"incomprehensibility" poems
Ego headspace, mindset phaneron life perception sight
the assumptions you operate under to simply get by
or focus on a series of tasks that seem to take
the majority of our lives. building always a beat
of building something without looking or even knowing or
being thoughtful about the thing you are building towards
out of fear of it's massive complexity and incomprehensibility
all of the unknown about it.
Death impudence pointlessness despair terror humility absolute antithesis contradistinction
nihilism gives transparency to the structure
Ephemeral and the mad passion to
work against those things
make the march wobbly to show it's deluded nature
show clear forceful severing ending sounds during counterpoint
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
Every book has a last page, every song a last verse to sing.
Every sentence its full stop, every beginning its ending.
Every existence will one day cease to be,
In the inevitability of death, there is unity.
'Death is simply a beginning,' confidently some state.
'In death, there is nothingness,' others iterate.
But the lock of death in the living world has no key.
In the ignorance of death, there is unity.
In the hearts of some resides unwavering misery.
Others march on, donning costumes of pseudo-normalcy.
The actuality of their loss, still others refuse to see.
In the incoherence of death, there is unity.
Cinema, literature, poetry have ostensibly tried to explain,
With the knowledge directors, littérateurs, poets feign.
No living soul can grasp its intense incongruity,
In the incomprehensibility of death, there is unity
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
Gazing through the looking glass, and attempting to reminisce, he lets go, relieves, and perceives.Colossi of raindrops subtly fall through sky’s shadows , violently battling the grey in great amounts, failing to come anywhere near the threshold of one’s most sensitive ear. Nature’s children appear to tremble as dark forebodings of a dreary future pervade the air. The danger and annoyances of such rarities is always given priority and significance. He misunderstands it; he believes in its false infinity.
Unable to stabilize, unable to achieve a desired normality. From every pitter, he regrets; from every patter he forgets. Forcefully drudging through the thick swamp of his mind, struggling to understand what and why, diminishing his hopes of any change, any desire. Suddenly, several elements collide against his one-way mirror in his cell and revitalize his consciousness. Looking through the droplet, his face pressed against, his mentality momentarily produces quick successions of thoughts and random impulses of recovering memory.
Every snowflake understands its place as sui generis; every raindrop understands its place as trite. The beauty of a snowflake with death, the dullness of rain with life. It’s uniformity and strict nature are necessary to sustain life, but somehow it places a bittersweet piece of an unusual feeling inside him. Its unexplainable transparency, disguising itself as invisible, but not untouchable, stimulates a sense of deep nostalgic hopelessness within him. As he discovers the profound pulchritude, and simultaneous incomprehensibility, of the paradoxical elements of natural and artificial state cooperating to achieve more of the same, he realizes more in this moment. The monotonous, repetitive beat of rain seems to harmonize in an odd manner with some contrasting presence.
A new rhythm to this sound, a new color to this sight. A particular emotion of gradually diminishing despair comes about as he observes little rain boots composing a sort of rhythmic song with the catchy beat of the rain’s clashing, the continuous flow of the tree’s trembling, the back-up percussion of the thunder’s loud suddenness, the sight of lightning's exciting flash, and the cheerful singing from their voices.Upon this feat, he accepts the shadow’s tears; no longer must he endure the pain of the past’s ********** of the future, now he begins to savor the varied colors of newfound harmony.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC
On
my
deathbed,
I hope that I am visited by
what I think are angels
or demons
(it doesn’t really matter which)
and,
as I wheeze out my last breath,
they reveal to me
that I was actually an alien
from another world
trapped
in the misshapen body of a human
for the entirety
of my existence—
all 28,000-or-so
days of it.
Because
then,
my role in
this whole charade
would finally make sense:
all of the mind-numbing
awkwardness
and suffering
and bullying
and incomprehensibility
of the world
laid out before me—
a picnic for a malnourished soul
to finally feast upon,
a glistening Colorado River to drink from
and,
at long last,
to rest beside.
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 3:13 AM UTC
good-luck with marriage!
well, i won't be the one,
a conformist,
can't be bothered,
well no, i can't be bothered,
m.t.v. turned into
16 year old pregnancies,
**** **** a closer inspection
of queen,
that won't happen...
there's no utopia here,
but what comes from being unloved -
'good-luck with marriage!'
i asked i got a reply with arsenic...
well, if a diet is a diet,
we might as well be hopeful...
jealous lovers and the incomprehensibility
of certain people not ever having
engaged in a life that might provide them...
tonne of **** with a touché!
as a vet a rubber gloved hand up to the elbow
to check a bull's prostate via his **** hole...
i'd quote feminism, but i might as well
quote Ezra's lunatic judgement correct
against Churchill in defence of Mussolini...
western democracy's narcissism hit me too...
the constant need to export and never import...
the constant need for traitors to upkeep
a contestant populace rather than a populace
of worthy voters... it was always there...
so many sacrifices attached to a political
movement were never worth it,
the least sacrificial politics always produced
the most successful endeavours with china
and india... just those economic gluttons
and continual iconoclasm with dyslexia as proof...
how hope of heaven was never encoded in
images of sounds and kept therein -
i stead dyslexia, laziness of the communicative
angle, to keep heaven forlorn with stressed
images as a laziness to forget the aesthetic of spelling
a wording... oh well...
good luck with marriage!
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
You look at me,
that is all it takes, and temptation tumbles towards me
Electrochemical codes stretch themselves thin
taught and winding
cooing and fluttering in axonal cornices
Echoes rush through neuronal chambers,
charged and pulsating.
My mind in harmony and fully drawn to you
synchronized by the network.
The messages reach my cortex, aesthetic appraisal follows
I know not the meticulous, miraculous mechanics of such a wonderful process but
You beauty is magnified now.
Touch receptors tell my whole body to tingle
Sensory splendor is so scary.
The cascades have commissioned the deeper circuitry:
Those ancient blueprints of visceral demands
from which wicked temptations of man are born,
the veteran fossil of primordial impulse, a buried luxury, a relic:
My reward system
permeated by your kiss.
I am dangerously, fearfully humble to the power of pleasure
It is awake in the under-structure of neurobiologically institutionalized euphoria,
ablaze in the basic backbone of bliss
It is stirring in it’s ancient wires.
I can say I am somewhat privy to the elusive nature of experience.
being a human being alone grants me this
being a scientist of the brain only dilates my sense of love’s incomprehensibility.
And so I sink into your touch, your presence unresisting.
Mar 8, 2023
Mar 8, 2023 at 4:33 AM UTC
The alien’s ears listen intently
Every syllable landing deftly
Caught between listening and hearing
He struggles to comprehend their meaning
It's like getting lost in a thick forest
It's dark and lonely, in a crowded house
Familiar words like brief glimpses of daylight on a cloudy day
Meaning hidden behind feverish incomprehensibility
Meaning in every word for the speakers
Every meaning for the speakers in those words
The tool for comprehension and its greatest barrier
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
just keep nagging about poetry stealing
if not simply invigorating
people's index curriculum vocabulorum
(day-to-day pint of milk
what's the weather like speech) -
keep nagging - it won't make a difference -
i have a grievance all of my own -
one word - slang - or the effective
tool for unprecedented use of misnomers -
slang is, after all, a practice of using
misnomers with social acceptability -
some claim that poetry is incomprehensible -
too difficult - too cult-like -
too whatever it is that people think poetry is -
i'm in it for the long-haul -
i'm looking at the fame of Homer and of
Horace and i see no fame in the modern
definition - the certainty of Nietzsche:
perhaps my true readers haven't been born yet.
i'm that certain of what i write,
capitalism and the short-term effect -
the cure and the same song as stated
on the album *********** -
just keep nagging about what poetry is
and what it isn't - i just spotted an pink elephant
of the easiest of comparisons to nag about too...
urban slang - slang in general - but instead
of a single people being incomprehensible
(like the tweeting format? no? we have an antidote
for that) - i never bothered or knew how
to learn slang, the "cool talk" of being recognised
as a part of a pack of hyenas about to "change the world";
if you explain slang to me i'll explain poetry to you,
some does mature outside the realm
of adolescence - Rimbaud certainly did - and with
him as example i guess we should only write
in our teen years then forget about it,
never age with it - never do a Sistine Chapel pinnacle
with it - poetry is the secondary fashion statement
of the young, the primary fashion statement is
slang - i don't know why i kept it up as i did -
and i don't care much for being too technical
either, Tartar stake for me - i guess the trick
of the novelist is that he knows he can take breaks
in between writing a novel, he can always
come back to it knowing the reader will probably
take days and different yoga positions finishing
his outpouring: as already suggested, poetry as
something that constantly requires a revision of
meaning (esp. in the age of twitter) -
fair enough for the haiku crew - but consider
my deliberate care for a counter haiku: the ensō (zen)-
maximised with the Tao teaching of forgetting
the world and letting the world forget about you -
lethal combination................................
so this slang debate... can you tell me why
it's so akin to the incomprehensibility of poetry
and why it fizzles out after adolescence of the teen years?
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Long, bent around clasping
Black and lace
a life stretched out before
Twin history two people in one
Divinity and rebirth
In my faults
Both shared with others
Mouths and *****
A roiling river of filth
Both have pure memories tarnished
To incomprehensibility
By mistakes.
If i could pour my heart into making
A time machine
To correct this.
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
Existing is that state
that links
the present temporality
to the infinity of time
man dangles
between two polarities
he strives and struggles
to understand and too often
he is frustrated and disillusioned
for the larger part of his life
seems shrouded in incomprehensibility --
the monotony, vexation, ennui--even inanity
and there seems no escape
from the meaningless round
of just existing-while time mocks and derides
without a single whit of sympathy.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 7:31 AM UTC
and of how many howling a times
have i watched the closed lid
patches of bonsai tiger tattoo
in stitches and in wrinkles
the rekindled routes of rivers
and veins... that might take to
the route of heart and molten iron
as sourced...
thus my fright,
that aged begotten by only pride,
and cat in pillow safeguarded
by the stuffing of lullabied sheep
of forked duck feathers
into a volume of bypassed flight,
that huffed and puffed a wheezing of sleep,
sepia too arable, kept the pedigree
of unexplored surrender kept for some concern
for signature; and thereby i too served the tongue,
as a plated palette of forehead
that once scorned acne worthy of constellation
but later make stars an inconvenience
should obstructions be limbed and active
to raise hand and simply orientate with a wave:
so to the incomprehensibility of what defined
poetics rather than simply selling a car,
of what defined poetry and came to be merchant's assertion:
the economy of language never provided its beauty:
and the second economy never lifted a stone
to say it was mountaineering for a zenith of the ever resting
as challenged to be above: for each child nonetheless
in rubric a confirmed multiplier
but hardly a welcome addition that posthumous fame desires.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
Key words:
life
the world
people
self and others
truth and falsehood
doubts
incomprehensibility
meaning or lack of
the motives of others
what's a friend or enemy?
self-reliance
courage
authority
freedom
choice
love and hate
home
career
money
power
influence
budget
tax
trust
deceit
success
set-back and failure
constancy and consistency
thinking
feeling
decision-making
planning
expecting
waiting
dreaming
health
satisfaction
happiness and sorrow
death
post scriptum----reader--please do your own list
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 8:26 AM UTC
^
^
<< (<^>) >>
//// • ||
<>
)
####
/\ /\
//
Subtle the peace
•
Death and love
||
We are the rules of the day made flesh
•
The utter Incomprehensibility
//
The child there !
//
The exploding
•
The unraveling mind
//
Subtle is our fear
Our utter inability to survive as FREE MEN
Completely
//
Our fear of shame
//
We are the stuff of legends
//
Stories that don't mean a thing
//
We are the truth incarnate
••
( god made Meat )
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 5:37 PM UTC