"immersive" poems
She seems pretty queer
Yes she does
Something odd
Something peculiar
Is it in her insouciance
Is it in her audacity
Is it in her pirouettes
Spun with such vivacity
Is it in her defiance
Is it in her nonrepentance
Is it in her reveling so free
A form full of glee
Sometimes impetuous
All times ingenuous
Aflame with passion
An immersive intoxication
Cracking down on this mystery
A perplexing dichotomy
Let's remove the misfitting pieces
In sync with commonplace notions
Alas what dismantling of a girl
at peace with her pieces
What uprooting of a girl
at home in her body
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
Religion is like wrestling when it was kayfabed
The kind of immersive storytelling that is A grade
We became trapped
In the Walls of Jericho
Separated on the map
From the fields of marigolds
Shinier things catch our eye
Like Goldust in the ring
Not of Mankind
But McMahon's kind
We start to see behind the Big Show
Until they introduce the Boogeyman
Manipulating until progress is slowed
All according to plan
Jake the Snake offers the apple to Eve
And into calamity we are cleaved
This was something I never agreed
But Christian pushes me to Edge
No room in discourse to hedge
Swanton bombs fall in cities
The Million Dollar Man cracks a smile
Unable to feel pity
The billions of bodies start to pile
And I haven't seen the Hart Foundation in a while
These ideas pin us down
And we can't kick out
We end up indifferently submitting
To the Big Boss Man
A legacy we're cementing
Like the Ku Klux ****
I'm from Kentucky
Where biology is taught in the context
Of where it fits in with Christianity's teachings
I wonder how many people this knowledge is reaching
When we're trapped in Wrestlemania
We cheer for the Undertaker's victory
Because we're constantly wrestling with demons
Transcendence is only something we can dream of
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 6:17 AM UTC
i'm sure
life was a peach
til he was born breach
but the inversion of his excursion
into the hands of the surgeon left him worse an'
the immersive submersion
in perversive subversion
was only urgin'
the incursion
of aspersions
for subversive diversion
as
an apparition with volition
wishin for position transition
fishin for recognition
of ambitious cognition
this in addition
to the malicious conditions
that stitched in repetitions
of neurochemical
composition
transmissions
entailing
the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory sensory.
said the intensity of his propensity
to find immense suspense in the
density of a tense city hence did he
commence in the dispensary
of sound condensed sensory
sensory sensory.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
I hate love lives
But I don't hate life
I just don't think I could get it right in 8 lives
Each one with 8 wives
That's 64 beautiful women
Thoroughly explored I couldn't find love in em
I relish in hate right...
But I don't hate life
I just can't help but see the stigma that you're stained by
Slithering worthless serpents working circles and sinning
I heard their hymns and verse but couldn't find love in em
I play to their hate right..
But they don't hate life
They're just vulnerable to the flames Nihilists lay by
Sleeping soundly certain that there was no divine venom
Pious verses were immersive yet rehearsed I couldn't find love in em.
It's subjective what's right
But I don't hate life
I just can't shape my morals and at the same time,
Sit in oblong boxes and keep my thoughts within em
I read your laws, codes, and odes but couldn't find love in em
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 11:35 AM UTC
This things are made for idling
transparent in their quotidian splendor:
A Buddha statue at the receptionist desk
golden skin, red robes
welcoming all yogis with its gaze
eyelids closed
The candle, a guardian of an aim
an intention that moves within a flame
over the palms of the wooden hands
Incense smoke dance softly around the entrance
like a dream seen from wakefulness
immersive enhancer of the humor
filling the place with soft calmness
Nag champa smell
and serious air
The bamboo doors
from Monday to Sunday
open the way to Indian sounds
and the voices of blooming teachers
guide the way
until shavasana
when practitioners become gently moving statues
and glowing air goes
breathing in and breathing out
daily efforts and daily hopes.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
It's in the sequence
within the space
on the slow turn
at the touch of the page
it's more than the optic
less than didactic
much more tactile,
less than merely mercantile
it's more immersive,
deeply collaborative
a match that's unconventional
beyond art, words and materials
avoiding any deference,
embracing our difference
flicking 2 fingers
without fear of irreverence
it's greater than the sum
of its many surprising parts
more than what was found in
the inspirational, original art
and whether it's deliberate
or accidently incidental
these are books as art,
beyond the coffee table
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 12:24 PM UTC
*Fireworks and vivid chaos,
blinding lights in the pitch black sky.
The sudden gregariousness,
cross-dissolving into one's sigh.
Back home in a blanket,
hot chocolate in hand.
A wandering mind, hardly cognizant,
unleashing one's disguise.
With the shutter open
to evacuate life's scenes,
revealing only those broken
in one mind's eye.
Fading rapidly from awareness,
once immersive, now an indistinct sight.
The suttle gregariousness,
has all but gone dry.*
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:15 PM UTC
I grow tired of you hurting yourself with me.
You learn to hate me.
We don’t talk anymore.
My nightmares become fatal.
I stop responding because I don’t know how to answer, and I spend Christmas alone passing out wine-drunk to Naruto. I’m not sorry. My mother calls and I don’t know what to say, and neither does she. Then New Years Eve approaches like a dark cloud to water our crop, and wash away our debts,
but
my acquaintances want to have a fistfight, and I’m asked to be a witness in the police report [but I clearly remember nothing happening, through shades of alcohol].
I clearly remember at the beginning of the night I told you I don’t **** with cops.
Yet, now you’re surprised it makes me uncomfortable.
My daydreams grow immersive. My gameplay grows sloppy.
My reactions grow dull. My body grows weak.
This stranger tastes like cigarettes.
I don’t clearly remember the rest.
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
Writing is like jumping into a deep mountain lake
to find some tiny piece of my soul
submerged and floating there
an immersive brooding wistful prayer
or a flight into the blue thin air.
It is a cinematic journey
recording the fruits of noticing
what is right in front of the eyes
and finding what is deeper
unseen underneath.
Writing is looking into an old man’s eyes
and discovering the person there
just as much a spiritual venture
digging toward his center
as a physical sensation.
It is a magical mystery tour
taking the visible threads
in hand and feeling my way
to the roots
or pausing and squeezing the fruit
for its juice.
It is fun
it is a morning run
or an evening rest
pain, joy, and dreams expressed.
Writing is moving, grooving, including
taking a moment in time
exploding it in rhythm and rhyme
finding in the ordinary the sublime.
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 12:11 PM UTC
Im not made of diamond or marble or gold
Im fixed together by cracks and bumps and mold
I collapse like a house of cards
Fall like dominoes in the shapes of stars
Im as quiet as a drop of rain
Elephant in the room
White blouse with a ketchup stain
My mind is immersive
Projecting shadows on walls
Singing lies to misinterpret
We're sewn together with purpose
Of which is lost amongst the stars
So search the night sky
To discover who you are
Mar 18, 2023
Mar 18, 2023 at 1:34 AM UTC
The beauty of poetry
expands far beyond
the immersive imagery,
tongue-painted metaphors,
and whimsical similes
used to portray the artists'
vivid hallucinations.
No amount of consistent,
thorough editing,
no amount of precision
in thesaurus culminations,
nor the long-learned,
dextrous techniques,
fined-tuned throughout
fortitudinous refinements
undermine the essence:
the exact moment in time
where a poem is
experienced, engaged,
and ultimately conceived---
the epiphany.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 10:34 PM UTC
There is but one inside each of us,
The magnificent irony that is you,
The gift of emotion and darkness,
Light and the solemn silence.
In each there is a word never spoken,
The lord of his or her pen stroke,
Like a library of dreams
Disclosed to the insensible mind.
In vain with each passing day
The infinite ache of the lifespan
Becomes an accessible garden
And fountains of immersive memory.
And to die is but to awaken,
We toil in the philosophy of words,
Without strength or direction
Writing sorrowful verse.
Haiku, sonnet, free verse,
Stars, skies, oceans, meadows,
All are symbolic to the perceptions
In the void of the eye's twilight views.
Painfully we probe the depth
And fathom the darkness,
Heaven becomes a metaphor,
Hell seems too real, the Power....
Long before me or you,
The dead poets took the dark
And shown them in the light
In his or her fading dusk.
The gallery of poems,
Impalpably dreaded like life,
And we are the dead whom write
Of life in the setting sun.
Power, which had written this poem,
Disfiguring the poet, perpetually dark,
The word speaks through us,
The curse is to observe as it all passes away.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 7:48 PM UTC
Through the towns and country lanes
fortress walls and ancient stains
Roman treasures, aquaducts
the running bulls, a stroke of luck!
Cobblestone and feudal cracks
the culture weaves and summer smacks!
enchanted ramparts, medieval ruins
coliseums and communes
Aigues Mortes to Avignon
the rolling hills and castles strong
fields of grape and olive trees
cicadas singing on the breeze
Tranquil rivers, lost lagoons
horses prancing at high noon
flora and fauna in lofty decree!
say the sycamore and cypress tree
De Lumières in tomb-like calm
illuminating sounds of Brahm
Vermeer, Picasso and Van Goh
the ghosts of Voltaire and Rousseau
Les Baux-de-Provence's immersive stage
brush strokes wide from another age
chambers deep at quarry rock
the mesmerizing notes of Bach
Sacred figures, holy shrines
monestries in grand design
blocks, arches and polished stone
gladiators at the throne
Castle turrets and dungeon bars
the ancient bridge of Pont du Gard
chapel bells across la ville
spiral stairs where time stands still
Scrolls and chronicles filled with scars
church and state with dark memoirs
scholars, artists and dignitaries
in pursuit of God...and all his glory
Aug 30, 2023
Aug 30, 2023 at 12:00 PM UTC
daydreams take us away
into far of worlds and other days
an immersive play within ones mind
full of many things they wish to find
journeys bring us far and wide
to see sights that are incredible
from sentient robots
to fire breathing dragons
there are no limits to what one can imagine
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 2:25 PM UTC
Life is but a game
A fully immersive game
Not more or less real.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 7:57 AM UTC
And I did feel the hands of flightless nights
The gentle pull of fear, mixed into the very heart of bravado
The slightest brush of something wholesome to be found
In a mixture of perverse excitement.
To be found and lost at the same time, the most delicate balance to strike.
Genuine emotion, and the feeling of finding some camaraderie
A shared connection to be found within the binding of togetherness
All for a common intent
An extended hand, reaching out every member
At the peak of deprivation, I've only felt empty
Yet It encompasses completely, immersive like a dream
I comply wholeheartedly
For a poor and bitter end, no doubt
But an airing of my personal grievance, I can't imagine a worse outcome
Segregate, more than human kind all brought together
The kind of closed off system that one can only find in narratives
Completion of which results in a stark understanding that
Time passes
Jul 1, 2018
Jul 1, 2018 at 6:46 AM UTC
Frequently,
I race across the words
reading too rapidly,
missing the depths
of descriptive sounds,
and failing to engage
the full immersive array
of language the writer displays
because I wish to portray
the fiction of a deep person
who reads intelligently.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 10:44 AM UTC
Undisclosed thoughts.
Concealed within a small passage.
Possible visions of the future,
Ideas of the mind,
Immersive feelings.
A pouring over of emotions.
Construct your own boundaries.
Heart
Mind
Soul
In unison
To create a poem
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 9:43 AM UTC
*I spent the night gazing at you
Rather than the illumination of stars,
And though everything was cold to the touch
Your flesh and embrace kept me warm.
I studied the contours of your face for hours
It all felt so familiar yet so peculiarly new
Like a baby bird flying to a higher branch
Of an otherwise acquainted tree.
The stars, they faded that night,
Not by the outshone city lights
But by the immersive beauty
That was you.
The night came close to an abominable end
And though time was cruel, I had hoped,
That forever together it did bind and hold us-
On the night of the Winter Solstice.*
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 1:48 AM UTC
I’m almost a poet.
I almost make sense
Enough to impress
Others with my senseful nonsense
I’m almost a poet
And I almost understand
Others’s poems and other poets
In the end no use, I tried to no end
But I like to pretend.
I’m almost a poet,
My metaphors are almost immersive enough
And my edges and corners are almost not rough
I’m almost a poet
I’m almost there
But not quite
I’m almost a poet
Almost - a man.
_M
Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 10:06 PM UTC
literature offers an
immersive collection
of the past and an emerging
collective of experience.
© Matthew Harlovic
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 2:15 PM UTC
Would AI more than Human
and
Any fun correlation between AI and creativity?
and what makes us human?
If it opens with a look at the golem figure
Judaism and the concept of animism
— the attribution of a living soul to everything around.
May Loving and Beautiful World is an immersive digital art work.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 4:38 PM UTC
A Trudeau Chant
a man
was blue
when his
mother was
butter just
a vapor
in awe
that got
their day
to mesmerize
them under
the sun
there that
might not
recess the
River with
a wall
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 7:17 AM UTC
His hazel eyes
invites me inside his desires,
unrelenting chemistry,
bright dimensions of bliss
rousing my soul
with his deep and tender affection,
his gratifying vibe
that eliminates my doubts
about exploring the unknown
and feel your strength
sway inside my system.
He transports me
to the most breathtaking places,
writing poetic songs on my skin,
bringing me into the beat
of his immersive world,
a chocolate love that comforts me,
enhances his inspirational messages
to me as I luxuriate in his warmhearted embrace.
Jan 20, 2021
Jan 20, 2021 at 8:10 PM UTC
I look at people walk with these squares in their hands,
Laughing at something no one else sees,
Talking to no one,
Listing and dancing to silence,
Seeing a virtual reality in reality,
This new thing called "Pokémon go" came out where it requires the user to "go outside" yet there is no "avoid the obstacles" objective to the game. So why are we so addicted to such a thing? I have no idea, I don't and will never involve myself in such an immersive virtual reality that is free.
I have read books about having chips in our heads that are computer screens visualized to our eyes. This scares me, why? Because then we are truly impaired, mentally blind in a sense towards our physical surroundings. If you could choose to look at a 3-D image of wildlife without their "ocular" restrictive materials but rather have them just pop up in your head. Or would you rather look at the breaking seams of reality, while the rest of society looks dazed and lost, as they continue to watch their eyes for the latest celebrity scandal.
See these things have their benefits yes, but we don't care about the societal deficiencies we pick up as more and more people get these chips implanted.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 2:25 AM UTC