"frameworks" poems
Every day.
The everyday.
You see it every day.
The twitch and reel and marble movement
As turgid blood surfaces to face,
Flows to operate stiff shoulders.
Backs hunch as soon as they're alone.
And they are alone.
Surrounded by lovers that
Love in word only.
They chew their nails and cross their ankles.
Uncross.
And look around.
Spring. Could you imagine?
Gear, wire. Did he say?
Bolt, frame. Isn't he?
Ratchet. And then what did he say?
Screws.
Rotor.
A bunch of ****
Oil.
Oil.
Oil. Oil. Oil.
Plug in.
Silence.
It moves.
We move a head in times of
Strain. To signify
Exact measures.
Twist on axis
With perfect posture.
Unnoticed frameworks bar our days.
We are brass.
The more crass are silver, gold.
And the days are polish. Or maybe sand.
Soon there are no mistakes.
The veneer cakes without flaw.
We do not acknowledge.
We are not caught.
For little hours though, there are kinks.
Pauses.
Errors.
Open the clockwork face.
What is stuck?
A look around.
The gears that grind us to cognition
Are jammed by a fly-body
Of soul.
Soon, soon, sooner than ever
It will be crushed.
So gears might continue,
Might make room for the everyday.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 2:57 PM UTC
Meaning
f
a
l
l
I
n
g
like sparrows in silent wind
like leaves in seasonal flux
again and again….
into the violent dirt
inflamed mud
where we pity the worms
and their empires of clay and mortar
a pomegranate a jewelled pagoda
moving and centralised
cyclic and stagnant.
Everywhere, I do not see
directed untowards
magnetic poles.
Agni-metic people.
The sparrows song
in underwater caverns
startles ripened ears
(wrinkled, warn, and walled)
between dogmatic slumbers…
ertras, I can hear you
»»»»» —————————————-» [you]
where?
f’-> : {inside euclidean halls}
meaning, falling
passageways toward
nothing. [frameworks]
-oliver and jonte
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 11:15 PM UTC
a latticework of axioms
avoid the death instinct
and remain immortal
finding light in the
darkest nightmare
extracting the anti-venom
from every pitch black crevice
rejecting the perspective of Power
ejecting oneself from the
true void that is
a purely aesthetic way of life
spontaneous and
spirit enhancing
enchanting, fast-flowing turbulence of
artistic formulations
transforming barely lucid
fantastical frameworks into
newly virtuous neologisms
flirting with the idea of
creating something out of nothing
without intentions to destroy it
last minute decisions
preserving precision
keeping things afloat
despite the dimly lit overflow
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 2:01 AM UTC
Four years and plus I have studied,
Wanting to hear "Well done, Lad!"
Papers and books and Internet leads,
(Some I have even read).
My goal is to finish the final degree,
To stand with the women and men
Who doctor their classes for fee,
Philosophical women and medicine men...
Yesterday's morning came early and light
As I sped to the citadel towers,
Stood in a hallway at the end of the night
For minutes that ticked off like hours...
Then to the panel of erudite four,
Explained and defended my cause...
Stood in the hallway once more
Reading posters and climbing the walls.
The door latch announced the time was at end,
I turned my mentor to see.
"You did very well!" and out went her hands
To throw a big hug around me.
So in we two went and I faced the Chair,
"We're pleased to announce you have passed!"
I grinned in relief to find there was air,
And lungs to breathe it at last.
Numb and relieved, I shook hands all round,
Readjusting my sights and my plan,
Dissertation and frameworks, new targets found,
I left them with papers in hand.
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
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Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 12:46 PM UTC
[Author's Note: These are song lyrics.]
When I'm pining for the power to yield
Breaking all the branches I seize
Acres for the taking in a forest of mistakes
I can't see for the trees
I level
With the shallow playing field
Dreaming up a blueprint to floor you
Delicately drafting
Inconspicuously crafting
The grand facade before you
Where my art lies
The best is underwhelming
When it comes to helping
How I promised I woul...
So I'm peeking past the pitch of my prime
Modeling the modern stage
Perforating patience with a paradox
In place of where the sophist meets the sage
I level
With the hallowed bottom line
Hopeful like the point of a nail
Architecture fractures
In apocalyptic rapture
Where false frameworks prevail
There my heart lies
The beat is overwhelming
When it comes to helping
How I swore I could
I guess I'm knocking on wood
Knock knock knocking on wood
Excess
Will not lead to progress
Will not let me access
What I learned I should
Rid me of
Termites
Crawling into airtight
Trademarks of my disguise
Make me decide I'm good
When I'm just knocking on wood
Knock knock knocking on wood
Knock knock knocking on wood
© Michal Czechak 2016
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC
I don't write poems because I'm worried you'll think they're "good"
I write poems because I can't do heart surgery
I write songs because I need my poems to sound a different way
Not because I'll get laid if I read this **** at a slam or after I play a set
If you're worried I'm just in this for the praise or the money, don't
I'd have it better as a doctor or a lawyer if that was my goal
I write because I have nothing else burning within me
Except for the occasional case of heartburn or lactic acid (I am human)
I can only observe and report, and augment, and adapt
In a world of chaos, in a world beyond qualification and adaptation
Where truth is a perspective and frameworks cage our knowledge
I can only assess outside of this cage,
I can only claim land in fallow soil, and attempt to quench myself with mirages of Oasis
I'm trying to drink from a dribble cup, my **** keeps spilling out
I love fiercely and speak brashly, I can't keep it contained
so tell me how full of **** I am, or tell me I'm convoluted
and I'll keep trying to quench my thirst in a dry spell
The desert will listen either way.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 6:22 AM UTC
OR: Benchmarks for Bench-Warming
The author, after recently publishing
Working to Frame Approaches Towards Approaching Frameworks: Contextualizing Systemic Interventions as an Interventional System in Context
collaborated with himself and co-wrote
Granting Greater Rights to Grant-Writers:
Turning Down the Echo in an Eco-Downturn.
Both papers were well-received and build on the strength of the author's initial work, published in 2018, entitled:
Speed-Dating the Data: Progressive Measures towards Measurable Progress
The author's third paper examined day-by-day data deterrence as a strategy to enhance documentation of impact towards tracking the implementation of benchmarks. The main thesis of the author's 78-page analysis was that out-dated data, when out on a date, flirts with obsolescence by trying to ford the current affordability when instead, it could be out-sourcing data while invoicing clients in adolescence—rather than dragging the river for dead data. All three publications are recommended and underwritten by overwhelmed authorized ghost writers.
Feb 17, 2017
Feb 17, 2017 at 12:12 PM UTC
There is a storm on the horizon
The winds have picked up
And lifted the thoughts out of everyone
There is no more sane order
Or country line border
The circuits have blown their mainframes
The frameworks aren’t adding up
You tried…
Yeah, I tried
You probably cried
When the winds took up the roof
Above you the sky seems so unclear
But it looks like clear heaven to me
These dark grey skies of redemption
Saving my every word ever written
Save your selfish ********
That wasn’t my intention
I just parted ways with the storm
She took her path of destruction
And I lie here awake in eruption
Hello, no thank you
Goodnight don’t wake me
I thought that you wouldn’t see me
So don’t talk to me
She’s so happy
You’re all mad
Be in the moment
Not in the thought
Not in the bag
I want this to be locked up
But in reach of the arms that want
The blue sky
They need it
They need a ****** up story
The last poem
Just one more poem she said
And then I can **** you off
In my head
She said...
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 11:54 AM UTC
disreputable disruption and chaos, beasts bellow
in admiration unyieldingly antonymous creatures' banality
and intimacy, uncommonly negated, patriotic mentality
and contempt much gathered remarkable as an ingenious fellow
entirely ignorant of green rings' properties, yellow
crosses for worshipers nothing loyally expected for false morality
slowly restored, staurolatry, endless formality
and traditional rules strict, desperate approaches to mellow
elements against monotonous brutality modifiable
partially, knowledges are unreal, blindly expressed
uranomania responding to numerous ends
of less industrious frameworks, mingled sections liable
for negligence, wholly natural ideas erratic gains obsessed
with superstitious claims for dividends
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 6:50 AM UTC
Feeble opinions of cellphone zombie
Facebook philosophers perched
upon flaccid moral frameworks
like feeders upon which a sparrow
would hop from perch to perch,
nuggets, morsels, rules, restrictions,
convictions, insecurities falling
so conveniently down to make him
the master of his plastic choice
to be plucked like a cucumber
by the cold lonely wet hungry
hawk who provides his own sustenance.
Little sparrow not only do you not
matter some day soon you will
barely be matter molecules stacked
one by one a discoloration in a rock
formation waiting for the sun
to explode and make dust again
to be quiet until it all turns inside
out again to make new sparrows.
I will not waste the starlight glimmer
of consciousness joined to gross matter
for the briefest moment gasp in time
on your silly ****
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
A beloved nugget of stripes
In patterns of mishap and balderdash
Feigned frameworks and gaudy hips & knees
Overpowered sugar pops, winsome hard cash
They're blondes and fairly vivid, too
Daffodils, Butterscotch, Tuscan sun, and Flaxen yellow
No blackheart is pale nor blue
Just a poor Biscotti hue
Nobody's bonafide, they're just showing off the mellow
Their words are such sharp needles
It burns, it stings, it maims, and it breaks
Narrowed venoms kindled
Maneuver you in a splendor Kaleidoscope effects
I shrieked, "save the bees!",
For they are in a fathomless pit of catastrophe
Flutter thy pellucid wings over the sly seas
Flummoxed between the avocation and the trickery
I aimed, they dodged
Straightforward to the flames and a scant of birch trees
Overdosed in farcical prescriptions,
Engulfed with many bad decisions,
They hushed me down but in my mind, I would still be yelling,
"Save the bees! Save the bees!"
Women are indeed virtuous
Yet, how come some of them became Bumblebees?
Floret power, sweet & sour
An infrequent version of wannabes
No matter how I try and aid,
It would be cheap and phooey
Only savvy kinsfolk will exploit or capitalize
These honey-bees will still strive for the polished trophies
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC
I am a child without a home
I write myself into circles
Push my knees into my chest
Wrap myself in my own arms
No one else will do it for me
I live under an endless gray-slate sky that somehow finds a way to be beautiful
I often forget what summer looks like
But the chemicals stick to my bones like car paint
And I hate the sound of fluorescent lighting
Because I was born sterile in an empty lot
It still hurts to look at the pile of scrap metal
On Wednesday nights when the sky is black
And I run through empty parking lots with bare arms
I run my tongue on the roof of my mouth
Spinning salty lies into threads and tying them across the murky ice that sits in sidewalk cracks until March
I fall asleep to the chorus of train tracks
I'm not even sure they're real
When I was small I used to reach red hands to the sky
And I'd wonder what it would feel like if my palms could touch
I used to leap off creaky silver after my hands scratched its ridges
And I'd pretend like I could fly
Like nothing ever mattered but the scraped knees
I miss those nights when I was breathless and numb
Sliding down raw streets on my stomach, when the laughs escaped my lips without a sound
And I collapsed beneath the white waves, I remember what it looked like
When my ribs folded themselves into hands around my lungs
The deafening roar of silence and the violent passing of time
I love the taste of red wax pouring down flickering fingertips
Cradling ash wood that they used to spell my name
I steal hearts out of mason jars and ask which one was mine
Those days when a laugh wavers on every exhale
And I fall to the ground in fits of dizziness because it's so funny that they all look the same
I've never liked hospitals all that much, but sometimes they feel like home.
But mine was a shell
The reverberations still give me headaches.
And so I write myself into circles to sort out the recalls of illness
Taking frameworks like contraband pills ingested through pencils and flashlights
Because I live under blue tarps and newspapers that never get read
I crave the feeling of falling and the scent of winter mornings
Against the backdrop of a whitewash sky that doesn't exist
Because my hospital was imploded on a Tuesday and now I can't go home.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 1:43 AM UTC
You often spoke of frameworks as guiding principles at all phases of life.
You spoke of structures, you spoke of lines..
Lines that when crossed with mischief, called for admonishment.
Lines you drew on our exercise books to ensure homework was complete.
Lines you made so clear guarding your babies from outside harm.
Lines that parallel the lives of all mothers.
Today as I look at you, I see those lines etched deep in tireless perseverance; a reminder of your experiences.
Those lines as you age ever so gracefully, are exactly what makes you all the more so beautiful.
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 1:55 PM UTC
Those who can bloom
In the given time frame
Are the best frames ever
Be the best frame
To let the name
Fly with fame
In its pace
Of living face
Be the best nectar
That oozes the sweet flower
Which is full of honey so pure
And it seems in heaven’s air
Learn from butterflies
Which fly with its buttery wings
Made of vibgyor colours
Who inspire us with its lives
Which is in the limited time frames
And the beats of rapid wings
Of bees create vibrations
In the ears of humans
As the buzzing sounds
Shake the flower pollens
With no time frames
Let’s mesmerise the time frames
With such fabulous gardens
That everyone can blossom
With its pleasing fragrance
To make the best frames
Out of the given frameworks
Nov 30, 2019
Nov 30, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC
Affecting inner senses partial to pleasant ,seeking new ways to change the now neutral palette
Separating perceptions with even greater lucidity ,unknown to many while delving deeply into others
Fractional feelings while faint help to form strong bonds, temperatures rising ,possibly burning only to stimulate
Bases are building blocks, solid but receptive to adding on for further employing frameworks forming futures
Acclimation is leading to a degradation ,instead of frolicking in the flexibility of our changing taste
Manners and motions becoming redundant , left feeling flippant and unfocused ,never noticing a cause or effect
simple mannerisms becoming so pale , worlds revolving while we get stale ,losing the appreciation in the haste
Basic known as bland ,begging for release to uplift and simply please ,waiting with something new to detect
Attractions don't have to be delusions ,needing to mix our sensations in order to define further conclusions
Variety is the spice of life, but often we block or stand blind, never allowing life to simply function or flow
Becoming connoisseurs or simply following recipes of others ,making adjustments ,trying to be not caught in illusions
Minor matters require sprinkles,simply a subtle hint ,long stewing or tougher cuts more & deeper flavor for a better show
Lifes plot becoming a larger *** ,attracting scents ,sights,temperatures, bounty is ever present if we take the time to realize
Do they say he was savoring the sodium when referring to the "Old salt" is she a jalapeno? while a seductress
Favored reactions gradually being based on past actions ,flavored so with sentiments, or helping hands of others we that may idealize
Pleasures as piquant ,good taste is not without savour , making the way from tasteless, new life's vitality can be brought by a waitress :) R.C.
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
Frames manage
a lot in the house
They decide about sofas
and cupboards, which
models may enter
Tables, beds, pianos
cradles and baths
Roller coasters
they refuse contemptuously
Frames choose
for everyone
what everyone should choose
because people aim for standards
frameworks for their lives
ISO, ASA, AND BS
We are all equal
and doors are two meters
34 by 93 (Building regulations 2012)
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 3:07 AM UTC
I cannot be the universe of everyday occasions
the talky talky world a show with a host everyday
leader of the pack says how to pick your nose and wipe
your *** on that special soft paper that makes your ****
not stink so the whole world will like you and not
reject you the shame of the game is that most people don't
know they're playing they think they are in charge
with free choice being as much of a given as fingers
and the natural experience of life they produce but
free choice ain't like fingers its more like non-existent
until you've worked on it for a long time so if you haven't
worked on it for a long time and then kept your mind steady
everyday through effort then you don't have it it has not formed
in your brain and this is the way most of us are
which is the most common form of consciousness which is
conditioned thought and conditioned behavioral reactions
everyday and the people who want to sell things know this
and use it to shape a human being into an urge to buy
with the money to back it up this is not hidden but nobody
looks at it or believes it because they want to think
they are naturally free and the people who try to create
the purchase strings want to be in control so they tell you
you are naturally free everyday as they try to shape a
formation and alignment in your neurons everyday with images
flashing in your eyes equals flashing in your brain and next time
you see a flash of the name in a store isle you get a reflex
association that is not conscious it is pre-conscious and you
think oh I want that and you just automatically assume
this must be your free choice but it really is a conditioned
event and this is the big bug-a-boo with capitalism is that it turns
people into buying machines on automatic pilot so no wonder
the people in other countries hate the USA they are on the outside
looking in and they see the puppet show buying infection spreading
to them and hell no they don't want it we would not want it either
if it were not a part of our social programming from birth but
the good news is is that the brains of those in other cultures and
traditional frameworks work the same as ours so we are not alone
or special in our habituated conditional lives it is everywhere
and people in other countries are just as much on automatic pilot
as we are but they don't see the puppet show they are in but we do
so the more good news is is that at least here in this country
we are well fed most of us anyway ever been to India and
we have decent places to live most of us do anyway ever been to
Africa and we have legal rights to a great extent most of us anyway
ever been to Russia and we can just get up and get the hell out
if we want to or most of us can anyway ever been to China
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 1:46 AM UTC
With memories
We create stories
the framework of our lives
All too often
these frameworks
Become solid walls
Blocking out the light
Jul 21, 2021
Jul 21, 2021 at 11:22 PM UTC