"hominid" poems
the simple true |
vs.
absurd ********
water on mars points to the future of
the dead earth;
Fascists vs. aliens | complete fossils of advanced
hominids found miles
deep below [ ]
the Martian surface [but w/ no signs
of engineering or built structures]
questions w/ no answers |
what kind of society did Martians have:
dictatorship, democracy or empire & what kind of poetry
did they write:
searching for the great epic poet
of Mars beginning by digging straight down past the fossil record
coming upon an entirely other set of structures & fossils dated
thousands of years before those previously found
& further down, more advanced forms of society
at the deepest strata advanced electronics & technology appears
w/ less & less hominid forms, n still w/no evidence of written
poetry
|
Martian poetry may have been oral; so in
setting up sound meters to detect
residual radio-sound waves, the history of sound can be
recorded & focused on any one particular voice or several:
from this we detect recited verse
no matter how far back it was uttered; in truth, the older the better as it's
easier to distinguish & isolate the particular voice
from ambient rhythms
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 8:24 PM UTC
What is the meaning of Life?
Does that not state there is in fact a meaning to our lives? Are we not conceived with a blank slate and let our actions be guided by the environment we have become accustomed to or is there a true predestined meaning to our lives? Is it neither? We are nothing more than what we are and nothing less than what we are not.
What is my purpose?
Purposelessness.
What is God?
God is what leads me in the direction that I am heading and keeps me away from where I have not gone. God is not in the endless skies watching my every action. God does not know me. I don’t know God. God is not a being. God is not energy. God is not matter; God is not made of protons, neutrons, electrons or photons. God exists. We made God exist. We also made God disappear.
What is reality?
The tangible and physical perceptions that we have keep in our memories. As soon as we forget, reality disintegrates. When we remember, reality regenerates. Reality is not constant.
Why am I here?
Spontaneity
How did I get here?
I managed to avoid every other place than where I am. If I averted where I am now I would be someplace else. I would be any place else. Am I happy? Yes. Am I upset? Yes. This experience is beautiful yet full of dismay and I experience comfort but sorrow for only being able to experience a small sliver of the universe. But this is my sliver of the universe. I love this sliver of the universe and I would fight to the death to save this tiny space for anybody else to experience existence the way I do.
Who and What am I?
I am human, **** sapient, **** hominine, hominid, primate, Mammalia, Chordate, and Animal. I am an Earthling from the Milky Way. I am what I am labeled, by others and by myself. I am defined by everything I am not and I change every day. I am not constant.
What will happen when I die?
Transcendence from existence; Appearance into eternal rest. My body will provide nutrients to the world, my memories will be lost. I will no longer be, except in the minds of those who knew me and in the evidence I leave behind. I’ll be lost forever, the evidence will soon disappear. I will be over, the universe will go on. That’s all I could ever ask for.
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
Under this silky whiteness,
Cloaking a hominid likeness.
This frosty awareness,
This thought-suspending numbness.
Dare I lift this veil?
Dare I solve this blanched myst’ry?
Dare I expel disbelief?
Dare I ***** anticipation’s hope?
The whispers of curiosity,
The desire to make visible,
The familiar face of serenity,
Render the boundary risible.
Under that shameful shroud,
(The face is familiar no more,
Serenity submits to Torment.)
Finality abounds.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
The obnoxious wind whispers,
“There is no civility in liberation.”
Oppression is not of human nature,
But of human creation
The ache for passion, the lust for change
A lush forest, serene after the rain.
But the man in the sky needs your money
And the wars are lacking funds
Smothered by fresh air, life is at your throat.
Hominid ruthlessness
Debt and despair
Depletion
Extinction
The free conform
Wild mocks civilization
Brisk air, the branches dance
Vines climb walls like silent snakes
A cold hiss,
“Everything you know is wrong.”
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
troll tooth
oger toe
flow stupid
fistful of shiny carbon lattice wilt
and a composted halo too
beautifully torn derivatives slid
from this orifice
oven timer set fer
office space wasted
noob cubed
these are exponential times we're livin in, sim
yer prolly obsolete, so tap the banner below
for more there's more
trends friend then interrogate
unfriend those has-been's for the win dim
naked lightbulbs swing from
threadbare strings faster than light plus **** too
there's ***** adorno
how right you were
this **** is almost criminal
art narcs on
the hole a' truth
so help me dog
im
the hominid
that stood up
this fiction.
slipstream hoolahoop no-show
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
I am the Robot with the improbable dream:
I want to be human, the hominid supreme.
Yet, I plead for this with silent screams
For I am only a machine.
I am thoroughly dysfunctional,
Defective, inept, delusional,
Pathetic and utterly unusable,
Inadequate and artificial.
I'm synthetic, poorly composed of alloys,
Crudely manufactured and wasting away.
My will to endure has long been destroyed.
I await my welcome decay.
Bestowed upon me is an incessant sorrow
From years of feeling used and borrowed.
Life never improves, not now, not tomorrow,
So I am devoid of hope; I'm hollow.
I'm riddled with inane fears and faulty gears,
And I'm rusting further over the years.
I anticipate a merciless demise,
But I no longer suffer from the need to survive,
For I experience chronic strife;
I have the impossible desire to teem with life.
With monotony, this dream I have sought,
For I will never accept that I am naught but a robot.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 12:12 AM UTC
For the words you utter
I pry fervently
If is mould of dust;just like me
I just don't get it
And finds it hard if I do
How can mere words be so hominid
Soft and ****
I just don't get it
The very sight
****** and cloack me with lewd
And make my entire body sweet
Like am dip in a jacuzzi
Full of chocolate and sugar
And lays my head on pluffy pillows
As it swift to the lanes of my mind
And twine my hair so brilliantly
I just don't get it
Who taught it my weakspots and hormones?
Who taught it all those gentle touches;
And ***** talks?
It whispers into my ears
Nuzzling my lobes and rings
I just don't get it
It defiles me completely
When it massages the pits
Of my elbow and knees
As my pupil dilates and mutters"I want you"so gently
I just don't get it
It makes my ******* get hard,and lurch
And bust my blouse
I gasp for fresh air
When it kisses all over me,and ends in the middle of my tighs
As I drip the tears of pleasure,and moans helplessly
I just don't get it
It follows me everywhere
Even in my bathroom
When it grips my moldy towels,and gets deep within me
And makes my heart beat faster than the athletes
I just don't get it
Not even in my sleep will it let me by
When it watches over me,and get into my dreams
And brews creams in my pants
I just don't get it,
Your words,your words
Your words is a man
Your words
©Historian E.Lexano
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 6:36 AM UTC
Where's this abject
anger come from?
Is it innate or
is it
an acquired trait?
Who owns these lips
grinning at gains?
Out comes the wolf?
Out comes the hominid.
Who owns these tongues
dripping silver?
Produce and consume.
That's how it is.
What an art it is
to dispel doom.
Tried selling concepts?
That's where it is.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
A star lit night, a harvest moon
and you and I alone.
It might have been romantic
if you were not just bones.
Lucy was a hominid,
perhaps the mother of our race.
At three foot six she's quite petite
with an almost human grace.
Careful testing has determined
the age of your precious bones
which walked ***** and upright
in an age before cell phones.
Driven from the tree tops
that the great apes still call home.
You walked on the Savannah
and scavenged meat from bone.
So much your remains tell us,
bones that never knew the grave.
Those who you loved, all vanished,
like the grass in fire's rage.
You may not even have a name
or a name I could pronounce.
Your finder called you Lucy
so that's the name that counts.
He was whistling a Beatles tune
in Olduvai gorge one day
when you empty brain case
caught his eye, he dared not look away.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
Just released from the sanitarium
Cold cruel empty world took me down
Malnourished, tooth abscesses'
Manic Depression
Isolation
Brought me to the brink a bad state of melancholy
I went to a hospital ER for help
They don't do dental work
Dentists are Satan in disguise
The AMA knows this and won't let them in their
Genuine Doctors' tribunals
I got released with the bogus diagnosis of ****** abuse
I told them I took the medicine cabinet drank a quart of ***** and that would be it.
THE END
You have heard of Catch 22 here's Catch 23
If your in the nut house for a failed attempted suicide
All you have to do to get out is say I don't feel suicidal any more.
That easy.
A foreshadow to this poem.
Industry took away my know how
I couldn't make my own shoes
I couldn't make a yoke to mount the ox I don't have
To plow the back 40 I'll never own
If my life depended on it
I can't build a house of logs
Would die quickly without central utilities
Food would vanish after days of no electricity
People protect there own and I'm a lone
So I pray I am not the first to go
I try to be a human being
The best was I can
Trying to see through the muck
With prayers, and great hopes
And Luck
I hope I can continue to be.
A human being
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
rising from the bottom of this sea
is the bubble of my next breath
contorting itself into smaller beads
of possibilities,
rising to meet the plane of release
beyond the glimmering surface.
in angelic exodus, blood leaks
from my heart to fill
the lonely corridors
of this vessel.
my thoughts stir like static,
white noise channeling the great beyond,
with no form to settle into.
the mirrors lie.
no hominid can contain this.
there is much more behind my eyes
than there is
in front of them.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 2:44 AM UTC
Blood pours from the wound.
The hounds snarl viciously at him. There are two of them.
Standing over him as his life drains from the hole newly torn in his outer thigh. The tooth is still lodged in his leg.
It is the only reason he is still conscious. The delicate ivory dagger is all that is keeping his femoral artery from emptying itself onto the dusty pine-needle covered ground.
He realizes his peril. His impending departure from this mortal plane instilling in him a new-found appreciation for the life he is about to lose. He feels regret.
He regrets walking into the forest at night alone. He regrets leaving his home in anger and he regrets the last words he spoke to his family.
He is sure this is the end. He has finally done it.
He grows increasingly desperate as moments from his past leap to the forefront of his awareness. Even as these awful beasts circle closer his mind is filled with images unrelated to his current predicament.
But perhaps not so unrelated as it was these blunders that each led him a step closer to this fateful nights error. His attention turns back to the beasts. Each vying to be the first to indulge itself on the flesh of this foolish over-evolved hominid squirming in front of them. But the creatures are no longer what he fears. He can feel the blood draining from his wound. He feels the wetness and the growing chill.
He feels the absence of his future.
He pleads with God to give him one last chance.
One last chance to make something of the life which he has treated with such ungrateful flippancy.
One last chance to keep the spirits of his parents from breaking under the weight of losing their child.
One last chance to find the love he knew he’d never find again.
One last chance to find the courage to create some meaning for himself.
One last chance to die with some small amount of peace in his heart.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
My apologies Tasmanian Tiger, for the brute carelessness of the Hominid settlers. I was quite aware of you being one of the few marsupials... yes the sworn to be ascendant earthlings are out of pocket. Well I never got to meet you personally but I’m sure you was charged with great energy. Thank you for serving a purpose here on our heavenly body.
P.S. maybe one day you’ll arrive again, and maybe us homosapiens will be expunged from this orb.
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
theorizes, surmises, realizes, outlandish notions
manifesting gibberish inside frangible egghead,
especially when attempting tip ply words struggling
to describe abstract whims fed
by fancy, groovy, heady indefinable
mind boggling ideas they weigh like a led
zeppelin inside gray matter squeezed
to the max like a sponge dark red
when saturated with near incomprehensible
thought processes that attempt to shed
light on cosmic principles, yet lack
mathematical familiarization wed
did with advanced studies in astrophysics (trace
sing pinball erratic mental reverberations
leaves me stupefied) about mysteries of space
time continuum, quantum mechanics,
and even how my existence came about
since the presence of human race
whereat random
evolutionary circumstances took place
on planet (un) fit Earth analogous
to skien woven of sateen lace
via some invisible hand weaving
world wide webbed warp and sub woof
fur wrought primordial miracles
ranked (within schema by human primates)
as zen amazingly grace
full promenade,
per multivarious species, now one Janus face
sing self destruction duet hoo
weapons of mass destruction can erase
entire range comprising terresrial biota
unable to escape original weeknd update
with Jane Curtain, and Chevy Chase,
and according to Stephen Hawking the base
sic global web spun via **** Sapiens
will lose role as topdog
ousted from twittering, spotifying reddit queue
over stayed plenti potentiary pinnacle,
oracle outlook netzero for mankind as ace
forced to relinguish role,
sans self anointed supreme beast
(what a beauty this bipedal hominid),
whose surging population didst increased
the process toward total vaporous xfinity zapped –
frankly tubby sub letted and leased
to another organism
not needing tubby policed.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 2:22 PM UTC
aye savor the faire genetic blueprint
extant unique to each of us
with this quite alimentary aire
including (that almighty,
bottom, cushiony, dimpled,
excretory functioning Gluteus Maximus
i.e. the ***** when bare
with subtle difference sans,
both halves at first blush,
but tucks upon closer scrutiny
obvious inexactness crystal clear
as a bell jar, asper each body electric,
whence deserved of en dear
ments despite however much junk in the trunk
behind the private
no trespassing (non verbalized)
signs posted everywhere
off limits only to a select few like this bard
attired as if from the Renaissance Faire
whose unconditional acceptance
unlike the majority hoo gawk and glare
if bipedal hominid dealt
chromosomal traits say with excessive hair
which mane of tangled strands,
could be problematic and interfere
with coaxing, finagling,
or inducing friendship with an initial jeer
from him or her averse
toward such imperfection to boot
huff lawed physical human specimen
such as this ole coot
(who haint really that old),
can upon command execute
a feigned display
and appealing as fresh field picked fruit
at this stage of ma life
donut give a rats *** nor an owlish hoot
what other may decry about me,
cuz self acceptance doth agree
buzzing with greater confidence, esteem,
and general weaknesses such
as lack of physiognomy incongruent cee,
which asymmetry of this primate feel free
er than his pre/post pubescent
corporeal essence he
near put himself in the hand
of that grim reaper, a key
poor of lifeless beings,
and well nigh got hold da mee
when in the throes up
(vis a vis not bulimia) on Swiss side prithee
and as a solitary mwm gives no re
guard no matter others may find fault
in the stars at my lack of sim mutt tree
gnome hatter judgements made
I accept mice elf warts and all – yippee!
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
Sequestered hominid,
a temporary waning of saturation
a flurry of cigarettes and hot words
a tangle just around the core
as my world struggles to straddle
its wobbling gyroscope.
I've got a
Chip on my shoulder
But relentless peaks draw up the sallow vestiges of pride
As the ego tolls again and again
I am happy with what I am
Yet I feel forced to "survive"
Looking back at who I was
Speaks volumes for our culture
The sequestered hominid rotates hues, asleep
He dreams
Of painting his image into history
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 7:37 AM UTC
The view of man.
By jay Cleeve.
So many unanswered questions
Not many care for
Many don't dare for
The answers of our ancestors
We've been taught by a deceptive perspective
But my mind pesters
I'm not gods son
Although it sounds fun
I know the answers
We're natures natural disasters
I evolved from the untold
Yeah Darwin he spoke bold
But his stories lay unsold
For a long time he left them in his own mind
Because he was gods child
Then he lost his child
What kind if a deceiver gives a ten year old child Scarlett fever
Then you question
Christ's deception
Our reception in a dead world
So i self taught as a last resort
made my mind restored
there the sort of facts you'll never find on a black board
i wish for a simple life
One of sacrifice
For our lovers and family's
Where we'd live happily
I'm not saying there's no pain
But we're all the same
Our position on earth for all we're worth
We where natures natural birth
No different from the other brother next to you
Whether we're black or blue
Please release let go and beat the religion outta you
As Charles theories where so true
The origin of species and the decent of man our my bibles
Hell I'm an atheist disciple
I'm happy knowing the truth
Fossils and DNA being my proof
Why are most of you all blind to see
The past of mankind i long to be
The one that belongs to you and me
I don't think you care to know even though it's all on show
It's nice to believe in the tease i guess that a man in robes can impress
Really you'll never know where we all go
But I am a man of science and natures natural defiance
I know what i am and that makes me a man
I'm a hominid
And your the followers of some unholy profiteers
That can't compete with the fact I meet
We've got a whole world of history right at our feet
How can a simple man like me
Understand the simple things that be
When you all share the same history as me
Maybe it's something you evolved to be
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 1:24 AM UTC
Within womb universe’s birth
nebulous placenta housed
seeds of life and white lily
billions of years in future
mid-wifery lady Madonna i.e. Gaia
twill abort... cancel... fail
cosmic amniotic fluid infinitesimal kernel
unknowingly intimated mother earth
giver of extant flora and fauna
unleashed after big bang cosmic explosion
galactic matter ala Jackson Pollack
across void
impregnating fecund celestial field
embryonic entities
germinating gamut multifarious
floral fauna spectrum
primordial soupy miasma
evolving millennial timeframe
distinct organisms **** sapiens
master exploiter oblate spheroid
usurped emiment domain
epitomized goddess of fertility
silent ovation humanity
predecessors ovulated
promulgating tentatively robust
quite pathological population
within clustered cloistered
substantial redoubts
mollycoddled, nursed
swaddled by ancestral
gracias moma mia
figures, whose maternal role
guarded vulnerable progeny,
outfoxing invisible World Wide Web
building inexorably linked network
indomitable strength
against wild things
guaranteeing subsequent generations
flourishing webbed unbridled success
prompted contemporary bipedal hominid
chance genetic dice throw
origin of species weathering travails
horrendous maternal sacrifices
inducing acknowledgement
unknown female forebears!
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
The saints would want me to forgive. That I have
done. Uphill trek, great effort, conquered the summit.
But then the witch doctors have asked me also to forget,
just forget, like nothing happened. The gray amnesia
intensely urged by incessant chants of choral animé
of aging cherubims would make it difficult, quite
difficult, to explain myself, to myself, with all honesty,
how I got the scars that run deep to the core of my unholy,
(Why not just say sinful? But what is a sin, anyway?),
heart. Unreal these demands. Abnormal? Unnatural.
Unnatural such reactions. Like a Shylock, I would have
yelled, nay, sworn (did he swear?) - a Jew also feels
pain, and bleeds - red blood, not green, not yellow –
when pricked, wounded, ****** slashed, crucified.
But I am not a Jew. Neither a Christian. Nor a Muslim.
Not a saint. Just a human.
Just a human. Not an Avenger or any superhero.
Can’t fly. No imaginary avian wings like those
of Caucasian angels. Not bat wings like those
of soot- or ember-colored devils. Outside an airplane
only my thoughts soar across the blue skies
and above the numerous species and varieties
of clouds. No cloudy mind.
Just a human. Blindfolded Science, not blind nor blinded,
called the species I belong to, just one, **** sapiens.
Wise human. Subspecies **** sapiens sapiens.
Wise, wise human. Made up of matter. That matters.
A lot. Matter not essence. Matter of fact. A living thing.
Not a germ nor a microbe nor a god but surely omnipresent.
Not a plant but may be green-minded. Needs plants.
Not a fungus but may be fungus-faced. Occasionally
attacked by the whitening, not by the illusion of being white,
but by blotching, thanks but no thanks to Tinea versicolor
Not a protist. I just protest. And protest I must.
Just a human. Classified as a hominid. A mammal. Highest
Form? Who said so? Aristotle? Highest? No! Form? Yes -
an animal. Not a microbe. Not a plant. Not a fungus.
Not a protist. I just protest. And protest, protest, I must.
Not a virus. Not white, not black, an Asian, a Filipino.
Not your virus. But like all humans, afraid, very much,
of the new coronavirus. But I am
Not the virus.
Afraid of coronaviruses, and all other deadly viruses,
because I am. Just a human.
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 8:50 AM UTC
The art of Conversation = a source of emancipation,
and oral gratification per integration of knowledge
manifesting opportunity qua
sharing unconscious workings
Vis a Vis windows to the soul
whereby a quickened pace arises to latch onto this role
i.e. as a conversant fellow, who at LVII years old does poll
the fleeting decades of his existence
manning reminiscence for ole
flashing back to days of mine childhood's end -
When last verse of noel
will be writ when father time
dost take me underground akin to a mole
or perhaps cremation will deliver
mine ashes along a rib-rocked knoll
of this then once living garden-variety hominid -
whose mindfulness endowed
Introspection, his biological ticket tape
eventual fated halt to life
taken far from the madding crowd
whereby cosmic consciousness reigns supreme
lording eminence grise of this beetle browed
chap. hoop fully countless decades still abound
for me to relish what would be legally allowed
reaching out to family since no value found as de cries
the ever rapid stealth of living, yet before my demise
this sensate being, with these ears and eyes
reckons he cannot halt like greased lightening
how tempus fugit with lord of the flies
tempting to whisk me away while mortality
donned in get up as go tell a watchman guise
whence a half-century prior to **** a mockingbird
deigned as main entree, now i got a bone to pick and pries
as much longevity and stave off grim reaper
before permanent slumber doth ah rise!
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC