"gestalt" poems
The Rain falls warm.
It's humid and the shirt
sticks to my w3tb@ck.
How much has fallen
into my collective bucket
during the pass hour
Of heavy monsoon rain?
I gulp chunks
to replace water
in this futile work cycle.
Adiabatic landscaping
in a stifling heat,
within some complex
feed-forward loop.
The cigarette burns
beneath a protective dome,
my cupped hand.
Particulates drift away into
the hazy mist, embedding
itself in breath,
and choking congested,
fluid-filled lungs.
I watch a tiny display
showing small spiking memes
feeding forward to what?
Will it be an apocalyptic
firing storm or a recognition
gestalt, inhibitory spikes
triggering attenuation.
I drink again the rain.
Can I supervise Win-Lose
games? Am I learning
some wrong algorithm
while drunk on heavy water,
in Futile cycles?
With my open hand
I take Virgil's lead
into our Gradient descent,
urging him on, afraid
our alpha steps are too
small, and the time too
short. There is a constant
fear of being trapped
in some eternal,
local minimal.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
a Gestalt principle
of organization
holding that there is an innate tendency
to perceive incomplete objects as complete
and to close
or fill gaps
and to perceive asymmetric stimuli
as symmetric
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
You'll be initiated,
when you are ready.
Life knows,
and the initiation rites
are waiting.
Where you are holding,
you will be broken.
Where you've lost heart,
you will be shaken.
Where you are careless,
you'll meet your neglect.
What you are averse to,
will be total and stark.
What you are attached to,
will be pried from your grips.
Ignorance will be
wrought with vision,
a burning,
to make you see.
You are loved so much
that you will be engulfed in
the flames
of loves fire,
in order to
ignite your own
hearts flames,
and fulfill loves destiny.
Alchemical change will ensue,
destroying you,
to make way for
new love.
Licked by some Hellish ordeal,
Ambivalence gives way to Engagement,
Rage engenders Clarity,
Anxiety becomes Inspiration,
Apathy roars into Feeling,
Melancholy imbues it's Depth,
Licked by some Heavenly delight.
Phoenixed, you'll fly,
the hero of your own journey,
wielding revelatory fire,
with great Wisdom
and Compassion,
a Gestalt,
anew.
The circle closes,
it is a spiral,
to the beginning,
of another
Circle.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
recurrent moonlit distractions
captured by words
tied down into morsels;
separated and concealed,
contiguous yet sheer greetings
of each other’s skin
had left wanton burns
and gushing streams
of a brooding lover’s propensity
for unsusceptible matters of the heart.
there, he stood,
on the precipice of tomorrows;
ruminating and scrupulous,
forlorn yet never dithering
over mundane and quintessential quandaries
of the tepid gloss of incertitude
dangling off syllables
dictated by sordid agony.
there, he stood,
in the midst of everything;
from the otiose adoration
poured out of empty caskets
to the lenitive shades of his eyes.
with the ripples of moonlight,
the gestalt of doleful flower-like hearts,
there, she stood,
and waited.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
.the rorschach test... and the gestalt theory... and taking a selfie... esp. if one does so using two mirrors - to achieve the profile: side "invitation"... or rather... i'm not minding the chronology... the imploded darkness... what is Gestalt to Rorschach? x-ray minus vision? the psychology of bones... or... what is gestalt and rorschach within the confines of physiognomy? ink-blot: either a butterfly or a pelvis!
to take a selfie, proper -
i always require to use two mirrors -
to take a selfie i need to bend
light - or at least my eyesight...
i need to use two mirror:
to take a selfie...
because... i know what it feels
like to have your picture taken:
by a "third" person -
and i want to remember how good
it feels like...
when someone takes a photograph
of you: with you being caught:
unsuspecting...
a picture taken when: you're not
in a group and about to say:
charlie loves wensleydale!
no... i need two mirrors to take a selfie -
and it's always... a profile picture...
the gestalt pause -
two faces meeting or a lamp-shade?
profile: on the side.
Feb 8, 2020
Feb 8, 2020 at 6:42 PM UTC
This person
Is the Gestalt consciousness
Of beings both infinitely wise and foolish
Entities of absolute good and evil
Who, when encouraged to do so
Summon phonetical hymns
To invoke emotion in pure song
These individual constructs
While impressive in their solitude
Fail in comparison to their unity
Each a wildcard
That, when played
Become a wildfire of truth.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
What's your addiction?
Computer or television?
We're in a Gestalt on Google,
Like well trained poodles,
The land of Google glasses,
Is it a blessing to last us?
Is this the Prince of Air,
I read in the Bible somewhere?
Dimly switching on Google glasses,
Edited agenda, the mouse passes,
All like web trained poodles,
We're in a Gestalt on Google.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 6:07 PM UTC
I am;
Partly shiny but mostly dull,
kinda Bo Peep-ish,
I'm into wool.
I'm an errant bent penny of
dubious worth,
a fickle little tickle
on the funny bone o' mirth.
I am
Tapioca pudding after
Chicken coq au vin.
And I am
an iamb
a gestalt of a man.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
I'm just trying to live my life
Like any other human being
I get on the bus, sit on the guys side
I go through my day-to-day
I get called down to the office
I'm told I have to sit on the girls side because I'm in the system as a girl
I tell him I'm not a girl and the heteronormative system is ridiculous
I didn't do anything wrong and sit by myself anyways
He says he will see what he can do
In the hallway not long after, after school ends, going down stairs
I group of kids scream near my ears
I mumble to myself and they touch my head
I said stop
They didn't stop
I turned around
And for the first time in my life I lower myself to violence
And punch one in the leg
I break down
I'm lucky to work with such wonderful people in theatre
I just want to live my life
I just want to be left and not harassed
Im told I can sit on the boys side
I have to sit alone
I can only sit in the front or back
I have to tell the stranger next to me he can't sit there
I want to tell him why
I don't want to out myself
I have to give up the ounce of validation of being treated like a normal guy on the bus by the other guys, who are unafraid to get in trouble for sitting with me cause they don't know what I am or care
I wish...
I wish I was born right just like he and every other guy on the bus
But if I was I would not be me.
I could not understand my own struggles
Or sympathize so much with others
I could not learn and adapt the way I do now
Could not have taught myself to be brave in the same way I am
I could not have the experience of having kids with my spouse the way I want to
I would not have needed to stand up for my rights or that of others
I would not have addresssed my lack of understanding and my internalized transphobia
I am stronger for who and what I am.
My gestalt.
For learning to come to terms with the harsh truths of what I am to the world.
If that wish came true, I would not be me. I would not be
Orion.
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 8:39 PM UTC
Crept in the surgeon from the ashen winds
Peaceful, baleful autumn fire
A descent climbing ever higher.
A special case to him it seemed, starched white
His breathy steam corroborated.
The nurses rush ‘tween bed and **** checking
Vitals of lacking that but the enigma
Curiouser and, oh, the blank screen displayed it.
There, as sight, the network of bones, all disposed
To their center, by blood and vein, all there through.
What caught the eye, a screaming white blot
In the thick of his bare cavity
A cold urn, well wrought
Had in its mouth a thousand streaming shards
Burning, pumping all the same by some miracle
That rigid effaced youth and flesh
Taking its gestalt’s place.
A nurse approach in ample fit to begin,
Crack his stern starch baritone, there he burst
Take him away; nothing is wrong
Amateur at best, irreclaimable at worst.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
money is not my mistress
though she could be if,
she spent … more than time with me,
understand my pockets of
resistance have holes, weak
am I, over strong, this is a
lack of discretion that has led
me to this place, where those
on all the wreck tangles,
won’t look me face to face,
so take it to the bank
so take it to the vault
so I can be within Gestalt
so I can for the moment
in the moment be richer
than before I am poorer
by one so… experienced.
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
A
Not No Logos, Klein.
What about anti-logo
Using the figure as the foci
But leaving the message in the medium
Both in the back and foreground
Then we yell fore and the foreground becomes the background
2
Always remembering hierarchy but always forgetting Plutarch
Is this is a disambiguation?
Did I confuse Parallel Lives with Plutarchy?
3
So we grid it out.
GOTO Vitruvio ...
4
Trying hard to balance can create imbalance this we rationalize through irrationality.
3.14159265359 ...
5
Symmetry ... .. . ~ . .. ... assymetrY
Stressing the *** in asymmetry
And what about the meeting of Apollo and Dionysus and the Apollonian/Dionysian duality?
6
Rhythm:
3:3 ; 4:4 ; 7:4 ; salt peanuts . .. ... windtalkers
7
White space is an access point for flow, Tao, source .... this is where my batteries recharge
8
Every element is mindfully placed; an element of gestalt ism "shape form", is this analogous to timespace?
Is the whole other than the sum of its parts? GOTO Miller-Urey II nested inside Babylon Falling
Both are self organizing, none the less. Such wholesome folk we are.
9
The patterns found in isolation parallel both linear and crossing elements and the instructions always coming from a double helix. GOTO The Dance of the Double Helix
... and always adding depth and motion ... kinematic to the statics. GOTO Introducing Happiness
10
Type faces are interfaces so be consistent ... you Paranoid Android!
J
Always K.I.S.S.ing
Q
And in motion means modularity is a must
K
Peaks and valleys can be better understood at the Red Onion or maybe just by peeling back the layers (of life)
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
Some gamblers rented and cyclists' cyclists are not Maria,
Maria, Maria, and the massive student body of Cyclists,
Other Associated Deacons Trainer Trainer Sensors;
I'm looking forward to food
and feeling a sense of when to read the robot's book from page 1 -
the top place at this hall meeting Sunday
at the National Council of Judicial Religion -
a classic user education free of cognac
in my head, gloves white eyeglasses.
Radio station to take care of a cigarette freedom
with a rich wealthy publisher of fan fiction,
Maria, put her in bed. According to John the strippers
are awaiting food and dance, dance,
Moses and Elijah using Revolution has changed
and now two new trees grow out of the shadows
recollection of the problems of reducing
the nightclubbing of the bride, What John said of the Trinity Wave,
that waves swells in winter weather.
The various aspects of life in school
for the dance dance to find a good ending
and highlight your work in the sand
are free free of non-oh-fluctuous roads to heaven in jail,
rays of fire from the sky on the ceiling,
all the bed dwellers sitting on the rungs of a ladder
1 as high as the sun. John was pushed
by the knowledge onto the role of shades
robot strippers get Wall Street Law,
Mary's strippers are on the hill for the rich.
According to John Rose, it's not enough Memory
Technology 1, Paul's first Belgian wave radio,
high wave in parts; Puppetry for life
in the fight, the clinic entered into a long bone
and cigarette between the springs of water; RSS
and the mass of members who have been trained
to offer the Strippers Cyclists another translation,
radio station freedom to take care of smoking
in the wealthy rumors of journalist story,
Maria naked in her bed. The various types of schools
have a very good dance program, and highlighting
the work with the sand can be free
and non-oh-fluctuous way from the sky in the radio
station on fire from the roof on the dog is all at Sleep 1,
Sleeps in the sun as long as you see it.
John's required knowledge came into the robot hands of the strippers
knowing that Wall Street's Gestalt is part of Maria's hill strippers
for the rich. According to John Rose, it's not enough memory,
technology 1, the first Belgian wave radio's
high wave reaches parts of St. Paul;
There is no war entered into by smoking,
and the rays within Puppetry are the Waters of Life.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 11:57 PM UTC
photos and poems
a sought for marriage
perhaps a gestalt..
exercising
eye and ear
brings more dimensions
hearing the photo
seeing the poem..
a variety of
Synesthesia...?
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
*the controversy swirls
creation opposes evolution..
does new dialogue suggest
new truth in sight..?
those creation days with
evolution eons backdrop
seem as quantum jumps..
yet within those days
find sequential building..
an evolutionary microcosm
in our genesis..?
then in evolution's depth
some leaps appear
fossil record blanks..
quantum microcosms
in darwinian time..?
perhaps a middle gestalt
quantum evolution..?
third eye discovering
new Light...?*
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 11:35 AM UTC
Mysteriously, like a seed
growing underground, consciousness
spreads into the world
seeking a presence to devour.
Like a lion lurking in the Kalahari bush,
consciousness crouches, hidden
within the body, not merely the brain,
waiting for its prey to emerge
from a field of nothingness,
to reveal its essence.
An act, a desire, a pure intentionality,
consciousness pounces on its prey,
embracing its whole presence,
filling in the many sides unseen,
teasing out its eidos.
In itself, consciousness is nothing,
a darkened grain of wheat
buried in the ground. It awakens
only at the stirrings of
the next manifestation.
Always, eternally
a consciousness-of,
it roams my room,
zooming past the myriad
items cluttering my gestalt,
fixing on the single form
it has come to inform.
Consciousness waits
for no one.
Uneasy until it grasps
the one thing necessary,
consciousness expands
and expands, actively roaming
among the wonders of my world.
It acts, but I cannot take hold of it.
It has me in its reflexive spell:
All consciousness is self-consciousness.
And I, in myself, am nothing.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 3:43 PM UTC
Emptiness cloaks me,
In a veil of sorrow.
Blinding me from
Sharpened daggers cutting
Deep, painting my soul.
Fragmented into the
Little nothings that compile
Into my gestalt consciousness.
A whole greater than
The sum of my broken pieces.
Rain clouds roll in.
Bathing me in warm downpours.
Cleansing away crimson,
Reminders of days past.
Water trickles through
The cracks in my bones
Gently caressing my wounds,
Retelling warstories, whispering
"It will be okay. "
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 10:34 AM UTC
/ge'SHtalt/
"An organized whole
that is perceived
as more than
the sum of
its parts.."
the lordly elephant
is that whole
with all of
those strange parts..
do parts perceive
their life subsumed..?
and of our body
and parts
brother elephant is
our model..
but what of our
body as part..?
or the elephant
as part..?
how strange those
whole elephants
must be
up there...!
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 8:40 PM UTC
Cast your ballot for your party's running mates
Strange bedfellows in Roman
**** compromising positions
Straining to see what once was
Their original clear-cut goal
(Even the hot sands of the
Sahara becomes cold at night).
Tarred and feathered goes the ideals
Run out of town on a rail of policy.
Politics of law
Politics of religion
Politics on every level
No real friend’s only polite interests.
Party politics in the bedroom
Workplace
And church
Spinning ethics and morals
To be fit for desiccation
By whatever spider desires
To make their web in
Palace royal
Church pious
Courtroom solemn
Family room secure
Where only a sort of twisted gestalt
Applies and the lesser of two evils is
Often greater than the sum of the
Two--the package being more
Important than the contents.
All that
Is important is the law of the jungle.
Tone-up poser muscles
Groom rhetorical fur
Sharpen intimidation fangs
Demagogic rule being the rule of thumb
Firmly planted where the sun never
Shines because truth is exposed
Only in the light. Plans made in the
Nether regions of base instincts
Where the true nature
Of we humans reluctantly steps
Out of its ancient cage nightly to
Prowl only to return by morning to
Have pure and honourable melodies
Sooth the savage breast.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 12:33 PM UTC
The things I can't show anyone are flooding my head .. I'm lost in this fake world, where only what's visible to the eye is true. Would you be able to expose the truth? Or will it consume you too?
You're also in this fake beautiful world
In a world that's a little too beautiful for my taste, my heart is rupturing by its reflection. The mirror image reflects what you see to be a disgrace..
In this world You are secretive and confined. There are things only visible to my eyes.
You are the reverse of the truth everything seems normal in this abnormal fake world.
This place is already a gestalt illusion that you created for me..its not real don't worry your secrets remains safe with me. If I expose it all, the memories will shoot
down the present and you will be lost..so I will stay in this fake world you created for me this is where I belong.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 8:55 PM UTC
Those deep cut lines
Perfect designs
Chiseled by years
To channel tears
To taste the salt
Of life's gestalt
r ~ 24Feb14
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
Physical exertion, that exhaustive feeling, pushing this broken body to its limits.
This is true freedom, for a moment all of the clutter unifies to defy annihilation
The whirlwinds of thought, ignite into a ferocious storm of gestalt intellect, racing to the end
Alas, the only goal on this horizon is a graveyard of discarded memories, each step further until, all is forgotten
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 7:35 PM UTC
James, you make my eyebrows feel so heavy.
To think: if I never find the one and one make too many empty glasses were broken in the mud-
dled my words when she asked for the time for bed –
All during my morning constitutional.
Take your ***** on the Mount and your Sin of the Farter
Because I know there’s nothing behind the artist except falling towers and furniture-sellers.
But can the deaf still listen?
Or should I care what’s inside a box I can never open?
And how many carriages will follow my coffin
And who will be my wormeaten neighbors
And which tongue will be employed to engrave the epitaph
And topped by what symbol or none?
In the beginning the first two words began to breed
And each generation issued reduplication
Evolving vestigial verbiage and new punctuation
All the way down to a young Poet-Hero-Creator:
Use illusory contours to paint the gravity between heavenly bodies, and use
The shared human experience of multistable perception to imply the gestalt of Dublin
(and be sure to use that German term).
We are the artificers of meaning.
Item: the location of the key.
Cat: things I should be thinking about but am not.
Item: the *** organs of strangers and acquaintances.
Category: things I should not be thinking about but am.
Item: the autobiographical component of Shakespeare’s later works.
Cat: things I need you to know that I think about.
Item: the possibility that my presence is not nearly as commanding as I’d formerly assumed.
Item: the increasing inebriatory similarities between myself and my father.
Item: the fear of losing my memory of Mother’s face,
as directly correlated to the expanding passage of time.
Cat: things I need you to think I don’t think about, at all.
Picture a symphony.
Hold the moment when the lights first fall and the cacophony of tuning
Floods into a single, synthesized vibrating tone. After the silence and before the song.
Write what you hear.
Write the chords in semiotic rhyme; transcribe harmony as memory:
Sing lived and unlived love and stride through on inkblot feet.
Now add the missing notes.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 9:52 PM UTC
I hear daddy issues
is what they're calling it nowadays
the unexplainable flinching upon
slamming doors and voices at a decible level
just high enough
to make your chest tremble
daddy issues?
it wasn't that I didn't have a father
because I did
I do
except there's an undeniable difference
between the two
between being seven
and seventeen
between ice cream and bottles of whiskey
maybe it was the drinking that drew you away
but I wasn't the same as the other girls my age
who drank themselves insensible
for no apparent reason
every other weekend
no,
rather I drank myself
into a comfortable state of amnesia
where I could no longer remember
his hands or his lips or the smile
that reminded me
I was weak and in love
I drank until I could no longer remember
that I loved with a love
that was not returned in full
or at all
you drank on sunday
when I would tote my atrocity of luggage around the hall and down the staircase
throwing it in your face
that I was leaving
it wasn't intentional
daddy issues
we haven't spoken in months
I can't remember the last time
I heard you say the words
and it hurts too much to try
and imagine it
myself
it feels fabricated and forced
it sounds like slamming doors
and roaring voices
daddy issues
I always loved you more
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC