,
for if you fail, a poem
noisily crashes to and through the floorboard cracks,
where poetry’s chaotic glinting etes
maliciously glimmer~winks at me
with a sarcastic thank you*
*“ah, too bad, another creation stillborn,
gone to rest, biting the nether dust,
without hope of resuscitation…”*
just another unfinished work in progress
periodically
a survivor clean caught, transcribed, edited to be finished,
amniotic fluids cleared,
poem resurrected
blessed with eternal life,
readied to be shared and delivered,
affirmed
and you say to no one and to everyone:
this poem will be our poem,
wither it goes, ascending, descending,
all live in the house of poets,
one house,
many apartments,
each poem a god,
and
my God will be our God,
your God, my God,
in the House of Poetry
Jun 21, 2023
Jun 21, 2023 at 5:55 PM UTC
I am sitting at a desk,
back straight, head forward, eyes open. Blink.
Economics melts into white noise as
supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, elasticity.
Water weeps through the crevasses of the windows and ceiling,
mocking my ever fragile existence.
Ankle deep in yesterday's cold forgotten words unsaid,
the lesson advances.
Demand curves become supply curves become demand curves, consumer surplus.
A single drop christens my desk and terror fills my long hollow eyes
as the ceiling mutates into a congregation of puddles.
Rain that felt of hydrochloric acid
dissolved the very flesh I tried to escape.
God is not so sweet when it comes to sinners,
confining me to the barriers of an insignificant wooden desk.
The class remains like mannequins,
indifference radiating from their plastic cores.
Supply curves become demand curves become supply curves, externalities.
The only witness to this nightmare,
my last breathe finally deserts me.
I tense as the numbing waves climb up my spine,
injecting lethargy in each individual vertebra.
Malicious tentacles wrap around my throat and water floods my collapsing black lungs.
White noise consumes the entire classroom as I float in and out of paralysis,
only to open my eyes. Blink.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
It is the supply
Receipt of the followings
Ecological security,
Social and emotional security, and
Economic security!
These supply are conditional
With the followings
Passion for naturalism and nature stewardship,
Care for humanism,
Ready to co-exist with diversity,
And minimalism!
Total Cost for supply is
World with stable equilibrium linking to steady state
With additional taxes for negative externalities
And subsidy for positive externalities!
Mar 23, 2020
Mar 23, 2020 at 4:08 AM UTC
I have always been surrounded
By walls, by walls
They guard me and they disguise me
I am but a fetus
I am a fetus forcing myself to grow hair
To grow affections
To be human
Whatever it means to be human
But the forces of the external
They are growing stronger
And they have pounded me down
Those externalities weren't aware
That it was
Them
They caused it
Why question it
You caused it.
My fortress was build upon empty words
Hopeless faith
The unceasing optimism of a teenage idiot
I am an idiot
And I am an idiot
Because my fortress has an intruder
He has managed to unveil my true intent
Now I am a fetus
Exposed
I have been exposed
But his hands are around me
They are bringing me warmth and life
And for once
Once again
I smile
The intruder does too.
Sep 3, 2013
Sep 3, 2013 at 11:46 PM UTC
I don't care about fashion anymore because of the odors! Deprive yourself of a new susceptibility to zamtok, who only cares for the telltale signs of externalities! Balancing your interests can also quickly lead to defects in taste! What does the exibitionist trend mean ?! Perhaps we don't even notice others simply because of their dressing habits, so that we can blend in with the sophisticated, elegant elite?
The culprits and the victims are thus put together, in a complicity, into dead-end stalemates, because they fear what the public opinion would say if many of them were to detect the protein in their teeth! - And once a health-minded, superficial-looking superficial, it is very upsetting; it might be a problem to try to see that exceptional One among many like that! The difference in the glass tiles of curved mirrors also looks different!
In the penultimate moments, are the Good Friends of Loyalty recognizable ?! Thugs and Timothy Tikitaki ?! - In all respects, the silent refusal of refuge is hiding silently; cocky misunderstanding shakes their heads and can keep them in cage captivity! The Imperial Ranking of Impossible Daydreams That Everybody Says Somebody or Something! Even now, some conscious mistrust is infecting!
All the cheap sensationalist celebrity pics have become more interesting; the message of sinking airships, instead of sitting at peaceful home conversations with sticky masses of secrets!
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 12:55 AM UTC
When externalities are potent,
I ask myself.
Things never go my way
Anticipation is disappointment
In disguise.
And my hopes?
Instantly smothered into false optimisms
And the ashes;
They pile up,
They form a mound,
My rememberance
Of unjust and sighs.
One day, I too will become those
Ashes.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 8:14 AM UTC
While I try to figure
Which is the trigger
And which the consequence,
A battle breaks out
Externalities cave in.
Simultaneity takes on a horrid meaning.
Anticipation becomes the catalyst
Of a demon that I created
But know not how to ****
I forget where my comfort zone lies
In the sphere of my inability
To face, to do things all these years,
Or the realm I wanted to leap to.
There's no single-leap shortcut though,
I've been crawling all the while
With my head buried in the sand.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
is it okay to follow these trends,
do you want to continue to bend to the fads in society,
i'm not one of those who preach about anarchy or being enlightened,
but allow me to shed a light on this issue,
because it is a disease that is slowly killing our youth,
because YOUTH is a prime time,
we find out who we are,
what we wanna be,
completely undefined by the externalities,
you see thats the purpose of out youth,
to find us.
but the need for Michael kors and a versace purse,
has clouded the minds of the innocent recipients,
they know it's wrong but purse their lips to be as popular as that other *****
guys want cars and the latest sneakers,
girls need MAC and Victoria secrets,
it's ok to want nice things,
but when you let it define who you are,
you have nothing left
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC
I wish they had told me what it was like
To have people devour your body, but
Pick around your mind
Like a painting that they found distasteful
But tolerated because it was visually appealing
Or a main course that they tried because they heard it tasted good
I wish that they had told me of regret and pain
And that they didn't think that charisma was in the sway of hips
But rather in the tone of the voice and the velvet of the words
Because I looked striking that night
But no one wanted to speak of externalities
But rather gawk like Tantalus at the apple
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
Your LIES are like warm melted butter,
Exiting gracefully from your perfect lips
Smooth golden liquid, bad for my heart.
You weave stories with finely spun fibers of half truths,
Intricately and expertly arranged in mandalas of deception.
Unaffected by the goings on of your immediate externalities;
Living in your conjured up paradise
Where you reign as ******* king and ****** queen
Plucking petals off your submissive sunflowers
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 10:55 PM UTC
is the room really foggy
or is it just my eyes?
I'm sorry
I know you're busy.
I will learn to walk
on my own.
What I meant to say was
could you please
help me walk?...
If I go
would you even cry?
I never know
if the externalities
cause my internalities
or vice versa.
Hold me more,
it makes the frost bite
reverse.
If we had the chance,
would you want me
to love you?
I'm sorry
I know that you are busy
I'm sorry
I love you.
I'm sorry..
Sep 20, 2021
Sep 20, 2021 at 9:25 AM UTC
Have found immediacy, empty
touching mantra enchanting
positioning paleo lingual
pings asking attention, empty
mind state, concentrating
mental energy outward,
externalities inward,
who first?
Browning - visiting
ancient Etruscan
Faesulae, conquered
by Romans.
In Roman antiquity,
the seat, we see
of a famous school
of augurs and, every year,
twelve young men
were sent there
from Rome
to study the art of divination.
"Who listened
to the Legate's talk last week,
"And just as much they used
to say
in France...
"At any rate 'tis easy, all of it!"
How familiar are the settings,
put forth in dramatic monologue,
easy
feels familiar,
least among giants, seeing,
believing all available science,
in the time
of Raphael 'n'em,
who can yet recall
“Andrea del Sarto” though,
Browning gave him space,
to firm aspirations,
to make good,
be good producers,
selling life's sizzle,
most all sales trainers
use one line, alone…
common extension
To succeed one must believe,
verbally grasping will to sell
b to b marketing,
on the Mammonic
entrancement, please try
to grasp the nature of worth…
to a poet in the space we use,
for free
for your examined life… you knew
“Andrea del Sarto”
by Robert Browning
rates one precept,
out
of the anxious mind percept
whence comes
this common
inspiration, say this mountain moves. Say it in the name of Jesu
- on Earth, as it is, just so
Amen, Browning was a master…
"Speak as they please, what does the mountain care?
"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for? "
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 7:44 PM UTC